From far away i thought these were hills. It actually took me awhile to figure out what it was.

I've been listening to my iPod again as i walk around the city and take the train and i almost miss actually hearing what the crazies are rambling on about. Almost.

I head up to the express DMV office to get a new license and when i get there there's quite a line, even though i waited until after the lunch rush. I guess the secret's out. The line moves quickly, though, and i get to a clerk in no time at all -- i haven't even read a page of Ender's Game -- and the woman tells me i need a credit card with my signature on the back, but all of mine read, "Ask for ID, please," so i throw everything else i can at her -- my student ID, my library card -- and as i'm getting out my gym ID, she looks at what i've written on the back and says, "I guess this could be considered a signature," and she doesn't even ask me for a piece of mail with my address on it, which is a good thing, 'cause all i have is a padded envelope that a CD from Swaptree came in.

(Never end a sentence with a preposition at.)

I think back to the last time i was at this office, maybe a year ago, and i ran into Matt, this guy who used to live with Jo the Rock 'n' Roll Nanny. Matt's a really good-looking guy, but he's such a sad sack. Admittedly, his tragic demeanor kinda adds to his bad-boy appeal. He's a struggling actor, so that might account for his depression. I remember him saying that he had another meeting with his agent, maybe for a commercial, and the agent's always getting on him, asking, Would it kill you to SMILE once in awhile?

We waited for our licenses to get printed up, and Matt was all, "Look at mine -- of course i look so sad. I'm sure yours is great...yep, look at that smile. You look happy as always." The dude reminds me of Eeyore. Does that make me Pooh? Or Tigger?

On the way back to the office, i see a poster of Obama outside of the library and someone has drawn a star on his forehead and a dick in his mouth, which makes me laugh out loud. Inside the 'brary is a box where you can recycle your American flags, and that seems odd to me, so i peek inside of it, and sure enough, people are just using it as a garbage can. Now ain't that America.

Duke and i were supposed to go see Slumdog Millionaire this evening, but he's all tuckered out, and when you get an email like this: "i have been busy in the kitchen. i made mexican rice pudding, chicken soup and andouille/shrimp sausage pot pies," you kinda sorta have to forgive the guy.

Oh, and don't feel bad, Dante. Just 'cause no one commented on the blog about you doesn't mean they don't like you. That's just how people are -- it's not nice to curse them to eternal torment in the lake of fire in Hell.

Over the weekend, i heard Regina Spektor's "Fidelty" playing in David Jacob's room, and today the delightful ex-carnie Morgana le Fay sent me this vid. D.J.'s always at least a day ahead of me, so i'm sure it's what he was watching.

Truly, it'll break your heart.

Graffiti at Ocean Beach.

As i'm putting away my CTA card this morning, i realize that my driver's license isn't in my wallet, and i really can't think where i would have lost it, since i didn't get carded at either of the two bars we went to this weekend, and i'm pretty sure i need to have an official ID to get into the Federal Building, where i have to attend a hearing tomorrow because the city is fining my condo building for certain infractions, a violation that was actually instigated by someone who lives in our building, my sad, whorish, S&M-fetishist toupee-wearing nemesissy, and i can't help but wonder if losing one's ID is a metaphor for losing one's identity, and when i call Duke, he tells me that he left his keys at home and he's locked out and he had to poop at McDonald's up the street and now he has to come all the way down to the South Loop to my office to make copies of my keys, and Jeff at the coffeeshop told us that he's not going to go out until it's warm out, so i tell him, "See you in mid-May, then," and the woman who works behind me is on the phone with some annoying automated system and she keeps saying, "English.........ENGLISH.......NO!" getting louder and louder as she gets more and more frustrated.

P.S. My poop this morning was about an inch longer than a cigar, and about that thick.

Rugby players. British accents. And lots of ballsacs.

PLAY BALL!

thanks to the Hat for sending on his dream job. Anatomicsd said that he's done this sort of thing before, the lucky bastard.

Let's say you had to stalk......i mean "observe" teenagers in their natural environment for an hour.

Where in Chicago would you recommend? I was thinking Dennis' Arcade on Belmont Avenue, but i'm pretty sure it went out of business. Gimme suggestions, peeps!

If you must know, his full name is Al Dante, but he's embarrassed by that -- i mean, really, what kind of name is Al for a demon from hell? -- and would appreciate it if you just called him Dante, thankyouverymuch.

I had these fun stripey socks with a sword-pierced skull on them, and one of my toes poked out at Christmas, so my dad made a noble attempt at darning it. But after a couple more wears, the hole returned -- and that very same day the other sock died, too.

Well, you can imagine my excitement. I simply can't wait for my socks to die nowadays. Spare body parts! If that's not Providence, i don't know what is.

So i took this sign from God and made a demon. I had checked out a book from the library called Stupid Sock Creatures -- could there be a more appropriate title for my and Duke's latest fad?

I decided i wanted to try a four-legged critter, and the coloring obviously made me want to create a demon.

The author isn't as crystal-clear, step-by-step as the Web Goddess site i found for sock monkeys, so it took me some time to figure out how it all fit together, especially those legs. The creature in the book had these big round ears, but i wanted to make horns instead, and i elongated the body parts. Dante doesn't stand up so well (now i know why the guy recommends making stumpy legs), and i have to tilt his enourmous head over to one side to get him to balance just right. I made his eyes out of silver buttons and threw on a couple of yellow fangs. I couldn't make heads nor tails of how to make lips (the ones in the book look delightfully vaginal), so i just crumpled some inside-out sock part and sewed that on.

In the end, i think he turned out marvelously. I brought him to work, where he scared our office doggie, sara (she blogs on twitter now and then, under the handle "tremblingdoggie"), and River, who's married to a preacherman, said, "I've certainly never heard or read about a nice, goofy demon."

"Well, now you have!" i told her. Methinks River prefers Argmore Goyle, the sock monkey. Less blasphemous i suppose.

Just look at that nimbus, though. He's downright heavenly.

And, yes, that's a noose around his neck. Dante keeps trying to kill himself so he can go back to the flaming pits of hell. Thing is -- he's an immortal hellcat demon and can't die, the poor dear. Looks like he's stuck here for awhile.

Together they would travel,
On a boat with billowed sail.
Wally kept a lookout perched on Dante's gigantic tail.

Noble kings and princes
Would bow whene'er they came.
Pirate ships would lower their flags
When Dante roared out his name!

Dukes at the entrance to Ocean Beach.

A sneak peek at my latest sock critter creation. Just call me Dr. Frankenwally.

This one's a demon named Dante. Quin took this pic while dining on scrumptious food at Ethiopian Diamond with Duke and i. I had been there once before for a David Eggers party, but i didn't eat and i didn't get to talk to him. I'm a huge fan of Ethiopian cuisine, and i love that magic spongy bread that sucks up anything you put in it. Who needs forks?

We usually order one chicken dish and the rest veggie. And i can't help it, but i always love the chicken dish mostest of all.

Poor Dante, though. I thought he might like a sip of Ethiopian beer, but he spit it right out and said that it burned like holy water.

Then i remembered the beer was called St. George. Ooops.

More pix of my adorably goofy demonspawn soon.