Doctors and mothers agree that excessive dosages of weak sarcasm and empty cynicism
drive the body into further ill-repair and damage. I have been gifted handsomely with both.
My portrait... 
This is what I used to look like back when I was a geeky retired prog-rocker.
This is where I explain my existence in 200 words or less.
I'm Josh Buermann. I work at the ARTFL program
and the Chapin Hall Center for Children
at the U of Chicago. I helped build the Digital South Asia Library,
and am now mucking about with NYC's foster care system.
I'm in stasis at Northwestern University where
I studied integrated science and the
english major in poetry.
Graduation has potentially come under consideration,
but presently we are opting to scrutinize the potentiality of the project's immanentization
in light of certain offices having a death grip on their wallets.
I do neat stuff with
perl in my spare time. Perl is like duct-tape,
only in more of a swiss-army knife sort of way. My spare time presently consists - when I'm not
just fucking, dicking, or otherwise wagging my genetalial around in the streets -
of pretending to design and code the Kronecker Delta;
a writing workshop associated with the performance group I'm active with, the
Ides, a non-profit arts association,
and I also maintain this guy's website.
Sometimes I bitch about politics.
It's only true if it's in the past tense.
Rantrantrantrantrantrantrantrantrantrant
I am a dull person. I spend the majority of my time doing totally uninteresting,
unexciting, unuseful things. My parents kicked me out of the house when I was 18 because I was
so dull, and sent me to Northwestern University, which is where they put dull people. (see Brian P.)
This school is a small despot surrounded by an unfriendly puritan-facist community cream-filled with
dry, dun colored individuals whose total lack of anything noteworthy makes them stick out like
sore thumbs in bad weather against the beat inclinated jazz capital Chicago. They've stopped
Northwestern students up with a suburb just to keep their drab tentacles off of the rest of
the city. We're bad for tourism, it had to be done.
So I fit right in. Isn't life happy.
In my spare time I play a lot of guitar. While there are better productive things to
do... well, fuck them. I'm a writer of some sort, a statement which - by the power and wisdom
vested in a homeless bag lady on the Metro platform on a particular day in a particular month -
means I'm a poet. We
won't go into the details. I've got some shit here, which you could read or something: poetry and some prose
crapola. Both are essentially just wastes of time iteratively, but you know, you've
got to have hobbies.
Hi Dave. I remember that time, in fact I still
have pictures, in the lake, you held the plastic raft paddle's yellow flat
end high, poising with all the elegance of a large bloated frog. I like
frogs Dave. And that time I laughed
at your balloon head in the 6th grade and popped it. You cried and we've been
the best of friends ever since, and in the eigth grade, when Susy Dodd ripped
your tongue out like a straw, boy did we roll about that when we got home.
Like two noodles in a baloney sandwhich. With mayo.
Read my resume. Give me a job.
Visit Zorbonzo's
Page ! Be amazed by the inanity!!! Be as unsure of why this is here as I am!!! Have another exclamation point!
Contact: buermann[at]isp[d0t]nwu[dOt]edu. Enjoy the verticality.
