I wanna publish zines and rage against machines

Good readings: The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri
Song on repeat: (ALBUM, rather) The Story by Brandi Carlile

I seem to be forcing reading patterns on myself. A few months ago, I was really into the memoir/ biography thing, and now I'm caught up in a "books made into movies" fad. All of the books I've read or am currently reading (i.e. Revolutionary Road, The Road, He's Just Not That Into You, and The Namesake) are books that have been adapted into movies. I've only seen HJNTIY and The Namesake, which were fantastic movies in their own right. I've yet to watch The Road because I don't particularly feel like crying my eyes out. Now, if my hick town would get with the times and show Revolutionary Road here, maybe I could compare it to the book.

Speaking of He's Just Not That Into You! I didn't think it was possible for me to care even less about being in a relationship, but ALAS! I have found sweet, sweet approval for my debonair attitude towards men (read:boys) and whatever interest they may or may not take in me.
I shudder to think that a self-help/love advice book actually helped me in some way, but it was certainly a knock on the head in certain ways. What a female trait to not listen to our own common sense...

In other news, my friend has recently procured a 90-minute time slot on the local KCC radio station. We had a well-intentioned brainstorming meeting, but I couldn't think of any solid topics/themes yet. The trouble is that I don't listen to much radio anymore. It's sad to think that podcasts and CDs and mp3s have destroyed good old-fashioned tuning in. To think, I complain about on-line newspapers when I'm contributing to the downfall of my brethren media outlet.

Resolution: listen to more talk radio. This might be easier if my AM station worked...NOELLE!! (Note: My vehicle was previously owned by my friend and beloved neighbor, who I like to blame for all current or future problems I may have with it.)


I've also been recently inspired to look into making a zine. I know the psychological motivations of this are contrived, and zines are so 90s, but I'm hoping to collaborate with some people so this doesn't become my symbolic other. Isn't that what blogs are for? I've gotten suggestions to do an e-zine (because I'm so tech saavy, right?), but I'd prefer to do a printed one. Maybe I can start out with a fanzine and work my way to a more general one....suggestions/ideas/submissions/advice/outright objections?

I must admit, this idea of a zine is mostly derived from my frustration with my own creativity. Maybe I am hoping to reaffirm my artistic identity. When did I even have one, anyway? If I did, where did it go? We live in this funny, technologically bombarded world where we're given options of what to like and how to think, and rarely do we choose to create. It's like we're being constantly fed, but we aren't growing any of the food. I'm going off on a stupid tangent.

On a more nostalgic note, I read some Calvin and Hobbes today, and it reminded me how much I hate those bumper stickers that show Calvin pissing on some representative of an opposing view (team, state, religion, politician, etc.), or even the one where Calvin is praying. They totally misrepresent the character of--well, the character. Calvin and Hobbes wasn't like other comic strips; it wasn't all about serving the punch line. I learned too many life lessons to see Calvin reduced to a malicious douchebag.

I am getting far too upset about a cartoon character, but on the real...THIS is what Calvin and Hobbes was all about:

Many happy returns of the day,
Virge

V.R.R.A

I had something much more important to blog about, but I'd rather talk about how some guy was a total tampon, driving recklessly on the highway.

I was making my merry way down Interstate 57 toward Charleston (almost exactly like Kankakee County), IL to visit my engaging friend Andy Baldwin at Eastern Illinois University. From Bourbonnais, it's quite the trek. Going 90 mph, I could cut the trip by at least a half an hour. So, I was driving at a pretty steady pace, hoping to make the basketball game in the nick of time. About twenty minutes into my mission, I come up on a gigantic boat of a car. Happily, I found he was going at least 85, but there was enough room for me to get around him. I pass the behemouth red Cadillac and continue my pace. Two minutes later, he speeds up and swerves in front of me, almost hitting my car while cutting me off and barely missing the one inches away from him in the right lane

I'm thinking, "Really?? Are you serious?", and in a moment of frustrated driving, I went to make an unkind gesture at him because he's decided to slow down to 70. I get back in the right lane, thinking there's enough open road in front of me to pass him again. He goes just fast enough to stay beside me and to ensure that my car gets boxed in by the next vehicle in front of me.

Anybody who knows me should know that the next words out of my mouth were "oh, it's on!". I get back behind him in the left lane for a few more miles of 70 mph driving, until we pass up the other cars that I can't believe could possibly go any slower than we were.

Now it's just me, this insane man (with a car full of passengers), and miles of outstretched, open highway. I get back in the right lane. We hit 80, then 90, then finally 105. His whale was humming along just fine at these high speeds, thanks to the laws of inertia, but my poor little Malibu was practically begging for me to have some common sense.

At 105 mph, my brain turned back on, and I let him triumphantly pull away from me and cut me off again. (I'm telling you, he was outside of his mind.) Not five minutes later, we see blue and red lights on the other side of the highway. Two miles away from them, another pair, and a State Policeman idling in the turnabout, waiting to pull someone else over. Of course, we conformed to the speed limit. I sure didn't want a ticket. The cop pulled onto the highway to follow us.

This is when I happily realized that my friend in the red Cadillac didn't have a license plate on his rear bumper. Laughing perhaps a bit too spitefully to myself, I got into the left lane and passed him and a truck, allowing the cop full view of that moron's bumper.

Payback is a biiiiiitch.

I may just consider starting a club. Victims of Road Rage Anonymous, or is there already an organization against idiots?

you were meant for amazing things.

Good readings: Vinyl Cafe Diaries by Stuart McLean
Song on repeat: Hello, I'm in Delaware by City & Colour

I can't believe I've had this Blogger for nearly a year and haven't written a single stale blog about life and the pursuit of happiness--or something like it! I have a certain predilection towards blogging, because it's writing without parameters or expectations. I suppose I could be concerned about entertaining the reader(s), but mostly I can get by just yammering about events and books and music for my own selfish, narcissistic benefit. I'm also allowed to be as unfocused as I so desire.

Anyhow, I'm completely aware of why I titled this blog somewhere in between back when I started it. I would say it's lack of an upstart was because I was at quite a static point in my life, then. I've never experienced such a feeling....the best way I can describe it is with an old Spanish phrase.

Ni alli, ni aqui. Neither here, nor there.

I was somewhere in between. I was dreading the impending fact that I was going to return to a ho-hum existence in Kankakee County, leaving UIC to attend community college back home because I was finding myself with empty pockets and no motivation. I practically had one foot out the door already.

At the same time, I was thrilled to be in the Windy City for at least a few more months, navigating my way around my neighborhood like a pro and spending countless nights making memories with friends I did not want to soon forget. I had created a quasi-life amongst these friends and couldn't handle the reality of my situation, which is why I drew out my stay in Chicago through most of the summer.

What can I say? I hate running, but I occassionally enjoy jogging away from my problems.

I still can't say I regret the year in Chicago, nor can I bemoan the time I'm spending at KCC. I'm not where I want to be, yet. I'm just somewhere in between. It's a hopeful thing, learning to realize your potential, to nuture it and remember its value.

So, as it is...I am learning.

A wonderful result of community college is that I can finish all of my schoolwork and do a great deal of leisurely reading and music foraging. I suppose that's mostly what I'll talk about in hurrrr. Now and then, I'll probably talk about how guys are a bunch of Goombas (they are..but that's another long story) and how tired I am of mannerless customers at the bookstore..complain, complain, complain. Ah, blogging how I miss thee.

The Vinyl Cafe Diaries make me happy. They're almost similar to Augusten Burroughs' short stories, and nothing like Chuck Palahinuk's, Saints preserve us. I read a few from Haunted and was left physically ill. I haven't enjoyed any of Chuck's books since I read Fight Club. Go figure.

I'm also in love with the beautiful albeit rather melancholy music Dallas Green makes for his side project, City & Colour. This is the guy from Alexisonfire, a great post-hardcore band that I can't help but love, as well. Typically, his vocals are the less aggressive backing melodies to the frontman's anxious screams with Alexisonfire, so it only makes sense that he would choose a more soothing genre for his solo stuff. At any rate, I love it. I got a chance to see him live when he opened up for Tegan and Sara, and LET ME TELL YA SOMETHIN'! Despite the fact that I was surrounded by droves of every kind of stereotypical lesbian in the book, zero inches from a girl's armpit and a considerably lesser distance from a formidable-looking bulldyke (my lesbian friend told me it was okay to use this term....eep) with a beer in each hand (like there was ROOM for that!!!), I was hypnotized by the soul with which this man plays. It was poetic.

Speaking of being poetic, I have been recently inspired to begin scribbling my creative thoughts down. I am not ashamed to say this inspiration comes in the form of a gift I gave to myself. It's a gorgeous journal that smells deliciously of leather.

I'll bring this to an awkward end with a quote from un grand philosophe:

"Each player must accept the cards life deals him or her;
but once they are in hand, he or she alone must decide how to play the cards to win the game." -Voltaire

Playing it close to the chest,
Virge