bruit

Halloween...

...when strict constructionists are called to thrones to do the bidding of their callous, homogenous lords.

Be afraid.

Liver of Life
Chinese medicine; Local Infinities' Corpus Delicti

I started accupuncture a little over a month ago to deal with some stressy back troubles I have had for years. The diagnosis process is an unusual experience, involving questions about thirst, sleep patterns and phlegm, an intimate reading of the pulse and a lengthy appraisal of the tongue.

Independant diagnosis by three separate interns at the Pacific College of Oriental Medicine has determined that I suffer from stagnant liver qi (pronounced "chi"). The liver, large and undersung, controls the emotions in Chinese medicine. If its energy is not circulating properly, anxieties and depressions can result--and, presumably, be stored beneath the scapula. This seems to make some intuitive sense: The liver is a gigantic processing center, breaking down toxins and facilitating digestion, filtering worn-out cells, helping us deal. It is also the only organ that can regenerate itself.

Tonight, I was in the audience when a man dissecting a life-sized gelatin corpse pulled out the "liver" and annouced that the ancients also thought it ruled the affect. Corpus Delicti is a weird, wordy play about the knowledge of human anatomy, performed in an actual operating theater. The show freaked me out a little and made me laugh more than once, and the corpse is really cool.It has been enjoying nothing but positive reviews from the snarky Chicago arts press, and for good reason. If you'd like to see it, you're in luck; They've extended the run for another weekend. Learn more here.

Power Drunk


Once again, the cover-up proves worse than the problem. Chasing demons, I went one beer over the line last night and had to be publicly revived in the doorway of Wicker Park's only decent place for thin-crust pizza. As public shame goes, it was minor-league. While I fell over in front of a lot of sports bar patrons, at least I did not lie about my personal, taxpayer-funded vendetta against a whistleblower who everyone was ignoring anyway.

We all have our excesses.

In the cab home, I thought about the vicious moment when the situation controls you, when the world dissolves into so many voices and you simply cede agency, knowing the dark impulses you have stupidly indulged will bring about their own conclusion and there's nothing you can do about it. Scooter and I, the immature and well protected, may not feel the consequenses fully enough. No doubt someone is rubbing ice in I. Lewis Libby's face right now, telling him things will be fine if he just leans up against a wall and keeps his mouth shut.

Read more on Plamegate here. Revive your passed out friend by rubbing ice in his or her face.

White Sox Win World Series

Perhaps there is some hope for the forces of good. As the snowy-haired matriarch of the Bush Dynasty looked on (watch for Jeb in 2012) the Sox shut the Astros down with anticlimactic endurance in Game 4. I don’t think I have ever watched a series with as much enthusiasm, even though the Red Sox were my adopted hometown underdogs last year and Yankees suck. Maybe because this team oozed the kind of aw-shucks decency and brotherly love that I thought only existed on TBS Family.


Today's Wish:

For the spirit of Ozzie Guillen to inhabit a teddy bear that chews gum and manages my life.