Being home for the weekend means AOL, the most obvious advantage of which is AIM. IMed with Lindsay last night for something like three and a half hours. We had a fight (?) or something, though she denied it. ("... I am not an unhappy camper.") Frustrating, because she only writes/says "No, fuck it" when she's pissed. Still, always good to talk to her.

Oh no, Mom's friends Linda and Gary just arrived. Imagine SSG as a childless spinster, only crazy and overly affectionate toward her cats, and you've got Linda. I detest her. She's insane, stupid, and utterly superficial; I cannot fathom what Mom sees in her. To be honest, I think less of my mom because of Linda. She's my mom and I love her, but I just don't understand her. As soon as dinner's over, I need to get out of here. It had to be this weekend, didn't it?

David believes my continued affection for Lindsay is flawed. Abandoned by my greatest ally in this, my hour of need. Woe is me.

I can't write for long, because I've got to finish my column for The Newsletter. But, let me say this: if you're feeling lonely and disconnected, and as if your only friends are thousands of miles away, take heart: They may be distant, but they are there for you. And like the Pontiac Button, when all else fails, they'll be there for you.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
8. Most of the time when I fantasize, it's about you.
This is what makes the abuse that much more perplexing: They really do like us. And if she really does like you, take care of her, because what you've got is rare and special. Of course, given that I acquired this list from Lindsay, and it's quite obvious this one doesn't apply, I'm loathe to dwell on it for long.

I'll be in Grand Blanc for the weekend, lying under the Camero helping Dad. I really don't mind, if for no other reason than I want to get the damn thing runnning again so Mom can use the garage during the Winter.

Well, the Blue Tree Whacking (separate link) Blog is up and running. Neato!

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
7. "Fine" is never an appropriate response when I ask you how I look.
See, No. 3 was bullshit. But, the debate between big lies and little lies is a discussion for another occasion. This rule is absolutely true! Why? Because girls are incredibly insecure about how they look. Need a girl to rip a man's heart out in five seconds or less? Sure, no problem. That kind of confidence comes easy. But, partially as a result of societal bombardment from a very young age, girls never think they look good enough. (There are exceptions, and watch out for them, largely because they will result in time-trials to see who can rip your heart out most efficiently.) So, yes, lie. Lie. By all means, lie. "Fine" is the honest answer; girls rarely ever want honesty.

Linz is making friends out in California. I hate to admit it, but a part of me feels threatened by this. I wish I were a better man, but I'm not. I'm not going to compound that failure by then lying to make myself seem more pure. I wish I could expres this more clearly, because I really do want her to have a life out there, and to have friends and be happy. But, the dark bastard in the back of my head knows what I don't want to know: The sooner she has friends, the sooner she has guy friends, the sooner she likes one of them, the sooner she has a boyfriend, the sooner some other bastard is touching her and I'm not, the sooner my world becomes a much darker place. Oh, well, at least tonight david and I are watching Star Trek II.

What the fuck? It just took me five minutes to get blogger working. Anyway, it's the dog days of Summer and I find myself spending all of my time in my little air conditioned cocoon of a room. This wouldn't be a problem, except I have things to do and they aren't getting done. For instance, I was going to start a Blue Tree Whacking blog this morning, but didn't have time. I'll do it after work, but it pisses me off when I sabotage my own schedule.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
(Tuesday's) 5. I'm convinced I'm pregnant and obsess about it for a minimum of 24 to 48 hours before my period, even when I have no rational reason to think so.
Great. Fantastic. Knock yourself out. I'm not going near this issue with a ten-foot pole.

6. I love it when you hug me from behind and whisper in my ear.
I can do that! I am, beneath my cynical exterior, a hopeless romantic. It is because of this that I have been forced to develop an armor of cynicism. I can't be the guy who willingly takes her to the hottest club, and I'll never be the boyfriend all her girlfriends wish they had, but this kind of stuff, this is right up my alley. This is my bag, and nobody can do it better.

Brad's computer sucks!

With the 'rents this weekend, I saw Minority Report. I didn't really want to, but not enough to make the required fuss to avoid seeing it. The most positive thing I can say about it is this: It was better than A.I. Also saw a preview of the upcoming Daredevil movie. I like the character, but why do they have Affleck wearing skin-tight leather? And where is Bullseye's mask?

Julie wants me to add a commenting feature. I haven't yet decided either way, beyond any potential technical hurtles. I just fail to see any compelling reason. I mean, can't people just email me? At least as far as I'm aware, nobody reads this except a few friends. Of course, there could be an army of strangers reading this with no way of contacting me. (My email address is mpw@umich.edu. If you're a stalker, I'm a pudgy male with a foul-temperment; so, go stalk somebody easier and more rewarding.)

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
4. You are cute in raglan-sleeved T-shirts (two-toned baseball undershirts).
Okay, yes, some of these are just stupid. Which is one of Lindsay's problems. Not that she's stupid, far from it, in fact she's possibly more book-smart than I am, but that she refuses to cut herself off from the insipid aspects of our society even when they drive her nuts (i.e. her sadly continuing friendship with SSG). Besides, I think this rule would only apply to buff, studly guys anyway, not middle-aged bastards like me.

I can't get over how great this weekend was.

Last night, Real Can of Yams played the best show we've ever played. It was beyond fucking awesome. Holy shit.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
3. I will leave if you lie.
I absolutely agree with this one. The only problem is, girls don't. Girls do not want the truth. Girls never want the truth. In my experience, they will scream all day about how they are owed the truth, and then rip your fucking head off if you give it to them. Girls, universally, suffer from extreme cognitive dissonance; they only want the "truth" that conforms to what they already believe. Guys do the same thing, but in relationships girls are by far the greater abusers of the truth. At the same time, many girls shouldn't put up with the crap they get from their lameass boyfriends, but then again it's their fault for dating those jerks when so many great guys are dateless wonders. So, my sympathies are limited. (How about that? This explanation turned out to be much angrier than I thought it would. It must have struck a nerve.)

(I'm normally going to keep "45 Things" confined to the weekdays, but I didn't get a chance to blog yesterday and I didn't want you to have to go without. You know, because you all check this page at least once every half hour.)

High fives all around, kids, because today it's hot 'n' muggy. There has been a request for some background as to the "45 Things She Wishes You Knew." I am a fan of lists. I like reading them and I love making them. "45 Things" is a list written by Lisa Jones for (I know, I know) Men's Health, "45 Things She Wishes You Knew: Universal truths that all men should--but don't--understand." I have read the list, but you shouldn't, at least not until you read them day by day here at The Secret Base.

This list came to my attention in an email from Lindsay: "i know how you love advice. and these are definitely true." I don't agree with every item on the list, but I do like the overall list. So, instead of just giving the quote, we will now quote and discuss. I will tell you which quotes I agree with, which I do not, and why. In the interest of full disclosure, it should be noted that my appreciation of this list is undeniably enhanced by its coming to my through Lindsay; it would be a lie to say otherwise. It should also be noted that awesome though she is, Linz in far from perfect. Her most distressing flaw is that she does not know herself as well as she thinks she does, made all the more annoying in that she thinks she knows you better than you know yourself (see how I just contradicted myself? We share that in common). We disagree about many things, but as always, I have faith in the eventual triumph of my overwhelming correctness. So, without further ado, "45 Things."

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
2. Real men drive a stick shift.
My father has driven a stick shift as long as I can remember. He's an asshole, but he's also my model for what defines a man. Affirming how he's lived or refutting him, Rick is the scale by which all is measured. In this case, I've always felt inferior to people that can drive a stick shift. Additionally, Lindsay's car has a manual transmission; so, I can see this one appealing to her.

1. Saying "I love you" immediately before, during, or following sex doesn't count.
I disagree, but then, I don't think you should have sex with someone unless you really, truly do love them. Love, not just like enough to date for a few months. I know that many people disagree, and are rather inclined to surrender themselves to the moment, wherein they may say and do all sorts of things that they don't mean. "I love you," in a romantic context, are the three most dangerous words in the English language. Especially in those moments that we all endure, when we believe that love is a lie.

Work sucks! I understand and love the capitalist premise upon which our system is built, but every once in a while it just chaps my ass! For instance, having to be at work on time. On Monday night, I was having a fabulous time with Steeze, Jon, Zach, and Sarah and feeling not at all tired. But, once my clock read 2:00 AM, I suddenly dreaded having to wake up at 7:00 AM; so, I was forced to kick them out even though we all (well, Jon, Kevin, and me; Zach was drunk-tired and Sarah wanted to put him to bed) wanted to keep hanging out. Dammit. However, so resistent were Jon and Kevin that once we encountered Eddie the Bat in the basement, they wanted to hunt it down. Normally we run away from the Bat, which given the risk of rabies seems quite a reasonable reaction to me. Armed with Lisa's and my old tennis rackets (I last played when? 1995?), they sauntered dowstairs to do battle with the beast. I have to admit there was a lot less girlish yelling and anonymous thumping than I'd anticipated. After a few minutes I ventured down to see if they'd survived. Disappointingly, the Bat had fled when they confronted it, and instead of slaying it, they'd been trying to find it. Why were they so insistent on facing Eddie? Because there wasn't a good reason not to (in their estimation), and that's the Blue Tree Whacking code: Why not? (Note: we don't have an actual code.)

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
1. Saying "I love you" immediately before, during, or following sex doesn't count.

In three weeks, I'm flying out to Berkeley. It will be the first time I've been to California. Oh, the things we do for love...

Note to self: If you don't know a person, stay the hell away from their blog. What in blazes is a "shoulder valkyrie"?

A most excellent weekend: had a fight with David, talked to Lindsay, Animania ate Saturday, went to Mass (for the second consecutive week!), and saw Attack of the Clones. And now a question: Which of the following terms most accurately desribes my devotion to Star Wars?

a) Endearing

b) Amusing

c) Creepy

d) Sad

Please email an answer to mpw@umich.edu. Thank you. Watch out for the Art Truck!

Today's one of those days when God damn, my sideburns kick ass!

Soundtrack of Today: MxPx, "Here With Me" from The Ever Passing Moment.

Thanks to Skeeter's friend Hilary for coining the term: I'm suffering from morosis. The only cure is in California, never to return...

I'm so jealous of Julie. I wish I could be a cog in the faceless corporate machine. God willing, soon I will be...

David, Kevin, and Jon (the Bald Mountain, K. Steeze, and the Professor) dropped by last night like a bolt from the gray, thundering sky. Although pants are, in fact, pretty great, what you really can't beat are friends. You can't beat friends! Also, I spoke to Lindsay yesterday, which is always a good thing.

Mike Alber now lives with Justin and Emily. Excellent. I really want nothing to do with him, and this very conveniently takes care of that. (Justin and Emily might as be the yeti, since they are only heard of as myth and conjecture. Of course, given their habit of hanging out with Mike and SSG, I can't really say it's a bad thing I don't see them....) All the "friends" I have made in college have been revealed to be anything but, and I'm left here wondering what on God's green Earth made me think these people were worth knowing. My Ann Arbor friends are essentially the Bizarro opposites of the BTW gang.

I sat down and wrote in my journal last night. Really wrote, not just three sentences on what I'd done that day. It felt great. It would be unimaginably good for me to do that more often, but it's hard to make the time; blissful solitude eludes me. Tonight I've got to organize my pictures. Ugh. I don't want to do it, but the X-700 produces images too beautiful to be lost in a pile of unlabeled Kodak envelopes.

I love irony. Yesterday, while I was out of the house, writing that Lindsay will never call, she called and left a message. (She didn't like my message, though I can't fathom why. "You've reached Brad Dupay, Dave Schoonover, and Mike Wilson. If we're not here, there's a good chance I've gone to see Star Wars.") So, I'm about to call her back. Just a moment ago, though, I had a waking nightmare. It's about noon in California; so, I imagine I might catch her in bed. Only to my horror, a male voice answers the phone, and I try to carry on as if nothing's happened. Oh joy, now I'm coming unglued....

Well, RCY practice went very smoothly last night. It seems like almost every weekend I'm making the trip back to Grand Blanc, but oddly enough I'm not minding at all. While the kids were working on "Carpe Diem," a song new to Liz and John that does not feature my patented "hackosphone," my thoughts slipped to Lindsay.

I kept rerunning through my mind that last night at Conor's, how she felt in my arms when we hugged goddbye, and how it felt when she kissed me, both as we parted and to thank me for Radio Free Wilson. "I can't breathe." It was the first time in a couple days that I'd allowed myself to be overcome by the darkness. She arrived in Berkeley on Wednesday, and the last time I spoke to her was when she called Tuesday night. So, now all I can do is wait for her to call or write from Berkeley. Of course, the dark voice in the back of my head whispers, she won't call. There's too much that's new and exciting in San Francisco, and she never really liked you anyway. I'd tell him to bugger off, but over the years that dark little bastard has been right too often to dismiss.

Fuck.

I'm going to watch A New Hope with the Mountain tonight. Last time I saw it, a couple of weeks ago, I was explaining things to Lindsay whenever she asked; so, I wasn't able to give it a close watching.

Eights days. What the hell is wrong with me? Well at least I rectified things last night.

Two paths to a Lindsay-friendly blog:
1. Create a mirror of the Secret Base that contains all the same posts, only with romantic references to Lindsay removed.
2. Direct Lindsay to the Secret Base and create a separate blog just for my thoughts about her. (Of course, who the hell would want to read that?)
I haven't made up my mind one way or the other, but blogging is just such a great way to stay in touch.

David directed me to a THX version of Star Wars available on eBay, but for an unknown reason the registration process didn't work. I'd open their registration form and input the first page of information, but every time I clicked Continue the next page wouldn't load and I'd get a "That page cannot be displayed" warning. Curses! It would have been nice, but at least this has provided me with one bad personal experience on which to base my already low opinion of online auctions.

Julie just gave me the best idea! Our culture is such that even thin, very attractive girls feel the need to lose weight. But, if they could all just date fat guys, then they would feel better and more secure in their appearance. That's perfect for me! This is like fucking tailor made for me and my fatty ilk. It should be called The Mike Wilson Plan! That's my new selling point! "Hey, baby, sure I'm not much to look at, but think how much hotter you'll seem standing next to me." Hell, if she's still feeling insecure, I'll do the jiggle dance for her! (I love doing the jiggle dance.) I'm not being sarcastic, this would be a great strategy. Yes, okay, so whatever relationship that resulted would be shallow and purely physical because of how I feel about Lindsay, but she'd have a better self-image, I'd be seen around town in the company of a beautiful girl, and... you know, *wink, wink*. (Hi, my name is Mike and I've still got the mentality of a fucking middle schooler.)

Speaking of beautiful girls, I ran into Jessica "Hell-ya" Hale yesterday. (Most people run into old girlfriends, I run into girls for whom I used to pine.) It wasn't a situation where I asked myself what I was thinking at the time, because I know exactly what I was thinking; come on, Jessica's gorgeous and reasonably funny. But I wonder how I convinced myself that I didn't have a shot with her. I had one really solid chance to make a move on her, and it wouldn't have been a random hook-up because we were sort of friends at the time, but I just didn't. We were lying there on her futon and I really wanted to kiss her, but I just didn't. I thought, despite plenty of evidence to the contrary, that this would be seen as an unwanted advance. How in the hell can I walk around being me all day (because let me tell you, you've got to believe the crap you're spouting if you're going to pull off being The Last Angry Man) and then have my confidence erode so completely around a girl. I don't think we would have seriously dated, but we could have had some fun.

I never hesitated with Lindsay, though. Not once. Odd, that.

Kevin and Zach Nie! threw a major monkeywrench into my plans for the evening, but that's fine as I didn't really have so much of what you'd call a plan. Mostly I was just there at the house, reading today's rather large stack of comics and BOOM! there they were. Two tornados accompanied and encouraged by the Bald Mountain. After disappearing into the bathroom for a while, Zachand David went out back to play with lightsabers. Then Kevin followed them, fully expecting me to come along. I did, of course. Come on, dude, lightsabers.

So, while David and Zach managed to destory my Darth Maul double-bladed lightsaber, Kevin and I choreographed a pretty cool duel. We had thrusts and parries, jumps and evasians, and more spins than you can shake a Wookiee at. Kevin broke out his camera and had David film our epic battle from a number of angles. I swear, those two are so married. So, I hope that turns out. It's humid as hell today; so, I was dripping during the lightsaber battle, but, man, that was so fun. Yay, Star Wars!

Lindsay called me from a hotel in Nevada last night. She thanked me profusely for Radio Free Wilson, but really I think she needed to talk to someone. A meaningless detail had set off her dad's temper and she was upset. She puts up a good front, but if you know her weaknesses, Lindsay's rather fragile. I grew up with Rick; so, I do know what she was going through. I just learned to steel myself years ago. To not let him get to me. Crying never occured to me as a viable option. It was great to hear from her, but it caught me completely unprepared.

Moving to San Francisco is too obvious a ploy, but how the hell am I going to win her from across a continent?

It's been too long since I've seen Star Wars. Fear not, this will not stand.

Though he's a *shudder* classic rock fan, Dylan would profit, I think, from the MxPx song "Responsibility."

Responsibility, what's that?
Responsibility, not quite yet
Responsibility, what's that?
I don't want to think about it
We'd be better off without it
I don't want to think about it.

Of course, he'd also profit from not being a fan of *shudder* classic rock.

Really truly honestly, today I'm fine. I posted five pieces of mail on my way out the door this morning. One was a bill and another a parking ticket, but I enjoyed it. I like sending mail. As much as freshmen love getting mail in the dorms, I enjoy sending mail. Or maybe just today I do. Either way, I've been in good spirits all day. I'm going to go visit David, see if maybe I can rain on his parade.

Steve's blog just moved. Excellent. I'm glad it didn't disappear; I can't say I check it every day, but I'd miss my several-times-weekly doses of the Squirrel King.

In the course of today, I've wanted to hit __2__ people in the face with a brick. I gotta buy me some bricks. (And it's not just because I'm upset about Lindsay.)

Does anybody know what happened to Steve's blog? I'd directly ask him, but a blog can be a very personal thing, and he may have reasons for shutting it down or moving it that he doesn't wish others to know. And I respect that. But, if anybody's got the dirt, and it's not supposed to be a secret, I'm curious.

I'm conflicted: blogs are a great way for friends to stay in touch. So, I'd like Lindsay to be able to visit The Secret Base. However, at present that would require greater censorship on my part, lessening the cathartic value of ye olde Secret Base. Hmmm. I could create a separate blog, but I don't think I've got enough content for two. "Meditate on this, I will."

Far and away the best thing about this weekend was seeing Julie. Julie's great because I know she means it when she says, "I hate you. I only see you every six months." (If you don't understand why that's so great, consult your copy of Good or Suck! and listen to the lyrics of "Riot Grrl." Or just cheat and read them here.) I adore her. Being her friend is truly one of the great priviledges of my life. Like most good things in my life, at one point or another I've tried to destroy it, but thankfully Julie's always taken me back. Maybe the single best thing about Boston will be being able to hop on the train and see her on the weekends. It's years off, but I'm probably going to hate her husband. He'll be great, but I know that I'll never really give him a fair shake. In the back of my head I'll never think he's good enough for her.

A true life blast from the past...
"I want a RIOT GRRL." -MW

"I want to be a riot grrl." -JS

Grand Blanc. It's a hell of a town! There is nothing extraordinary about Grand Blanc as a place, but the citizens are amazing. There is nothing special about my parents, except that they've always been cool. I couldn't see it for a long time, but more than anyone else's parents, they've let us do as we please. We come, we go, we dye our hair, we get tattoos, we have no idea what we're going to do with our lives, and they're relatively cool with it. Not that they are saints. God knows there's something wrong with a father who sits his children down to have a talk with them about A-'s on a report card, and Mom is frustratingly dedicated to the June Cleaver way of life, but we could have done far worse. Dad was sporatically intolerable this past weekend, and Mom was ever hovering, but mostly they just let me keep David company as he recuperated from having his wisdom teeth removed. Above all else, and I know that in my self-righteousness I too often tend to forget, they are my parents. Who I am is largely a result of them, or who they are and what they've done. They are a mirror. Or maybe just a black box, an indirect indicator of where things "went wrong." They are me and I am them. This doesn't mean I won't still do a jig on the old man's grave, but I know I'll miss him, too.

Steeze is back, but only for a couple weeks; so, it feels more like the annual BTW Christmas Flurry of Activity (ha ha, get it? flurry? Christmas? snow? it's a pun!) rather than another Summer of Steeze.

Lindsay's gone.