boom.

Remember, remember, the 5th of November?

I remember quite a bit about this date, but the clearest memory I have doesn't even belong to me. It's the date that a Guy Fawkes tried to blow up Parliament in 1605. No, I am not 404 years older than you thought I was, and I am not a time traveler. I'm not even a Guy Fawkes fan -- the man must have been a lunatic. No, I remember this date because of something I read as a child, and reread numerous times since then. V For Vendetta is, and will always be, so much more than "the one movie where Natalie Portman shaved her head." It is a time capsule. It is part of my childhood. Most of all, it's the reason I love comic books and my big brother, who no doubt, has also written about Guy Fawkes.

He has. But for reasons all his own.

I remember this line simply because it is the 5th of November.
I remember the 5th of November because Guy Fawkes made the world remember it.
I remember Guy Fawkes because of a graphic novel that Alan Moore wrote.
I remember the graphic novel because of my older brother.
I remember my older brother because I think I know what the 5th of November means to him.

He gave me the novel to read when I was far too young to understand the nuances and politics of the story, but I read it anyway, because, honestly, I read anything he gave me. Over the years I grew to understand the finer points of writing and the tremendous effort good writing requires. Every time I felt like I needed a reminder, I would go back to V For Vendetta, and I would be happy.

Recently, I discovered that I could get the same feeling from reading Bilal's writing, and the realization startled me. For years, I believed that my own writing was inspired by writers I could only admire and attempt to emulate from afar. While that might be partly true still, I will remember today as the day that I understood my greatest influence is my big brother.

Big Brother might always be watching, but my big brother will always be watching out for me.

Thanks for the inspiration, Bilal.

I win!

I recently won an award! You may have voted for me.

"Worst Friend Ever"

It's a little like winning the title for Miss America, but without all the crying and thanking. Okay, maybe a little more crying. I will be representing bad friends everywhere for one full calendar year, or until I stop being such a lazy bum.

Thanks for voting.

For the record, there isn't actually an award for being a bad friend, but if there was, I'm pretty sure I could have won it. Not responding to emails, text messages, voicemails -- these are minor and common things that we all do from time to time, and not necessarily deeming qualities of a poor pal. Not doing these things for six months is what it takes to win the illustrious "Worst Friend" crown, which is, by the by, made of old Big Mac cartons from McDonald's. Man, have I been lousy about communicating. And eating.

To all those who voted for me, I'm sorry. Since I got back from Ireland I have been keeping busy, but not with anything terribly involving. The seasons are rapidly changing and all I can think is, "Crap. I really need to call ______." And then I'll do laundry, or download music, or watch several hours of "Law and Order." There must be a bazillion episodes of that show.

The point is, I WON'T call or write anyone when I know I ought to. I do this for two reasons: 1) I'm a lazy bum and have been since I got back to Chicago and 2) because I'm a lazy bum who doesn't do anything except chores and watch "Law and Order," I feel like I don't have anything interesting to report. I would call it a vicious cycle, but it's too lethargic to be called vicious. It's a sloth-y cycle.

There's a silver lining to this poop-cloud of a post, though. As the title-holder for "Worst Friend Ever" I am making a promise.

I promise to lose this title as soon as possible. I will return messages in a timely manner, with enthusiasm and joy. I will make and keep plans. I will start doing interesting things again. I will, in short, get off my lazy ass.

Right after this episode of "Law and Order."

The Busy Bee Feels the Sting of Productivity

I got back from Ireland and my Grand Trans-Atlantic Adventure over a month ago and I have only NOW found the time to post something, anything, regardless of how trivial and whiny it may be.

Oh, and this might be a bit whiny.

To briefly recap:

I returned to Chicago on May 30th, full of life, energy and a new mission to improve my lot. By June 15th, my determination was fading amidst the chaos of working full-time at my tedious serving gig and my get-up-and-go seemed to have got-up-and-left.

I miss Ireland. I'm not gonna lie, I ADORE Chicago, and couldn't be happier about being back, but I don't miss the Chicago I knew when I left -- I miss the Chicago I know I could have. I miss the potential. Is that strange? To miss something that doesn't exist yet? Well, if it is, I'm not necessarily bothered by it as much as I'm bothered by the routine I've fallen into since I returned.

Sure, I've been busy, but with what, exactly?

Chicago Celebrities

I just had my picture taken with Rod Blagojevich, and he told me that my hair looked "nice."

I'm not sure how to assess this situation, seeing as how I can't seem to stop giggling like a maniacal girl scout in a roomful of thin mints. Is this funny? YES. Is this weird? Absolutely. Is this something I should think about with a little more depth? Probably.

Here's the thing:

I was just getting off work when someone came in and said, "Rod Blagojevich is sitting at the Starbucks patio right now," and everyone around me FLIPPED OUT. Some people wanted to start a fist fight. Some people wanted to ignore it. And some people, like myself, wanted to see it -- the dirty, criminal, celebrity politician -- firsthand. I checked my bag to make sure I had my camera with me, which I did, and said, "I want a picture with him."

The thing is, I didn't quite know WHY I wanted a picture with him, at least I didn't know until it was snapped, and I stated, "I now have a celebrity photo!"

Blagojevich IS a celebrity and whether it's for reasons that are good or bad doesn't matter anymore. He's made national, if not global, headlines. He's Britney Spears. He's Paris Hilton. He's OUT THERE, and that fact is undeniable. Why is he out there, though? Is it because he was the governor of Illinois, the governor of the state that our new president came from? Or is it because of Chicago's history of crooked politicians? Is it the fact that he's a delusional weirdo? Or is it because he's famous for being so unbelievably BAD at what he was supposed to do?

It doesn't really matter, when you put it into perspective. He's famous, rather INfamous, for being himself, and being himself was all he was being when I met him. He was shaking hands, getting introductions, and taking photos with perfect strangers. He was OWNING it, whatever "it" might be.

I suppose that's what it means to be a celebrity -- taking what comes, and taking it all.

little things

if there's one thing i can say about Europe, it's that the differences are all in the little things.

it's good to be home.

delayed reaction

the countdown began yesterday. since then, i have noticed two things.

1) i have NO patience for my housemates anymore. i have a pavlovian response to their presence and especially the door-slamming.

2) i am getting more homesick every day. it's like i delayed my homesickness to the very end, and now it's coming at me HARD.

sigh. i just want to come home.

fortnight

i leave in two weeks. a fortnight. 14 days.

i leave for my adventures in budapest, berlin, venice, and london. i keep repeating those cities, in that order, like a mantra. i tried to add in chicago, but it threw off the rhythm. because i have a rhythm now. not the musical kind. everyone knows that i can't keep a steady beat going. but i have a rhythm to how i live here, in ireland, because i DO live here.

at least for two more weeks.

i'm not sure how i feel. happy, sad, elated, tired, grumpy, nostalgic, excited, worried...

yes. i feel all of those things and there isn't a damn thing i can do about it because i am leaving and there isn't enough time left to sort out my feelings. i have just enough time left to enjoy it while it lasts.

i have two weeks.