Tues | Mar 18 I am going to tell you to do something now, so get that stupid look off your face. Okay. Go to your computation box and sign on to der Interweb, divulging all personal information as quickly as possible and without so much as a question. Okay, now, go to der YouTube and in the search box type “Stanley Steemer Toby’s New Trick.” Go ahead. Hit play and watch. Go ahead, I’ll wait . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . You’re welcome.

Wed | Mar 19 I’m in Chicago because, you know, I couldn’t get a direct flight to the polar ice cap, and it’s cooooold. Real cold. I don’t care what Dave Wielenga’s girlfriend says, this is the kind of cold that makes the stuff that is normally on the outside of my body curl up and demand to be let in on the inside. So, yeah, I’m cold as I’m walking Michigan Avenue’s Magnificent Mile shopping district, enjoying the shops and the very kind Chicagoans who are as bundled up and resilient as New Yorkers (but with far less of the crazy and stabbiness). Soon enough I hear a commotion coming down the street—and what do you know, but it’s an anti-war demonstration. Terrific, I think. Until the demonstrators get down to where I am and I hear them chanting this: “While you’re shopping, bombs are dropping! While you’re shopping, bombs are dropping!” Okay, see, here’s the problem with that. First, everyone already agrees with you: most people want the kids to come home and the war to be over. So why do you want to insult those who agree with you? Could it be that you’re not so much against the war as into feeling very good and superior about yourself, what the ancient Potawatomis who once inhabited this region called “They who are just a tremendous douche bag.” Next, people shop. That’s what they do. They do this everywhere. You know who else shops, holier-than-thou douche? You do. Or did that North Face cold weather gear and wool overcoat just fall off a satisfied truck? So, you know, just get over yourselves. We’re all against the war and we need to stick together and make this about peace and sanity and not about who’s anti-er than whom. And that goes for you, guy painted like gruesome corpse dude. He was actually pretty nice.

Thurs | Mar 20 Is it just me, or have there been a lot of “Whitey” references in The District lately? I do declare, I can’t remember seeing this many Whitey references since we let Gil Scott-Heron guest edit the paper. Now, one of the stories I’m referring to is Theo Douglas’s piece about the death and memorial service of Long Beach legend Bryan “Whitey” Littlefield. Whitey’s nickname got me and Wielenga singing “Whitey’s On the Moon,” a great song done by Heron in 1970 all about African-American frustration with white folks who would rather go the moon than solve real problems at home. Here’s a sample:

A rat done bit my sister Nell/With Whitey on the moon/Her face and arms began to swell/And Whitey’s on the moon/I can’t pay no doctor bill/But Whitey’s on the moon/Ten years from now I’ll be payin’ still/With Whitey on the moon.

That Gil Scott-Heron’s a genius. Only, he’s not. Well, he is, just not for this. Turns out “Whitey” wasn’t written by Gil but was first written and recorded in 1969 by The Last Poets. So, you know, there ya go.

Fri | Mar 21 Still in Chicago, still cold, snow is flying sideways, can’t think, want to cry but am fearful added moisture will cause my eyes to break off from their stalks. I walk past two Greenpeace folks doing some good work as they hold folders warning that global warming is coming and all I can think is “Not soon enough,” because I’m hilarious that way. Finally I retreat to a coffee shop across the street from a park where they’re putting together another anti-war protest—because if there are two things Chicagoans love, it’s peaceful solutions and Dunkin’ Donuts. All of a sudden I hear this woman squeal, “Oh, look! A mime! A mime! Is Cirque du Soliel in town?” The mime was corpse guy. Keep spreadin’ the love, fella!

Sat | Mar 22 Warm.

Sun | Mar 23 Happy Easter, on this day when Christians everywhere celebrate Jesus rising from the dead and then sticking around for 40 uncomfortable “I-dunno, you-ask him-when-he’s-going-to-be-leaving” days. So, it’s a great day, a beautiful day, a waaaaarm day and I just want to say bring the troops home and we are so blessed. Thank you, Zombie Jesus. Thank you for rising from the dead and stalking the earth and probably being a ninja.

Mon | Mar 23 If I don’t say it enough, I love you Long Beach. So, you know, there ya go.