laid up above the road, i'll never know where the finest hours seem to go i just look out to space, me and my faith i know that angels come from time to time
	believe me, it's time to tell my friends i love them they deserve more than hasty delivered words of kindness to them i'm sure you know that no, it's time to tell my friends i love them these things take more than kindness no, it's time to tell my friends i love them there's nothing more we can do
	i don't know when to go out i don't know when to stay in i don't know how to belong i don't know where to begin reach out your hands, where it lies is where it lands take home the final arrears, it's the final arrears join all the hands, take a photograph and smile before the final arrears, it's the final arrears and i've used all my tears
	waste no more energy, no more time step into this time machine, aboard this flight time to go, it's sad that you are not here to open up your eyes and watch me disappear carried away imaginations are running wild
	when i counted up my demons saw there was one for every day with the good ones on my shoulder i sent the other ones away so if you ever feel neglected if you think that all is lost well i'll be counting up my demons hoping that everything's not lost

If there's one overarching philosophical message that my life has repeatedly stressed, it's that joy and sadness are two sides of the same coin. Contentment has its own innate heavyheartedness, and likewise depression is commonly bourne of memories of a past happiness. That lesson has been again taught to me over the last week.

Last Wednesday V drove me to Oakland airport to meet up with Michael on the redeye to Chicago. The occasion was the Saturday wedding of our friend Bill, former drummer for the band Pete that Michael managed and i did web design and PR for. We got to O'Hare at 5:30am Thursday morning, and naturally i had completely forgotten to write down our hotel info. Remembering that we were in a Marriott of some sort (Residence Inn, Courtyard, whatever) and that it was off the Magnificent Mile, we hopped in a taxi and gave the cabbie those vague instructions. We ended up at the Courtyard by Marriott on Ontario Avenue, and were informed by reception that we had no reservation there. In fact, after calling the Marriott 800 number, we were told they couldn't find a reservation under my name anywhere in Chicago. Deciding to check into the Courtyard at a significantly higher rate than our previous reservation and sort things out when the hour became reasonable, we went upstairs. After getting out the phone book and calling a few places, i was cheerfully informed that the Residence Inn by Marriott on Walton Avenue had our reservation. So we checked out of the Courtyard not 30 minutes after checking in, with the helpful Thom Yorke look and sound-alike concierge letting us go free of charge. Thank god, as we were a bit suspicious that he wasn't able to locate our reservation at the Residence because he'd rather we pay him for a room at the Courtyard.

We had a four hour nap before grabbing some deep dish Chicago pizza and heading to Murphy's Bleachers, across the street from Wrigley Field, to have drinks with the Winsininski's (Bill's family) and the Hess's (Elizabeth's family). Bill gave Michael and i a big hug when we arrived. What was really special is that by that evening, after many Bud Lights and Old Styles, i felt completely at home in the company of Bill and Elizabeth's families. Me, the guy who has a near-pathologic history of being distant. It makes perfect sense: Bill is probably the most emotionally open person i've ever met. He's someone who places absolute value on relationships and friends. His family is just as welcoming, and naturally his fiancee and her family also share that same genuineness.

Michael and i cabbed home from Southport Lanes and Billiards around 10:30pm, having barely slept the night before. We awoke around 8:45am the next morning to hit the surprisingly good (and free) Residence Inn breakfast buffet. After a little midmorning nap, we then walked down Michigan Avenue to the Art Institute of Chicago and had a look at the modern and contemporary collections (mainly impressionism). Very nice. And not just because i kept having flashbacks to scenes from Ferris Bueller's Day Off. At 3pm we both decided it was time for a late lunch, and set off to check out what we'd heard was the best dog in Chicago, Superdawg on the northwest side. We mapped out how to get there by bus, and set off on the number 56. An hour later, we transferred to the 56A. Thirty minutes later, we at last arrived for, at this point, our early dinner. Very tasty. Nice decor too ... an old style drive-in. We decided the L was a more viable option for trip back downtown, and ended up walking 2 miles or so to the station, taking a 20 minute train ride, and walking another mile and a half to our hotel. My poor aching legs. That night we hit Bill and Elizabeth's rehearsal dinner at Harry Caray's Restaurant, where we got to meet up with other former Pete members Bo and Andrei and their girlfriends/fiancees. Then to the Coq D'Or at the Drake (site of the wedding reception) until 2am, concluding the evening with a trip with Bill's brother Greg and his wife Tara to Kingston Mines for some late nite blues.

Saturday morning we got a little chance to catch our breath, before getting into our finer duds and hopping on the bus at the Drake to go to the wedding. The ceremony was performed at The Shrine of Our Lady Of Pompeii, coincidentally not all that far from Superdawg. An extremely beautiful church built from 1910-1912, with the wonderfully animated Reverend Richard Fragomeni performing a full Catholic mass. Somehow even touching on the subject of penis enlargement. Then back to the Drake and the Grand Ballroom for sushi and drinks followed by an incredible 5 course meal. Somehow i became the butt of a joke instigated by the table next to us, where a collection of women took turns tapping me on the shoulder and telling me i was in their seat. This somehow concluded with Mr. Hess sitting on my lap, a photo of which is sure to surface sooner or later.

The night really got kicking when the DJ started spinning. Bill had told me his primary mission for the wedding was to make sure there would be decent music, and he succeeded. By the time "(Keep Feeling) Fascination" came on, Andrei, Bo, Bill, and i were out on the floor, and shortly thereafter an increasingly intoxicated Michael was tearing things up as well. Whether it was the several shots of tequila we did (keeping the memory of old Pete shows alive) or Michael's continually accelerating drink consumption, who knows. This came to a head twice, first when during some slam dancing to Blur's "Song 2" Michael went headfirst into a table along the dancefloor (miraculously reappearing on the dance floor seemingly instanstaneously), and second when, at the close of the reception with the music ending, he careened off the dance floor repeatedly shouting "Put the music back on! I wanna slap some more ass!" Andrei and i got him first into the downstairs bar for some water, and then a block down the street to our hotel, where he passed out.

I came back to for another hour or so, to say goodbye to Bill and Elizabeth. I gave Bill a hug and told him i missed him. I do. I'm selfish that way. Anyone who can give me this feeling of welcome and belonging, i want them in my life 24/7. It's why i was depressed when i left SF for Boston, it's why i was depressed when i left Boston for SF, and it's why i was depressed to say goodbye to the Winsininski's and the Hess's after four days. It's a bit unreasonable on my part, but i can't help it. Bill wears his heart on his sleeve, and i admire him for it. I place the same immense value on friends and family, but i'm not as overt in my expression of it.

After Michael slept off whatever untold quantities of alcohol he'd consumed the night before, we arose to have a sweet Irish breakfast and do some shopping. We then got an invite from Sean, a friend of Bill's from SF, to see the Chicago Fire game at Soldier Field. The rain held off for the most part, and we had nice seats just above the Fire supporter section. The Columbus Crew won 3-1, but it was a good afternoon nonetheless. Our flight left from O'Hare at 8:20pm, with me as usual disheartened to leave behind such special friends, but also thrilled that i was able to take part in Bill and Elizabeth's celebration. There is undoubtedly a sadness in knowing that the great times we'd just had are something that geographic and financial realities won't let happen every day. But that also creates a resolve to ensure that we remain in each others' lives through whatever means necessary.

"... through good times and bad ..." ... that's not marriage, that's life. Bill and Elizabeth, i love you both and am deeply grateful that you included me in your wedding day.

I have to give further props to Hulk for avoiding a long-standing movie cliche, that of the necessary explosion whenever a motorized vehicle crashes. It seems in movies these days that even a gas-powered scooter denting a car door requires a huge fiery boom. When the Hulk tossed a tank across a few desert dunes, i was waiting for the impact and mandatory explosion. To my pleasant surprise, it landed with nothing more than a thud and a burst of sand. The temptation for the producers (obviously, Jerry Bruckheimer was not among them) must have been even greater when the Hulk downed a few helicopters, but they too simply crashed to the pavement. Sure, their blades come flying off, but we're not led to believe they were made of dynamite.

Watching the new Morrissey video "Irish Blood, English Heart", i'm reminded of a scene from Trainspotting.

Sick Boy: "It's certainly a phenomenon in all walks of life."
Renton: "What do you mean?"
Sick Boy: "Well, at one time you've got it, and then you lose it, and it's gone forever. All walks of life: Georgie Best, for example. Had it, lost it. Or David Bowie or Lou Reed."
Renton: "Some of his solo stuff's not bad."
Sick Boy: "No, it's not bad, but it's not great either. And in your heart you kind of know that although it sounds all right, it's actually just ... shite."
Renton: "So who else?"
Sick Boy: "Charlie Nicholas, David Niven, Malcolm McLaren, Elvis Presley ..."
Renton: "Ok ok, so what's the point you're trying to make?"
Sick Boy: "All I'm trying to do Rents is help you understand that The Name of The Rose is merely a blip on an otherwise uninterrupted downward trajectory."
Renton: "What about The Untouchables?"
Sick Boy: "I don't rate that at all."
Renton: "Despite the academy award?"
Sick Boy: "That means fuck all! It's a sympathy vote!"
Renton: "Right. So we all get old and then we can't hack it anymore. Is that it?"
Sick Boy: "Yeah."
Renton: "That's your theory?"
Sick Boy: "Yeah. Beautifully fucking illustrated."

My movie weekend came to a close with Hulk tonight. A film that caught a lot of flak when it was released, ostensibly for being too dramatic for something derived from a comic book. I quite liked it. Definitely more cerebral and less action-oriented than other comic fare, it delivered an interesting story and plenty of "it's clobberin' time" (was that the Hulk or Thing from the Fantastic Four?). Ang Lee's filmmaking talents were showcased as he was able to create a film that played like a comic book, sometimes segmenting the screen into multiple frames and panels. Of course, detractors can point to a number of elements. A cameo by Stan Lee and former Hulk Lou Ferrigno in the first ten minutes is worrisome. And several plot twists don't exactly follow. For me, i was a bit unnerved that Betty Ross's cabin looked like it was abandoned when the hillbillies loaded up the truck and moved to Beverly. But in truth, all of these strengths and weaknesses attest to Lee's success in conveying a comic book on the silver screen. Even the lack of resolution in the ending harkens the soap opera style of comic climaxes.

I must admit, i was a tad saddened that the age-old mystery of the Hulk's expanding purple underwear was not addressed.

I was driving over to Fremont yesterday to set up the tux rentals for my wedding, and on the way i popped an old favorite, End On End by Rites of Spring. I discovered them in 1992, making a tape copy of my dorm roommate Pat's cd. This set off a whole series of memories, of my wild and largely formative year of 1992-1993, my first at Berkeley.

the world is my fuse

To be honest, i was scared s@$tless when i moved into Priestley Hall in Unit 3 in August, 1992. My new roommates Pat and Brooks were friendly enough, but the lack of familiarity never really let me relax. In retrospect, i have to wonder what my punk roommate Pat was thinking when i found him pawing through my Slaughter and Poison cds. Despite my bashfulness, Pat and Brooks were always inclusive of me. On our second weekend, they invited me to a show at 924 Gilman, featuring Neurosis, Plaid Retina, and a couple of other punk bands. Translated into my mindset: four bands and a venue i'd never heard of. I tagged along for the experience though, wearing a Cure t-shirt from the Wish tour the previous summer. Anyone who's been to the graffitied DIY punk warehouse that comprises Gilman can appreciate how out of place i looked. Pat and Brooks were happy to let me hang on to their coattails though. I remember Pat asking "hey, isn't that Jello Biafra over there?" Brooks responded "yeah, i think it is!" We walked over and had a five minute conversation with this older guy, most of which was greek to me as i had no idea who Jello or the Dead Kennedys were at the time.

there will always be a moon over marin

My education was just beginning, and i'm not (just) referring to linear algebra and chem 1A. Pat and Brooks quickly introduced me to a wide world of independent and underground music to which i'd previously been oblivious. My year membership to Gilman soon got further use, as i started drifting away from my more mainstream musical history. I remember going to a co-op party at Casa Zimbabwe. A group of us were standing around drinking 40's of Mickey's (another new experience), when Pat looked over at the band playing and said "hey, this is a Green Day song". About fifteen minutes later, Pat again glanced at them and amended his previous statement, again in nonchalant fashion: "oh wait, it is Green Day". This was about 8 months before the whole Dookie explosion, and i had little idea who or what Green Day was. My sister Hilary, a subsequent Green Day disciple, swore up and down i made that story up.

i am sending a message from deep in a hole
of a rudderless ship that is out of control

Punk segued into ska through bands like Culture Shock, Operation Ivy, and Citizen Fish, and before long i was tagging along to ska shows in the city. I remember skanking at my first Dance Hall Crashers gig and thinking it was the most fun i'd ever had at a show. For a week (literally, seven days and only seven days), Pat and Brooks developed an interest in techno. That weekend we went to a rave at DV8 in San Francisco. We spent the first few hours in the outside area, before they decided to close it at 3am, forcing 500 people to enter the club through one doorway. Waiting in the mob, i heard a bottle crash, looked to my left, and saw my friend Sierra falling over. Someone outside the fence had lobbed a bottle in. The club management, fearing a lawsuit, quickly rushed her inside, leaving the other 8 of us outside wondering what happened to her. After several nasty encounters with club security, we finally learned she was taken to a nearby hospital, and we spent the rest of the night in the emergency room. Maybe that was what killed techno for us.

merchandise keeps us in line

I could go on and on with stories ... random acts of vandalism, late night hikes on the fire trail behind Memorial Stadium, taking a road trip to Santa Rosa at 4am for no good reason, seeing Fugazi on lower Sproul plaza after wandering around Berkeley all night long. I'll save those for other posts. Despite all my new interests, i never felt really comfortable. My friends never made me feel unwanted, but somehow i did that to myself. I'm sure if you asked Pat or Brooks now, they'd admit that i was pretty distant. That's something i regret to this day. I know i wouldn't be in the position i'm in today had i not had these ups and downs. It's strange, when you think that the person you are is the result of a precise series of causes and effects, choices and consequences. If history had gone otherwise, the result would be different, and yet here you are. Comforting and worrying all at once.

I've seen two movies this weekend (so far). I was all set to write about the somewhat (yes, only somewhat) unsatisfying conclusion to the Matrix trilogy, Matrix Revolutions. Not great, but not totally sucky either. However, i don't think i can write any more on that topic after just watching Kill Bill, Volume 1. What a goddamn brilliant film. Just totally amazing, the way Tarantino synthesizes countless movie genres into a revenge story told at light speed.

I don't even want to say any more on KB either, for fear of lessening the experience.

Wow.

I'm sitting at work waiting for some data to process so you get to listen to me ramble. I'm trying to finish off a project from the CMIR that has been sitting unattended since i left. It's a paper that's mostly written, Vasilis and i agreed a while ago that it just needed a few more tweaks to the data analysis for it to be submittable. Hopefully the current reconstructions will address that need and let me get it out of my hair. On the subject of long-neglected papers, i'm meeting with my grad school advisor Sarah next week to discuss submitting a paper i wrote way back in 2001. It was the last project for my Ph.D. (the last chapter in my thesis), and i wrote it up to submit to a journal just before i left for Boston. Unfortunately it has sat unconsidered until recently, when the work of Sarah's group came back to that topic (magnetic resonance spectroscopic imaging of brain tumor response to fractionated radiotherapy). So hopefully in a month or so i'll have two old papers sent out.

I do a lot of dumping on Fatboy Slim, the Chemical Brothers, and the rest of the neon glowstick brigade, but every now and then some mellow, jazzy electronica is just what i need to relax. Fridge's "Drum Machines and Glockenspiels" from the 2001 album Happiness is playing on my iTunes now, and i can't begin to describe how it has calmed me in the last four and a half minutes. Fridge may straddle the border between indie, experimental, post punk, and electronica, but this song in particular has got me thinking more James Hardway than Mogwai. Lately i've picked up quite a few nifty electronica tidbits, including Aphex Twin, Photek, Mocean Worker, Four Tet, Boards of Canada, Squarepusher, and Wax Doctor. Gotsta give props to Rob for informing me exactly which genre of beeps i'm actually into.

Veronica set off for Iowa this morning, her grandmother in tow, to see her mom's Ph.D. graduation from Iowa State. So i've got a weekend to myself ... well, me and the dog. I'm hoping to set up the tux rental for the wedding and get the layout of the invitations set. And get in some time with Hitman: Contracts.

As Naomi correctly pointed out, last night's episode of Extreme Makeovers did indeed focus on a woman who underwent a psychologic transformation by [ABC resident dickhead] Dr. Phil. I still think however that the show itself needs to deal with psychology directly. And how about that second woman who got a makeover, the one with the broken front teeth? Call me horrible, but ... EGAD!

I suppose it wasn't a good sign when the first song my iTunes played this morning was "Choke" by the Cardigans.

Our European dream is over (for this season, at least) ... i'm proud of the team though and look forward to building on our achievements next year.

This is it ... one match with a brilliant result needed to continue our European dream. My favored squad is shown at right, notably omitting Seba who has been a dead weight in our last few matches, ever since he returned from his long layoff after back surgery. Joe Cole and Frank Lampard are in form, and Scott Parker has been promising enough to take over for the suspended Claude Makelele. Jesper Gronkjaer has been inconsistent, but when he's on he's wreaked havoc in opposing defenses. Fortunately, our first choice defense is available, including the newly fit Carlo Cudicini and Glen Johnson. This squad can do it. No doubt in my mind. Go you blues!

Cudicini Johnson Terry Gallas Bridge Parker Cole Gronkjaer Lampard Crespo Hasselbaink

Have you noticed how Bush's responses to public questions are increasingly littered with meaningless slogans and propaganda and increasingly void of any real answers? I didn't think about this until hearing David Cross's jokes about Bush's canned response "the terrorists hate our freedom", but it's really stunning.

I came to the conclusion last night that there are only two things in this world that are "Grecian": urns and formula.

Finished the single player mode of Splinter Cell: Pandora Tomorrow over the weekend. The last few levels dragged a bit, and it definitely suffered from being simply an extension of the original rather than a true sequel, but all in all it was a very nice gaming experience. My opinion of it might jump should i decide to get on Xbox Live. To keep me occupied i picked up Hitman: Contracts at Best Buy. Gave it a whirl last night ... very tough. The controls aren't as silky smooth as SC, but the gameplay is much more open and allows for dozens of different ways to solve a level.

Oh wonderful ... they (yes, they) are remaking the fantastic Japanese film Shall We Dance?, inserting Richard Gere as the introverted businessman who takes up dancing and ... gulp ... JLo as the dance instructor who inspires him. My crap siren is wailing.

Spider Man 2 on the other hand looks quite good. Bad taste in mouth receding ...

No need to mention that tomorrow is the pivotal second leg of Chelsea's Champions League semifinal with Monaco. Or that i'm nervous as hell. We can advance with a 2-nil win (on away goals), or a win by 3 or more goals (on goal difference). Unfortunately Damien Duff has dislocated his shoulder again and is going under the knife, ruling him out of the contest. It's up to Lampard, Terry, and co. to pull off a stunning victory. Go you blues. Not so much confidence behind that support, but i'll hold out for a miracle until the end.