I like bartenders who drink, otherwise it feels like I'm being poisoned

I have a job interview next Wednesday, unless something changes, which wouldn't surprise me. I got the call last week, on the 23rd, while wrapping presents, from the very same company which had called me a month ago with promises of an interview the next week. So either they've interviewed 14 million applicants already and haven't found 'the one' yet, or this is a job which is permanently open. I don't know. So, anyway, I'm supposed to call Monday to confirm and get details, and then Wednesday's the big show. I'm still not 100% sure what the job entails, but I do know the following: I'd get paid well, I'd work in a tall building that I can see from my apartment on a clear day, and the commute would be great: walk block to train, take train downtown, walk another block.

I'm a bit nervous about the interview, and it's kept me up at night lately. I haven't had much experience on that front, and sometimes I suspect that I'm somewhat lacking in such valuable interview skills as "charisma", "confidence", "the ability to speak English", and "personal hygiene."

Aside from that, Christmas was good, got to see family and friends and got lots of gifts, including 7 books, 2 DVDs, 2 pair of pants, Scrabble, and a vacuum cleaner. The vacuum cleaner is something I asked for myself, which I think shows a level of maturity I never thought possible. It's designed to replace our old one with the fraying cord, lack of mobility, and a noise so ferocious that it sends M scurrying on top of the furniture like a house cat. I was promised a new vacuum cleaner would bring us closer to chore parity, but still remain skeptical.

Scrabble has already caused problems of its own; last night our first ever game ended abruptly when the person who was losing by 115 points quit and complained that it was unfair to play when she was post-call, and that if we played another time the other person (who was at that time not only dominating but also holding both blank tiles and ready to drop an 8 letter word) would get his illiterate ass handed to him. I'm not going to say who was who, that wouldn't be fair.

Tomorrow is New Year's Eve, and for the first time in ten years or so I won't be at a party of any sort. It's rather sad. To make matters more depressing, M is on call that night, which also happens to be her 26th birthday, so for the the 26th time in 26 New Year's Eves I won't be kissing at midnight. I'm sure that's the saddest thing you have ever heard in your entire life.

Best of 2004 CD Liner Notes

Every year, for the past four years, I make a year-end compilation CD to give to friends and whoever else wants one. Since I've had a lot of time on my hands lately, this year I wrote a rambling essay of considerable length to include with the disc. If you are a friend or acquaintance of mine and would like a CD of your own, email me with your current address and it's yours. Here are the liner notes, plus a closing paragraph that I didn't have room for:


The Black Keys – ’10 a.m. Automatic’ – Rubber Factory
A.C. Newman – ‘On the Table’ – The Slow Wonder
Madvillain – ‘ALL CAPS’ – Madvillainy
Sonic Youth – ‘Unmade Bed’ – Sonic Nurse
Ted Leo and the Pharmacists – ‘Me and Mia’ – Shake the Sheets
The Fiery Furnaces – ‘Evergreen’ – Single Again 7”
The Libertines – ‘Can’t Stand Me Now’ – The Libertines
Loretta Lynn – ‘Portland, Oregon’ – Van Lear Rose
The Von Bondies – ‘C’mon C’mon’ – Pawn Shoppe Heart
Mirah – ‘Jerusalem’ – C’mon Miracle
Joanna Newsom – ‘Bridges and Balloons’ – The Milk-Eyed Mender
Franz Ferdinand – ‘Take Me Out’ – Franz Ferdinand
Belle & Sebastian – ‘Your Cover’s Blown’ – Books EP
Annie – ‘Heartbeat’ – Anniemal
Madvillain – ‘Fancy Clown’ – Madvillainy
Madvillain – ‘Accordion’ – Madvillainy
Rogue Wave – ‘Every Moment’ – Out of the Shadow
TV on the Radio – ‘Staring at the Sun’ – Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes
Modest Mouse – ‘Float On’ – Good News for People who Love Bad News
Saturday Looks Good to Me – ‘Since You Stole My Heart’ – Every Night

So, what do we have here? We have lots of albums by fantastic bands that didn’t quite live up to expectations (The Streets, Mirah, Von Bondies, Interpol, Bjork), we have several good albums without any real stand-out tracks (Fiery Furnaces, Arcade Fire, SLGTM, Madvillain, Streets and Mirah again) and too many broken promises of albums that were supposed to be released this year but have been delayed ‘til 2005 (Beck, Spoon, Built to Spill, Sleater-Kinney). This year I also purchased the fewest number of new CDs ever, and spent less time listening than usual. But, despite all that, I think this year’s line-up turned out OK. For the first time, every single piece of music was released in 2004, there were no stragglers to fill out the running time. So, the mistakes I made last year, by forgetting The Shins, The Darkness, and the Postal Service, are something I’ll have to live with. As I write this, the final track order hasn’t been finalized, but certain differences from last year are pretty obvious. First off, I apologize a trillion times for putting ‘Hey Ya’ on there, and ‘In Da Club’ as well. Everyone had heard those songs too many times already, and I grew completely sick of them about 5 minutes after it was too late. So no obvious ‘hits’ this year, unless you count Franz Ferdinand or Modest Mouse (they were on SNL after all), but I’m not sure if you can. Also, it seems like last year I had about a dozen bands with only guitar/drums instrumentation, and this year there’s only one. I ended up with a weird mix: a track by a harpist, a track with a 70-year-old country singer, only one song over four minutes long, two non-album b-sides, two songs used in car commercials, three songs with what sounds like an obvious disco influence, three songs by one group, and I think the second half is better than the first.

So now I need to talk about the “rap” music. For the most part, I don’t have a lot of respect for most rappers, especially the popular ones. With a few exceptions, most popular rap songs are popular not because of rapper’s amazing skills on the mic (about getting money, bitches, or popping a cap or whatever), but because of some good beats or sample or guest vocalist’s chorus. ‘In Da Club’ was a hit because of the music, not the words. There seems to be a rotating cast of superstar producers behind any hit song: Dr Dre, the Neptunes, Timbaland, Lil’ Jon, and Kanye West. Even underground rap producers, or ones that only work with specific artists, seem to get more recognition than the actual rapper, like Prince Paul, Automator, or the Bomb Squad. And this is fine, all of these people are very talented. Then you have the Puff Daddy’s of the world who aren’t creative enough for a hook of their own, so they just steal an old pop song to be catchy. Puff Daddy, or whatever he goes by these days, is a rapper so bad that he only appears good when standing next to Mase. So, once you get by the many shortcuts taken in the form, all basically designed to take all pressure off of the actual ‘rapper,’ you have the problem of the ‘rap album.’ These include stuffing the album’s running time (which usually is stuffed like a sausage to over 70 minutes) with intros, outros, reprises, and comedy skits. The actual songs on the record are usually chock full of guest appearances, so that any potential singles are performed by Rapper X featuring Rapper Y, Rapper Z, and Female Singer A.

That said, I must admit that I don’t listen to a ton of rap, mostly because the good stuff is so hard to find. I typically check something out if it’s gotten great reviews, but right now on my shelf I have less than ten rap CD’s, not including ‘instrumental’ hip-hop. As a general rule, rap music is harder to get into because it’s harder for me to sing along in the car. Granted, 50 Cent is pretty easy, or Eminem maybe, but Outkast go about a mile a minute, which is why it took me a very long time to get into ‘Stankonia,’ which despite its bloated running time and annoying skits, is quite a good exception to the rule.

When I’m looking for new CD’s to buy, I typically look for indie rock, with rap joining country, jazz, electronic, folk, and blues on the fringes of my radar. Which makes all the more surprising that this year I’ve picked a rap album as the best album of the year. In fact, it wasn’t even close, really. I couldn’t even tell you who was number 2. Granted, the year wasn’t particularly strong, as I mentioned, but still, Madvillain’s “Madvillainy” was by far the best album, and the one I’ve listened to most. So how could this happen? Well, unlike most rap albums, this one is only 46 minutes long, and there are 22 songs, a combination more common in punk rock. Throw out the r ‘n b choruses, exchange the ‘comedy’ skits for cut-ups of old superhero radio shows, and create beats made mostly of old jazz records and 1950s lounge music. There are a few guests, but about half of these are the alternate personas of the two group members: Madlib, who takes care of most of the beats, and the fantastic MF Doom, a rapper who wears a metal mask over his face. The songs average about two minutes apiece, and there’s no fat left to trim. It’s very lo-fi, sounds like nothing you’d hear on the radio or in the club, gets better with every listen, and even warranted a multi-page write up in The New Yorker. It’s that kind of rap. There are no ‘singles,’ or highs or lows, and I spent most of the last month trying to pick the best song, one that could justify my ramblings and best represent the feel of the album. I failed miserably; I ended up with three. This probably spells disaster, but you’ll have to accept it.

To lead off I had to go with a killer, something that gave the listener the comforting feeling of putting the next 65 minutes of their lives in my hands, and preferably something that rocks and hasn’t been used in a car commercial. The Black Keys are a blued-influenced Midwestern guitar/drums duo who record their albums in a single day (stop me if you heard this one before); “10 a.m. Automatic” is a song that rocks for a couple minutes, and then just when you think it maybe is a good time for the song to be over, a second guitar part kicks in, and while at first you think your stereo or car engine may be falling apart, you never want it to end. They’ve released three albums in as many years, all of which are raw and contain an element of ‘blackness’ that sets the group apart from other blues-rock acts. A.C. Newman follows, he’s best known as most of the creative force behind the New Pornographers (as Carl Newman), his first solo effort is a bit more low-key and maybe eight percent less catchy. Then we have the first Madvillain track, ‘All Caps,’ which also has the best music video I’ve seen all year. Check it out online if you want, it’s particularly sweet if you are a comic book fan.

Then we have Sonic Youth, who this year released their millionth album. Though they’ll never make a jaw-dropping masterpiece again (go back to ’88), they’ve been remarkably consistent, especially in the last few years since they added fifth member Jim O’Rourke. Granted, they still use the same melody for the vocals and music, but they’ve got a nice formula in full effect here of starting off softly, then halfway through brutally deconstructing the melody, then returning to earth for the end of the song. Ted Leo follows, his band has been reduced since last year to a trio, and still is writing catchy vaguely-political pop songs and singing them as if his life depended on it.

The Fiery Furnaces released “Blueberry Boat” this year, a very challenging 76-minute album of 10 minute multi-part epic songs. I liked it, but there’s nothing catchy enough to warrant inclusion here, especially for the length. So I choose ‘Evergreen,’ a b-side on a non-album single (like The Beatles used to do!) which came out at the beginning of the year. It’s not a very good representation of their sound, and certainly not of their last album, but it’s a good song. The Libertines follow, a band from the UK whose singer I believe is in a constant flux of heroin/rehab. Joe Strummer produced this album before he died, and there’s a pretty obvious Clash influence present. Then we have Loretta Lynn, who is incredibly old and whose album I wouldn’t have noticed if Jack White hadn’t produced and played on it. He sings a little on the song I included, which could have had a shorter intro but still seems like it belongs here.
Then we segue into The Von Bondies, whose singer was beat up by Jack White last winter (brilliant, huh?). This is one of the car commercial songs, but I heard it long before. Their current album pales in comparison to their first, more unpolished effort (a song from which was included on ‘2002’), but this is undeniably a good single. I slow things down a notch for Mirah, who is another artist who’s made better albums in the past (2002’s Advisory Committee is a complete masterpiece). She seems to go between quiet, singer/songwriter type pieces and loud songs with crazy kitchen-sink production, which usually are the ones I like the best, but were lacking on “C’mon Miracle.” I continue on the quiet vibe with Joanna Newsom, whose voice sounds like a cross between a crazy 60-year-old lady asking for change, a six-year-old girl, and some sort of flying pixie-like creature. And she’s playing the goddamn harp. It took me awhile to get into this album, it’s not exactly what I’d describe as my usual cup of tea, but after a while it struck me as brilliant.

Next we have the ‘disco’ section, beginning with the ubiquitous Franz Ferdinand. I’m sure everyone’s heard this song already, they use part of it for background music during Monday Night Football sometimes. Belle & Sebastian follow, the track ‘Your Cover’s Blown’ is another b-side, from the ‘Books’ EP. This song is very very very un-B&S, so if you never heard them before, this is the worst possible introduction. But I liked this song immensely from the start; despite the long running time it’s very catchy, and has a ringing phone sound at the beginning that fooled me about a dozen times into thinking my phone was ringing, and that was enough to warrant inclusion here. This is followed by Annie’s ‘Heartbeat,’ which is shockingly mainstream-sounding disco-pop. Surely you’re wondering how I could include such a song, even if is extremely catchy after a few listens? Well, one of my dearest friends and longtime listeners is a HUGE Kylie Minogue fan, so I figured he’d love it.

We go back to Madvillain again now, ‘Fancy Clown’ is interesting because here MF Doom is rapping under one of his aliases, Viktor Vaughn, and he’s rapping about how his girl left him for, well, MF Doom. The second verse is hilarious. ‘Accordion’ is the final Madvillain song, a very unique sounding sample, but the key is the bass keyboard part buried underneath. I know this violates sacred rules about not putting two tracks by the same artist consecutively, but I was trying to capture the scattered feel of the album by putting two tracks next to each other. Plus both are short, so think of it as one normal-length song. Rogue Wave is a pop band a bit reminiscent of the Shins with more keyboards, their debut album was good if not a little spotty, but definitely worth keeping an eye on for the future.

TV on the Radio I first saw live in late 2003, they played at the Union South cafeteria in Madison. I will never forget that when the band was setting up their instruments, one of the guitar players rushed in holding a loaf of bread and some lunchmeat, and all of the members, who apparently hadn’t eaten for awhile, leapt upon it like hyenas. After this initial display, the singer, Tunde Adebimpe, asked if anyone in the small audience would like a sandwich. Fantastic. This is from another debut album, their sound is very vocally driven; I’ve heard it described as ‘Urban Barbershop.’ I can count three genius musicians in the band, so I’m looking forward to great things. Then we have the new pop heroes Modest Mouse. I’ll admit I went through a very brief ‘I liked this band six years ago; I’m better than everyone else’ phase when ‘Float On’ first hit the charts, but I’m still happy for their success. I didn’t like this album as much as their others (the last half is too much of an obstacle), but it does contain some of the best songs they’ve ever recorded. Finally, we close where we began last year, with Saturday Looks Good to Me. SLGTM is an interesting band because there is only one true member who writes, produces, arranges, and records all the songs, a Mr. Fred Thomas (a very friendly man that I had the privilege of meeting after a show last year). But on each of the band’s records, there’s between 20-40 guests, who play instruments and sing. I’ve seen them twice live, once with 7 other musicians, the other time as just a trio. Fred sings less than half the time, and he’s had the most success with guest female vocalists. The songs seem like they are from an alternative version of the 1960s in which the music was really as great as your parents thought it was. This was another album from which it was difficult to choose one song from, it is remarkably consistent and full of good ideas.

Some of the songs included aren't from terrific albums; there were records released that were great but didn't have that one surefire song. As usual there are some weird surprises and old standbys, as usual I'm sure I missed something golden. The point is to keep listening for your new favorite songs. Maybe you'll find one here.

Summer at Christmas

Sorry no substantial updates lately, today I'm working on notes for my Best of 2004 CD and will finish Xmas shopping later. Weekend was OK, yesterday I saw a huge chunk of the city I never knew existed. Going to Milwaukee Thursday night and alone to C-ville on Friday, should be fun.

In the meantime, I feel guilty about not updating my blog, so here is a slightly edited but still completely true story I wrote a year ago. Spring of 2003 I took a solo road trip, mostly sleeping in my car on the way to New Orleans, and I started writing about what happened in a very grammatically poor style. Here is an excerpt, from Day 4:


4. On the Rocks

Saturday morning I have to be out of my hotel by noon, and I am, with ten minutes to spare. My car has been sitting in the hot sun all morning, and feels like an oven. Like an oven that’s been sitting in the hot sun. I’m afraid to breathe the air. I have decided to go southeast to Galveston, on the gulf coast. I can’t wait to see the ocean. I drive on a small two-lane highway. Texas doesn’t look like I thought it would here, it’s all light green grass and slight hills, scattered trees. I suppose I’d have to go further south or west to see what had been in my imagination: dusty trails, adobe, the bones of a steer, still laid out in perfect formation, like in cartoons. After a couple hours I meet back up with the interstate (I-10), and head towards Houston. Since I’ve been in Texas I’ve noticed that every single vehicle I see has a Texas license plate. I know the state is large, and I’m deep inside its borders, but by this point I’m starting to become a little worried. I’m sure all of these people have guns. Houston, I’ve heard, is the most polluted city in the United States, so I’m reluctant to roll my window down at all as I enter its limits, despite the fact that is has to be close to 90 degrees, and the traffic is crawling along. I see distant buildings and endless interstate highway, but not much of a feel for a city. No desire to stop yet, either, I want to run on the beach and dive into the cool water as soon as I can. Last night’s sleep makes driving easier than it has in days; I’m awake and my body has lost its stiffness. It feels like day one again. Because of this, I don’t mind the standstill traffic I encounter, or the fact that my car has no air conditioning. Besides, today is going to be a short day of driving, just over two hundred miles. I don’t make any stops (I got gas right before Austin, and none of the food in my trunk looked appealing) until right before Galveston on I-45, now going south, I stop at a tourist info place and get a handful of maps and brochures. The nice old lady encourages me to try a number of fancy restaurants and hotels, tourist attractions, and I don’t bother explaining to her that I’m not a tourist, I even sign her guestbook. I find out that the city is one long beach, with free parking. I thank her for her help and leave. I drive to the island while studying the map. There are a few palm trees, and the interstate runs directly into the ocean. It feels like I’m at the end of something, I can’t go any further, after around 1700 miles I’ve finally come to a dead end. I turn left on Seawall Boulevard and cruise the length of the town along the beach. It’s Saturday afternoon and crowded. I need to eat something, I haven’t yet today, plus I need to buy a long beach towel to lie down on, I don’t even own one. Near the east end of the island I turn left again, head into the downtown, park at a meter and walk around. The downtown in this city, like most, caters to out-of-towners, everything is a bit too expensive and unauthentic. But there are relatively no cars, and a lot of girls around, so I can’t complain. I find a small little outdoor café, order a grilled tuna sandwich (which is fantastic) and a Shiner Bock, eat outside at a table near a rather impressive manmade waterfall fountain, listening to some guy playing guitar and his wife singing back-up, they cover the Beatles and Van Morrison and are horrible, I’m one of only three tables occupied, and one of those are friends of the singing couple. And they have a giant tip jar, a gallon pail, hanging in such a manner that you actually have to duck under it in order to walk down the narrow pathway back to the street. I still have a substantial amount of the one hundred and twenty dollars I took out of an ATM in Madison, I’ve been paying for gas with my check card, but have no desire to give these kind folks anything, simply want to leave without feeling guilty. I get up and push in my chair, and, oh Christ the dude is smiling at me as he’s singing, that friendly “thank you for listening, we have shared this experience together and now are friends” kind of smile, I smile back and then resist eye contact as I walk calmly past the tip pail and out to the street. I smoke a cigarette and walk up and down the sidewalk in my flip-flops, checking out the stores and bars and firm tan girls. I buy a towel and then head back to my car, drive back to the beachfront, find a parking spot on the side opposite the water, and realize that I still have to change into my swim trunks. Hmmm. I get everything I need out of the trunk of my car: swimsuit, sun block, and return to the front seat. There is a lot of traffic on the road, but not too many pedestrians on my side of the street, so I wait for a space between the cars and quickly slip off my shorts and boxers and on my swim trunks. If someone saw me doing this I didn’t notice. I don’t really care too much, I guess. I put on sun block while standing near my car, it’s already about 4:30 so I shouldn’t have to worry so much, then grab my new towel and cross the street and down the stairs to the beach, not exactly good postcard material, a little drab and gray, but there is a breeze and waves and piers and gulls and surfers and bright sun and I’m so goddamn happy I want to sing. I leave my towel and flip-flops, hide my keys underneath (I don’t even want to think about what would happen if they got taken or misplaced, I’d be totally fucked), and walk towards the ocean for the first time since I was eleven (in Florida over Christmas on vacation with my parents). It’s warmer that I had thought it was going to be, I wince past the small rocks washed up near the edge of the water and wade further out. The waves are big and strong, I have to struggle to keep my balance as they hit me from in the front, and then the water rushes back out to sea underneath, pushing my ankles from behind. The water doesn’t get deep very quickly, but soon I’m out far enough to dive into the water with my whole body, right through a wave which instantly pushes my swimsuit down around my knees. I crouch and tie it properly, and then I’m off, feeling the sun and water and wind all at once, feeling the heat I’ve absorbed over the past couple days just leave my body in a rush. I want to stay here forever, grow fins and gills. I dance with the waves like Fred Astaire, dance with them like I never could with any girl I’ve ever met. I get out of the water, due to exhaustion, and crawl onto my towel. I look at the muscular surfer girls and the beach bunnies and their tanned boyfriends and feel incredibly white. I seem to be the only person here by himself, as well. Who goes to the beach alone? I walk up and down the shore and then go back into the water, where all my worries are washed away. I can’t remember when the last time was that I went swimming anywhere besides an over-chlorinated pool. While camping, a couple years before? I don’t even recall. And that would have been in some stagnant lake, without the salt and waves and endlessness of the ocean. I’m at peace, except now it’s past six and the shadows are getting longer. I dry off and wrap my towel around myself, get back in my car, drive out of town to the west end of the island, there’s a state park campground, but it’s all out in the open and mostly full and I didn’t bring a tent. Why didn’t I bring a tent? It would have been wonderful, sleeping outside, hearing the waves in the distance and waking up in the cool morning air feeling sleepy and horny and certainly more comfortable than folded in the backseat of my car. I almost consider going to a store to buy a tent, but decide against the expense, it’d be almost like getting an unnecessary hotel room, and instead drive into town. I call my parents from a gas station pay phone, telling them, as I have every night so far, which city I’m in and where I plan to be tomorrow. They seem amused by my actions. They didn’t quite understand my motivation for this trip, I had told them last weekend and they instead wished I’d go somewhere more certain, and not by myself, and possibly look for a job along the way. Their attempts to talk my out of it were barely acknowledged, and perhaps only delivered in a half-hearted manner. I also try and call my best friend, but he’s gone so I have to leave a message. We’d talked about taking a trip many times in the past, going on a whim to New York or even moving for a year to San Francisco or London, but those plans never really developed, he was busy and poor and there was always something which came up to prevent anything grand from happening. So if anything grand was ever going to happen, I would have to do it on my own.

A few hours later I am sitting all alone on the rocks by the beach as the tide stretches in, listening to my headphones and the surf, drinking out of a bottle of Shiner Bock I had bought, along with five others, at a mini-mart, trying to settle my butterfly-driven ‘come-on let’s keep moving there’s too much to see and do to possibly just sit in one spot and enjoy a moment’ stomach and my hopelessly kinetic heart. I had gone downtown and walked around the blocks and along the north piers, but had decided on avoiding all the bars and dance clubs and sunburned tourists, and found this little spot for myself. Earlier I had gone to Walgreen’s and bought turkey lunchmeat and made sandwiches with the bread I had brought along and no condiments. I was walking down the sidewalk along the beach when a homeless woman asked me if I had a sandwich for her. So I gave her one of mine and kept going. I’m regretting the fact that I didn’t start a real conversation with her, asked her to tell me a story. I, after all, was living in my car practically, so we shared some sort of bond. The bond of non-traditional sleeping arrangements, perhaps. But, no, I just kept walking, going to the Super Wal-Mart where I’d buy postcards. So now I am trying to look out for a) cops, because I’m not quite sure about the rules regarding drinking alcohol on the beach, maybe it’s not allowed; and b) packs of wild homeless men, with rat-like teeth and dirty fingernails like claws, ready to steal the fifty or so dollars in my wallet and devour me whole. And these rocks, wet, I could easily slip, especially after I’ve had a couple beers, drown in a foot of water. I’d drown, and then the pack of wild homeless men, or just one loner, would come and steal my wallet, and when my body was found the next morning the police would have no idea who I was, and my parents would start freaking out that night when I failed to call them. Maybe after a little while my parents would contact the Galveston police, since they knew I was there that night, and of course my car would get ticketed and maybe towed since you can’t leave it parked next to the beach overnight (unless of course my keys were taken out of my pocket and my car, parked very close, stolen), and eventually, after a few days, it would all come together for the authorities, and I guess someone would have to fly down there to identify my bloated dead body. My parents would have to call my apartment and let them know what had happened; I wonder if they’d have to pay my share of the rent for the rest of the lease. And I had just renewed it too. And they’d call all my friends that they knew, but what about the ones they didn’t know? I had an address book with me, in my car, maybe they’d find that. And what about Anne? Would she find out? Would someone think to tell her? Probably not, and of course she’ll never call me if I don’t call her first, that’s the way it has been for a couple weeks now, and she’ll just go on as always, probably glad that I’m no longer bothering her. She’ll get the first postcard I sent, from Oklahoma, and that’ll be it. And that fucking sucks, because if I die a sudden death, I’d want her to be the first to know about it.

A particle of dust

Yesterday around 9 am I got the hiccups. Ordinarily hiccups are no big deal, any ailment with a thousand cures can't be all that bad. Well, this time, none of them worked, and each hiccup felt like my diaphragm was going to fly out of my mouth, taking with it whatever was attached. I am also suffering from a cold, so I had to risk choking on lozenges. During lunch they went away for a bit, but came back. Also went away around 4 and then during dinner. But when I went to bed, they were still going strong. I was so tired that I simply fell asleep, and they were gone this morning. Weird. So that was the highlight of my day, aside from turning down a rare dinner invitation because I felt so ill.

And what is the Deal with that blue liquid that the combs are in???

So it's time to talk about something serious... My hair.

My hair is very special to me, like a pet or second-favorite child, and I've spent countless hours giving it nothing but love and attention. Only the finest and most expensive hair-care products are allowed to touch its precious follicles, and our bond grows closer with every deep-conditioning treatment.

As far as cutting goes, I never was very picky. I kept is simple, so any chimp with a razor and scissors could do a decent job, and then I'd take care of the rest at home. So, in Madison, it was always Cost Cutters, and they never let me down. "Take an inch off the top, and shave the sides and back, #3 razor guard," I'd say, and that's what they did. Sometimes, if they decided to go beyond my expectations, like by using the little texturizing-scissors thing or by flirting with me, I'd give them a tip.

So now I've moved, and had gone over two months without a haircut. I've gone longer (eight, ten) but at this stage it's difficult to manage sometimes, and I decided it was time for a trim. Last Saturday afternoon we were driving up to Madison for a party, so I decided to get it cut on Saturday morning. Now, my neighborhood has a lot of little 'salons,' but all of these look rather minimalistic and expensive, and, being poor, I tried to find someplace a little more cost-effective. Plus, I'd never need the fancy-type places in the past, so why start now?

The only no-frills, inexpensive-looking place I could find was a barbershop. It had a spinning pole outside and 70s decor. Now, I had a few reservations about the barbershop. First, I hadn't been to one in a number of years, and that didn't go very well (My hair had been bleached to an orangish color, and the barber didn't seem to realize this until he was nearly finished cutting). Secondly, I've had bad experiences with crusty old men touching me. But, I figured, how bad could it be? I wasn't asking for much. So I walked in. There were about 5 barbers, no customers. The barbers ranged in age from 30 to 70. Remember the old logic problem about how you go to a town with two barbers, and one of them has a horrible haircut and the other a great haircut, and of course you get your hair cut by the one with the bad hair, because obviously they cut each other's hair? Remember? Well, I tried to find the one with the worst hair, but instead he found me. I didn't have a choice, really, I hung up my coat and he was the only one that stood by his chair and got ready for me to sit down. So I thought maybe this was a good thing, like he was the number one barber in the rotation, and therefore got the first customer. His hair looked like it hadn't been cut in years, it was a grayish/white and hung down to his shoulders in one giant curly clump without any individual hairs visible to the naked eye. I'm not sure what nationality he was, he had an accent, though he didn't really speak. In case he was a 'talker,' I had planned on making up an elaborate life story (My name would be Chester). But he didn't say much of anything. I sat down and he got everything ready and grabbed his razor and stood poised an inch from my head. I told him what I wanted, and he got set to begin. There was a TV in the corner behind me, with a college basketball game on, and when he saw my glance at the TV he wordlessly turned the barber chair around so I could watch the game. I thought to myself: "Awesome." I really dug the place, big black and white tiles on the floor, wood paneling and a goddamn television right in front of me. But, as the unnamed barber began whirring and clumps of hair began falling onto my smock, I realized that since I was watching the basketball game, I could not see the mirror, and had no clue what was happening. He didn't seem to be cutting that much off, and was almost exclusively using the electric razor. Then he got out his straight-razor and did the back of my neck. He used the scissors for a bit on the top, put some old-man goop in it, and then brought out a giant man-brush and actually brushed my hair. When he turned me around... well, I wasn't horrified or anything, that would be a pretty predictable story. He didn't cut enough off the top, but oh well. And it looked all brushed and bushy, so I figured I could fix it OK after my shower. It looked neat enough though. I paid him, it was more that I was expecting ($17) so I was lucky I had that much cash on me, and then I hurried home.

When I got home I took a closer look. In retrospect, the lighting in the barbershop was not too bright, and I was a bit too far away from the mirror. The sides around my ears were shaved pretty short, but instead of blending in with the longer hair on the top, it just kind of looked like the top hairs hung awkwardly over an abyss, and curled under a bit, sort of like a stalk of celery or Beaker from the Muppets. To make matters more interesting, the left side looked semi-decent, but the right side was a much more exaggerated version. I decided to wash my hair and see if it was any different after I re-styled it. It really wasn't. It was fine on top, fine on the left side, and then a large tumor was growing out of the right side of my head. M got home from work at this point, gave me a compliment before I pointed out the deformity. She expressed equal horror, though she was mostly laughing. She then attempted to 'fix' it with a scissors and my sideburn/beard trimmer, both of which she wielded while standing on the toilet. I had my head over the sink. I really couldn't see into the mirror, but I could hear: brrr, brrr, brrr, BRRRRRR, "Whoops!". The sink was completely covered in hair, and when we finally agreed it was good enough, or enough damage was done, what was left cannot be properly described. From a distance, I'm sure it looks normal and fine, but upon examination, the right side looks like it was cut with a weed-wacker and/or samurai sword, the hair on top is an inch longer on the far right side, hangs down before awkwardly being chopped off. I keep looking in the mirror today, I still can't decide if it's OK or if it's a disaster. At the party Saturday night of course M had to tell everyone the whole story (a shorter version, I'm sure) and everyone could tell that something weird was going on, but all said they didn't notice anything at first. I think if I get a job interview anytime soon, I'm going to have to go somewhere else to get it fixed up. It obviously bothers me enough to write 1200+ words about it.

You don't mind if I bring my wingman do you? His name is Our Lord.

Funny as all hell.

Reunion Tour

I think it's about time to get the band back together.

My Ideal Occupations, by age.

Age 0: Breast Inspector
Age 1: Drool Manufacturer
Age 2: Talk Show Host
Age 3: Candy Inspector
Age 4: Candy Inspector
Age 5: Candy Inspector
Age 6: Entomologist/Rock Star
Age 7: Undercover Police Officer/Football Player
Age 8: Scientist/Football Player/Basketball Player/Baseball Player
Age 9: Geologist/Basketball Player
Age 10: Vice President of the United States
Age 11: Chemist/Writer
Age 12: Mathematician/Writer
Age 13: Mathematician/Tae Kwon Do Instructor
Age 14: Big Game Hunter/Mathematician
Age 15: Computer Programmer
Age 16: Computer Programmer/Professional Masturbator
Age 17: Computer Programmer/Bearded Hermit
Age 18: Computer Programmer/Jewel Thief
Age 19: Breast Inspector/Alcohol Taster/Cabana Boy
Age 20: Rock Critic
Age 21: Film Director/Marijuana Inspector
Age 22: Screenwriter
Age 23: Alcoholic Novelist
Age 24: Novelist/Record Store Owner
Age 25: Pop Culture Commentator/"House-husband"

Turn me down

Someone told me last winter, when I was last unemployed and looking for work, that she and her roommates would paste all of the rejection letters they received on the wall, and would admire the growing square footage. This is a mildly interesting idea, I admit. Unfortunately, though I would currently received great joy by plastering our unadorned walls with "Dear Applicant" form letters, so far I have received exactly zero. I'm not sure why. I'm sure this seems like a ridiculous thing to complain about; no one likes getting a rejection letter. No one likes getting rejected.

And I've been rejected once or twice in my life, believe me. Twice, actually, by girls. One said she had a boyfriend and the other, in retrospect, was surely a raging lesbo.

But my point is that the only thing worse than getting rejected is getting complete silence. All of these cover letter/resume one-two punches I've let fly, and I have nothing to show for it, besides the one cock-tease phone call. I want closure here. I'd love nothing more than a letter, or even an email, saying: "We got your resume, you are hopelessly unqualified for the position, best of luck surviving flu season without health insurance. Sincerely, Giant Company." Instead: Did these places even get my resume? Did I send it to the wrong address, or did an eager HR bottom-feeder, after seeing my cover letter, jump so high in exultation of my existence that he hit his head on a ceiling fan, showering my resume with his blood, and now lies in a endless coma, motionless except occassionally muttering the phrase 'Communication Arts with Film and Television Emphasis' over and over in his voice like death??? I may never know.

Swamp-Water

Last week's party went much better than expected, though not too far off from my original predictions. The 'open bar' was actually a swarm of waitresses with angular haircuts programmed to fetch glasses of wine in 3.2 seconds. Perhaps this was novel enough to explain, along with the lack of a proper dinner, me drinking enough to completely ruin my Saturday (Unless you consider sipping Sprite and eating nothing but buttered toast one of the highlights of your life). But while crab cakes, valet parking, and my unquenchable thirst for red wine might have been new, the off-key singing of Bon Jovi classics brought back far too many memories. Good memories, of course.

Rough Draft -2K4

Here's what I got so far, but it's looking pretty thin: Black Keys, Libertines, Loretta Lynn, Madvillain, Mirah, Modest Mouse, Saturday Looks Good to Me, Sonic Youth, Fiery Furnaces, Rogue Wave, Joanna Newsom, AC Newman, Von Bondies, Annie, Franz Ferdinand, Ted Leo/Rx, TV on the Radio, Belle & Sebastian, Stereolab, the Streets, Arcade Fire, Elliot Smith.

Suggestions needed, or Xmas might be cancelled this year.

Cocktail Weenie

You know what would be a great gift for me? This. I'm just saying.

This week has gone too quickly for me, with no progress on the job front at all. But now it's the weekend, and I can finally relax. Thank God.

Tonight we are going to a Medical Resident type Holiday party, at some fancy place downtown. I'm a guest, as always, and haven't decided if it will be fun or not. I'm not sure how many people will be there exactly, but if it's going to be anything like the medical school parties i went to last year, the night will go something like this:
7:30 pm - arrive to party
7:31 - 8:15 - get introduced to a couple dozen people, make small talk ('i just moved here', 'still looking for a job,' ' well, my degree was in film but i last worked in insurance')
8:16 - 10:00 - Stop trying to be social and concentrate on frequenting the open bar. Sit next to M and daydream as others talk about boring hospital things i don't understand.
10:00 - 11:00 - Shout "How's it Goin'!!" to anyone I know, try unsuccessfully to make out with M, feel extremely tired and bored
11:00 pm - depart.

So we'll see how that goes. Over the past month i've become more introverted than ever, going from a relatively normal guy into a bug-eyed creature who shuns the light and hisses "My preciousssss" all the time.

An Open Letter to my Unemployment (Day 38)

Dear State of Unemployment,

Though it seems like we were reacquainted yesterday, like abusive lovers who can't keep away, you've been around for over a month now. Though I figured you'd be staying for a month or two, it looks like you've made yourself rather comfortable, and are in no hurry to leave. Frankly, you are starting to wear on my nerves a bit.

No, wait, don't get angry, we've had our share of good times, right? Remember Summer of 2000? Yeah, when I was rehabbing my knee. I didn't even try to make you leave. I just spent all of my savings in bars and hung out with friends all day. You were a welcome houseguest, and I'll never forget that. And remember January - May of 2003? How could you forget, it happened so recently? Granted, this wasn't quite as fun, with no money and the bad luck with girls and drinking too much, but still, I didn't fight too hard to get rid of you. And even January and February of 2004, how could you forget? Though it seemed like I didn't want you around, with the frantic searching for a job and all, you still provided a welcome break in my routine.

But now things are different. You are here because I quit my job on purpose, so I could move. I welcomed you with open arms, figuring we'd have a nice reunion, some quality time, and we could say goodbye for at least a few more years. But the thing is, it hasn't been quite as fun as in the past. First off, it sucks to be out of a job when it gets cold outside, because then you have to spend your whole day inside, and that will wear on anybody. And I know that M is going to make more money than I for the rest of our lives, but it'd be nice if I could take her out a bit more. Also, since i've just moved here, I don't know how to properly entertain myself. I'm reading a lot, sure, but the closest library sucks, and it's hard finding anything worth reading. I was spoiled in Madison, with placing holds and requesting books from crosstown libraries, that was awesome. I would mind walking the ten blocks there if it was warmer outside. I should be working on some grand project with all my free time. I should be writing a novel. If a wrote just two pages a day I'd be over 70 already, that'd be a solid start. But instead nearly all of my writing is 'blogging,' which is the lowest form of writing imaginable, save for pamphleteering, which ranks lower due to its inherent self-righteousness and grand illusions.

And I know I don't have a clear direction, I don't have a 'dream job' or a clear objective to put on my resume. I want to gets paid, and I don't want to break a sweat doing it, and I'd rather sit most of the day. How can I tell people, without losing any dignity, that my ideal job is being a 'fundit' on VH1's Best Week Ever? That I can make up jokes about Kevin Federline for hours? (Britney Spears presented an award at the Grammy's last week, and to mark the occasion Kevin Federline wore his finest beer-stained wife-beater and 'mentally' shaved. It's so easy!)

I must admit sometimes I behave like I'm in no hurry to get rid of you, but I know it would be for the best. I got super-excited last week when I got the phone call from that company, and subsequently was devastated when I never got a call back about an interview. This sort of thing wears on my self esteem, and temporarily affects my effort. But you know i'll find my footing again eventually, instead of wasting a day by downloading music and shaving off my sideburns. So enjoy yourself while you still can, our love/hate relationship must continue for at least a while longer. I just wrote to let you know where I stand, and let's make the best of the time we have left together, live each day like it's our last. Let's go buy something to cook for dinner and maybe do some laundry later. If you're good, we'll split a beer or two later, there's still 3 in the fridge.

Your pal,
N.

Jellied cranberry sauce in the can - Fuck yeah!

Why Thanksgiving is awesome: Food.

Also: Leftovers in rubbermaid containers.

Why Thanksgiving is sometimes less than awesome: Being yelled at for not getting out of bed early enough, being yelled at for not doing the dishes the night before, being yelled at for not turning the car around when your girlfriend realizes she left her precious cellphone at home. Instead of a friendly greeting, receive list of chores from said girlfriend's father, which include assembling a dining room chair with less than sufficient tools and getting grease all over my fingers and nicest clothes. Greet girlfriend's relatives and get ignored by them the rest of the afternoon. After they leave, have failed conversations with gf's father about bob dylan, alfred hitchcock, and bartending techniques. Being stuck there the next day, let 'the family' go to the mall for six hours while I remain at the house with nothing to do but watch college football and eat and steal about a finger of cognac from the bar. Witness fights and emotional breakdowns among said family upon return. Sleep on a mat on the floor two nights in a row. Then drive home in the rain and girlfriend goes to work for practically two days straight.

There's always money in the banana stand.

Well, a bone has finally been tossed in my direction: After exactly one month of unemployment I finally got actual contact from a company. It's for an Underwriting Assistant job downtown, at some massive company I've never heard of; but apparently they have offices in 20 countries so I guess that's something. I got the tip thanks to a person who shall remain nameless, but whose blog is much more widely read than mine, and whose groupies are much more rabid. Anyway, while shopping yesterday afternoon for bread, italian bread crumbs, Parmesan cheese, and hot sauce I got a message from some dude. So I called him back and he asked me the following four questions:

1. What is your employment situation?
2. What are some of your strengths?
3. What about your weaknesses?
4. How do you turn those weaknesses into strengths?

The conversation lasted six and a half minutes. Then he said he was going to talk to the hiring manager, asked if I possibly could interview next week, then said they'd get back to me shortly. So now it's 2 pm on Wednesday, and I've heard nothing. I think I didn't embarrass myself too much in the phone conversation, in fact I thought of myself as quite charming, but I was hoping I'd have heard something by now. Considering that this job is about exactly what I was doing in Madison, I figure I should at least have a chance to interview. If not, I guess I should be applying at McDonald's or something instead. We'll see.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and we're getting up early to go to M's father's house in Milwaukee. She has to work til 1 am tonite. We'll probably have to be there til Saturday morning I think, then she has to work again. I'm cool with not being able to go home I guess, Thanksgiving was never that huge of a thing with my family, just the four of us and no fanfare. Though now my sister's boyfriend has integrated himself enough to be automatically included as well. But I would like to see old pals and good ol' NE wisconsin; I'll have to wait until Xmas-ish I suppose. M's extended family is pretty cool, all of her mom's relatives will be there, and they are pretty fun to hang out with, we'll inevitably end up in the downstairs bar. And I like her sister a lot too, it's just her father that i'm still not quite clicking with. It's understandably, obviously, and he's a hard person for anyone to click with in general I think, and I guess the more time I'm around the better it will be. But I'm really not looking forward to Friday when all the relatives are gone. i think actually that the family is actually planning on going to the mall. On Friday. I plan to stay home and watch college football, you know what happens to me when malls are involved.

An Open Letter to U2 (Irish Rock Band)

Dear U2,

Man, dudes, you've had some great times! Remember the 80's? You guys were en fuego! Up until 1992 even, it was quite a run, and your place in rock 'n roll history has been cemented. Even more incredibly, at the same time you were selling millions of records, and playing huge arena shows. You were making a ton of money. Not only were you lighting your cigars with one hundred dollar bills, but your cigars were made of one hundred dollar bills, tightly rolled.

So, please, I beg you: build a time machine, go back to early 1993, and fucking retire.

Since then, what, a bajillion more dollars? Your 4th record is about to come out and will surely sell millions more, but what's the point, really? Do you just need attention? Your albums in 1993 and 1997 were clearly a musical mid-life crisis, trying to expand your sound with electronic music, but you forgot the songwriting, and record sales were a little lower. Sure, you still played stadiums, and charged enough to cure AIDS in Africa for tickets, but it wasn't enough. In 2000, your 'return to form' was an album so derivative of your 80's output that it bordered on parody. You became caricatures of a formerly great band, and seemed to be enjoying yourselves. Now, you have a new record, which is more of the same, and I'm sure you'll get a flamillion more dollars from it and any tours. Granted, your first single is basically a chorus, with versus that keep the listener praying for the next chorus to end their misery.

And this iPod commercial? I mean, why? For your entire career, despite the loads of money, the conservative recent records, at least you weren't licensing any commercials. It's not like you needed the money. And, what's worse, you actually appear in the commercial! For the love of God!

OK, I admit, I was never a huge fan of yours. I was a bit too young to really be present for your best work, though I do own a few albums. But now there's just so much more of you to hate than love. What kind of pseudonym is 'Bono' anyway? It's poorly translated latin, but why couldn't you just stick with Paul and lose the sunglasses for five minutes? And 'The Edge'??? That's just lame. Why the 'The'? And everyone knows you're as bald as Dr. Evil, so lose the little skullcap you've been wearing since 1993.

You are in your mid-forties. Last night's performance on SNL saw two lame new songs and the hint of past greatness by playing your single from 1980. You've had a good run, but it's time to hang it up. You can play one last time when you get into the rock 'n roll hall of fame, and then that's it. Spend time with your families. Enjoy the countryside. But leave the music alone, for the sake of mankind.

Sincerely Yours,
N.

Sharp Dressed Man

I'm still a bit in shock from the ill-fated Badger game on Saturday, so please excuse me. That set the tone for the weekend, a bit depressing, sunday wasn't much better, too much TV (football, simpsons, arrested development) and not enough book-learnin' or activity. Monday we went to the Field Museum, it was a free admission day, saw a fucking tyrannosaurus rex. Or its bones anyway, which were still cool enough to get my 9-year old self excited. Everything else was a bit downhill; I kept wanting to elbow the million schoolchildren in the head for running around being obnoxious in the egyptian pyramid.

Later Monday we went to the Quadrangle Club, for some dinner for some doctor who did something awesome. I don't know, there were a few speeches but I didn't really pay attention. I concentrated all my energies on trying to look fancy. This place was the fanciest place ever, billiards, wood-paneling, and black waiters everywhere. Probably cigars and leather chairs in a room I didn't see. An open bar, I had a gin and tonic because I couldn't think of anything else to order, and about 3 glasses of wine. We had to sit at a table with 6 other people, 5 doctors and 1 wife of a doctor. The guy sitting next to me gave me unsolicited job advice. I was concentrating on which fork to use. Food was good but not mind-blowing, there were lumps in the mashed potatoes, people! But I still fantasized about being a member ("I'll be at the Club, dear, don't wait up") but I figure in order to do so I'd have to become a giant asshole. C'est la vie.

And then speaking of fish out of water situations, yesterday I spent nearly five hours at a mall. Five hours!!! Usually when I walk into one of those places, I get a pounding headache somewhere between Spencer Gifts and Cinnabuns, but yesterday I was prepared with a dozen advil. Plus, I think it helped that the mall was an outdoor thing, despite having the content of a mall. Which meant I'd shiver between stores, and then walk in and feel incredibly warm. So you'd have to move fast, to achieve some sort of equilibrium. But, my real reason for being extra determined to postpone my inevitable aneurysm was because I had a mission: to buy my girlfriend some "hot" clothes. Don't get me wrong, I think she dresses fine. But I'm not one of those guys who want their ladies to cover it all up in public, taliban-style. To paraphrase ZZTop, as I am often known to do, "It is not only that she has legs, but she must also know how to use them." She does have more skirts than the average girl, I'd say, but most of these come well below the knee, and a lot are classified as "work" clothes, meaning she won't wear them otherwise, due to their unpleasant associations. So because of this, and because I accidentally watched an episode of The O.C. recently, I had miniskirts on the brain, and refused to be discouraged by the fact that it is November, and most stores were more prominently displaying their parkas and wool-lined snow pants. I did get to see several modeled for me, the best of which were way out of my price range and all of which were thick and winterized yet still did the trick. Unfortunately, at this time, none were purchased, though I did wind up getting my Christmas present, a wool peacoat from J. Crew, six weeks early. I don't know how that happened. I'm resolved, come spring, to go on another, more sucessful, shopping spree, purchasing everything possible that uses less than a square yard of material.

Today is Wednesday which meant continental breakfast downstairs, M actually has to work today so I'm going to apply to every job I can this afternoon. I discovered through conversation this morning that I'm actually forbidden to take a walk south of 60th street, in fear that I'll be mugged, killed, or raped (!?). I'm not sure how I feel about being forbidden to do anything, especially something like: Walk four blocks south, everything's A-OK; Walk five blocks south, get badly beaten at one in the afternoon. I don't think things are really that bad here, and I'm not sure if I can muster fear of anything when it's still light outside. She's just afraid of everything, I think.

I think if you eat this, you pretty much don't give a shit about anything.

That's that, Mattress Man!

OK, OK, I know I'm not as funny as I think I am, you don't have to say anything.

Today M is working in the ER until 1 am, which means I'm home on a Friday night with nothing to do and no one to do it with. Out of a metropolitan population of about 9 million, I know exactly 3 people that I'm not sleeping with, all of whom were over on Wednesday at the little dinner party thing (and one of whom reads this blog - a shoutout - the salad was delicious!), which I did end up staying for. But tonight I just planned on reading ("The Autograph Man" - Zadie Smith), watching a movie (Punch Drunk Love, featuring the best non-action movie sound editing ever), and drinking a bit.

Last night we went to Mates of State, which was even better than I'd hoped. A cool space, no smoking, and a larger and more responsive crowd than I expected (but no "Starman" cover, oh well). We danced and got home after midnight. Today stayed in bed for a nice long while, worked out, ate, and have been alone since 2:30. Yesterday I took a walk on 57th st and stopped in 3 bookstores, buying the new Eggers short story collection at the one that I liked by far the best. Also bought two cans of Red Bull in anticipation that M would have trouble staying up past 10, but she found the taste too nauseating. So I just drank one, mixed with a half part vodka, with my frozen pizza dinner. This particular beverage reminds me of a time long past, the combination of alcohol and "energy" often left me, a rather quiet and shy individual, resembling what some might call a normal and well-rounded person, albeit one who likes to stay up until 3 am trying to find someone to make out with. Beer relay races, anyone?

Rejected slogans for Wheat Thins brand crackers

1. Wheat Thins - So good, you'll forget all about the ghost of your unborn child!
2. Wheat Thins - Affirmative Action is an unfair government-run program that deprives qualified white citizens of good jobs, and just fucking hands them over to inferior blacks and spics. Oh, did I mention, Wheat Thins are baked, not fried?
3. Nothing cleanses the palate after your 15th beer like a delicious Wheat Thin brand cracker.
4. Please enjoy a delicious Wheat Thin topped with slices of sausage and cheese, and feel superior to those silly Jews.

Poorly Written Film Reviews

Cool Hand Luke
In this movie, a famous spaghetti sauce maker gets the shit beat out of him many times, but finally atones for it by winning an egg-eating contest. After singing a song about Jesus, he invents a delicious Italian Dressing but doesn't get rich because all profits go to charity.

Mullholland Drive
I admit I fell asleep during this one, but I remember it involved midgets and Billy Ray Cyrus. Upon waking, I saw lots of girl-on-girl action, and then the movie ends with Cyrus winning a dramatic line-dancing contest.

The Passion of the Christ
Super-Hott masochistic thriller about a hippie who is stripped naked and whipped and beaten for two solid hours. Unfortunately, the movie is subtitled (lame!) but I still give it 3 and a half erect penises out of four.

Most Common Lies or Embellishments found on Resumes

1. Star of hit NBC sitcom "Daddio," 2001-2002
2. Proficient player of the zither.
3. Touched Oprah's boob once in an elevator, 1996.
4. Inventor of the sex swing.
5. Classically trained... to rock your fucking socks off, 1988.
6. Played "Uncharismatic Jared" in Subway commercials, 2002-present

Our Constant Concern

So tonite M is having a little dinner party thing, for some residents and new applicants to her program. I think about 7 or 8 people will show up. We cleaned the apartment and bought some things, and will be ordering out for the rest. I will most likely be skipping it, as hours of medical only type talk do not sound appealing. Plus, there's not really room in our apartment for me. Hopefully I'll hide in someone else's apartment and then get leftovers; that's the best I can hope for.

But tomorrow is day worth singing about! Tomorrow we're going to see Mates of State play somewhere on the northwesty side of the city. It'll be my 8th time seeing them, which is by far the most I've seen any band (second place: white stripes, 5 times). The best part is that all 8 times will have been in front of relatively small crowds in small venues, which is always always always the best situation. Most people with questionable musical taste make a point of only liking famous bands, and any concerts are held in arenas with a 35 dollar price tag. Suckahs. The Mates are a great live band (2 persons, keyboard/drums, wife/husband), and one of the few which have me singing (!) loudly and dancing like a fool near the front of the stage. I know them so well that I also feel like a stalker.

Nate convinced me to sign up on friendster. I haven't figured out the point of it yet.

The onion is dead-on this week.

On blogging: I think my blog is rather boring most of the time, since most posts are written due to boredom. When i started I planned on keeping it more abstract, just mini-rants about certain things, but it turned rather quickly into a mindless summary of my non-activities, without ever really getting too personal. This is probably because many readers are people who know me, and I try to stop just inches short of embarrassing myself. I actually used to have a different blog, from May 2003 to the beginning of this year, in which I was completely anonymous and wrote extremely personal things. This 'openness' did seem to attract the ladies, most of which were about 17 years old, but did actually lead to one 3 am hookup and one instance of poor cellphone reception-addled phone sex. Ain't technology grand? But given this opportunity to invent a new persona, I inevitably fail, and resort to a version, though somewhat edited, of myself. Much less stuttering this way, however.

As you know, this blog is read by nearly 1500 people a day, in 53 different countries across 17 timezones. Every day I receive dozens of questions and comments, most of which ask me to sort out some very personal problems of a reader. Of course I do not have time to personally response to each of these questions directly, so here's a bunch of confidential responses to your questions:

"Club soda and lemon will most likely get that stain out."
"The .44 Magnum, while providing considerable stopping power, is too unwieldy for your purposes."
"I would say at least 36 condoms and no less than 8 gallons of gatorade."
"I think you have to ask yourself, 'Am I really going to do any better with this ugly face, even without the bruises?'."
"http://www.cic.gc.ca/"
"Green Bay over Minnesota."
"Try to use the White House's powerful legal team to stop Satan from claiming your soul at the end of your term."
"Use a small amount of mousse, then blow dry."

He'd like to come and meet us, but he thinks he'd blow our minds

Today is one of those 'worthless days,' spent in permanent hesitation mode. Like when you're in bed looking at the alarm clock saying: "Man, OK, if I get up right now I'll still have 30 minutes to get ready for work" and then waiting a couple more minutes. I used to have days like that all the time during college, in fact, most days were like that some semesters, and I would end up missing all classes and doing nothing. Today wasn't quite that bad, I did go to the grocery store and clean up the apartment a little, but mostly was a waste. I'm seriously disappointed that I've gotten no contact regarding jobs today, I was pretty optimistic about some of the things I applied for last week.

So, for some reason on my computer now my blog looks different, the font size seems way bigger. The same thing has happened on my yahoo home page. I'm sure this is just my computer being weird since new dsl stuff was installed last week, but it's kind of annoying. My blog now looks (to me) like it's designed for ages 4-8, when everyone knows it's only for ages 21+, and can't be read by anyone living in southern states, due to its hardcore content.

I keep hearing all these reports of election fraud (mostly minority disenfranchisement). I'm not sure how credible these are, or if they are not simply created by lefty grief, but all these stories are bothering me a lot, especially now how the bush team is claiming they rule the country and now can do anything they want.

So last weekend was low key, dinner on friday with hospital people, shopping, football, and foosball saturday night (I dominated), and a trip to the north side for more shopping (I found possibly the best record store ever) and mindless walking. Maybe that laziness has contributed to my current state. M will be home soon but she's having dinner with some other hospital person, leaving me to subsist on ice cream and gin. And now it's not even 5 pm and dark already. My goodness.

We did end up buying new bedroom furniture, or additional bedroom furniture anyway. This isn't exactly something I'm apt to get excited about, unlike my domestic partner, so I can't really comment further. Except hooray for not having all my boxers in a pile on the closet floor.

Have a productive day!

So I was thinking we'd move to Toronto, but Monica thinks Vancouver because she likes saying 'Vancouver, British Columbia' in a weird accent. So we're still weighing the pros and cons.

It's strange how anyone who lives outside of a city is more likely to vote Republican. Even in the bluest states. Illinois was mostly red, cept for Chicago, which had Kerry win like 80% of the vote. California and New York were similar too. According to all the news shows this morning, Kerry lost because he didn't say something like "I hate fags." Values, man. I never really bought Bush's faux-Christianity myself, it just always seemed like a ploy the way he'd drop comments into conversation. And Kerry was the one who had considered becoming a priest and could quote chapter and verse from the bible, and people thought that was phony. But I just don't understand the urban/rural divide. Is it because people who live in cities are more likely to understand the role of government in their daily lives? I just don't get it.

I'm pretty nervous about the next four years. If Bush could do the damage he did while still trying to get re-elected, I can't imagine what he'll do without any consequences, with a huge republican majority in congress. I think I'll go to sleep and wake up with a long white beard when Barack Obama is President (2012? 2016?).

On the home front, It's dreary outside, I'm struggling in the job search, feeling paralyzed by the size of the city and the fact that anything outside of walking distance is a huge question mark. We'll see what happens though, my guess is I'll learn to swim by getting drowned. Tonite we're going furniture shopping, which hopefully will be painless.

Choose your own adventure

I wish I could go to a polling place and vote this morning, but since I absenteed nearly three weeks ago I can’t. My building is actually a polling place, I haven’t been downstairs yet to see it. It’ll be a while before anything really comes into focus, but I know that I’d be a whole lot less worried if I was more confident in the validity of the electoral process. If I knew every vote was counted, and that everyone who wanted to vote, could, I’d be a lot better. But nothing more I can do now, I guess. I’ve talked to everyone that I can. So if anyone’s reading and there’s still time, go vote. For John Kerry. There’s nothing good on TV tonight anyway.

So last weekend didn’t go as smoothly as expected, we did go to Milwaukee but didn’t go to either of the Halloween parties; M has been having a rough go of it lately, she managed to get her schedule changed so she doesn’t have to be on call the rest of the month, which is good. Last night was nice though, we grocery shopped and assembled our new TV stand, so the living room and the ‘study’ (the place in the living room with the bookshelves) look nearly complete. We may look for bedroom furniture on Thursday.

Getting DSL by tomorrow if I don’t have it already, today I’ll set everything up on my computer and see what happens. Nothing much else new, I was sick yesterday. More later.

Feeling pretty/purchasing power/Stop breathing

This Sunday is Halloween of course, and while in the past that meant putting on my Flavor Flav costume and getting drunk on state street, this year I have to go to a hospital sponsored Halloween party. Worse yet, all costumes have to follow the theme of “broadway musicals,” which is the worst theme possible. So not only do I have to meet a million new people, but I’ll have to do it dressed as Maria from West Side Story. Actually, I guess my domestic partner and I are dressing as trees, which I guess has something or other to do with a musical I’ve never heard of. So that means brown pants, green shirt, and a lot of explaining. At least it’s an open bar, and I’ve been told I have permission to drink as much as I want. So that’s something.

Tomorrow we’re going to Milwaukee, staying over at her Dad’s, and I think going to another Halloween-themed party at night, thrown by med school people. I don’t know how that’s going to go.

Tonite I’m on my own, M is on call. I’m thinking about going to see a Fahrenheit 9/11 screening somewhere on the U of C campus, hopefully it won’t rain tonight. And hopefully I won’t be stabbed on the way home or anything. Actually, I’m not too worried, I won’t be out too late, and it’s not too far. Plus, I have my impeccable street smarts.

Today I exercised again, and now just got back from grocery shopping. The co-op is only about 3 blocks away, so I got all I could carry. Prices are eye-popping from what I’m used to, but today I realized something important. I absolutely rule at grocery shopping. It’s true. I know it’s not the number one thing on my list to brag about, but I just have to say it. I can spot a sale an aisle away. I know what’s needed and what’s frivolous. My primal hunter/gatherer instincts were at their peak.

Yesterday I tried to sell some CDs, but the ‘indie-rock specialist’ (read: white guy) hadn’t shown up for work. My pavement CD wasn’t there either, but I ended up getting it at stupid Borders anyway. I finished going through the paper for jobs and updated my resume on my computer, but haven’t sent anything out yet. I’ll worry about it Wednesday when DSL is here. In the meantime I’m kinda enjoying my week off. Today is warm but humid, I’ll take another walk this afternoon when the sun’s supposed to come out.

So, speaking of music, Pavement was a band that released 5 albums, not counting early EP’s and singles, and all of it was excellent to very good. All 37 bonus tracks on the new reissue certainly aren’t essential, and many aren’t even very good songs, but it’s nice to have a remastered version and fancy packaging, I must admit. As I wrote a while ago, I haven’t bought much new music of late, but was downloading a fair amount and reading up on things when I had the chance. But this year marks a momentous occasion for me because I’ve decided I’m not going to buy the new R.E.M. album. Now, if you don’t know, R.E.M. was my favorite band in high school, by far. Since the tail end of sophomore year, I was pretty obsessed, and this lasted into the first couple years of college even. My email address is the name of one of their songs, for Christ’s sake. And how could I not be obsessed? When I started listening to them they had been around for 13 years, and had all these songs and records I didn’t even know about. And, to make matters more interesting, their oldest albums were the best, despite the fact that I’d never knew of their existence. They were the band that got me into other music, Pavement and the Velvet Underground, Big Star and anything else that I could find in a magazine or online that sounded interesting. Before R.E.M. music was just something that played on the radio, filled in silences while driving. Now it became something active and involving. But, like the three bands listed above, it’s always better (though sadder) to burn out than fade away. R.E.M.’s last great record came out in 1996, and their best record is still the one from 1983. The new one I’ve heard the single from a bunch of times, and did download the record and listened to maybe once. I’m sure if I forced myself I could grow to like it, become convinced that it is a secret masterpiece. But I can tell it’s not. And sounded awful the first time around. I’d much rather buy a band’s first album in 2004, a band like Rogue Wave or the Arcade Fire, than a bands 13th (or 14th) just because I used to love them. So, I’m sorry R.E.M., but I’m just going to remember blaring “Monster” out of my car speakers in the high school parking lot, and getting Murmur for Christmas 1995. Those were some good times, man.

Goodnight to the Rock 'n Roll era...

First post in a million years, not because I haven’t had the time, but because internet access is scarce. Getting DSL here next week, but in the meantime have to use AOL dialup from M’s horribly defective computer, which means even checking my email is akin to pulling off an elaborate heist scheme, one last score, which upon completion leaves me exhausted and bathed in sweat. So this I’m writing on Word, then will attempt to dial up and copy it, but I’m not sure what my odds are. At the moment I’m sitting at the desk in Our Apartment (though it stills feels like just Hers, with me visiting), next to a window what normally would give a view of nearby rooftops and a distant view of downtown Chicago, but today due to fog I can’t see more than a few blocks away.

But, much has transpired that you don’t know about. For starters, about my car, whose untimely (or, possibly, incredibly timely) passing has saddened us all. Though I had to take a weeks worth of buses, had to get up nearly an hour earlier than usual, couldn’t work any overtime my last week, and was generally in a surly mood, it did kinda work out, and rather quickly. Once benefit of working at the same insurance company that covers both your car and the senile lady who hit you is that things get done pretty fast. The claim was officially filed last week Monday, I had to call the old lady’s agent myself. Tuesday someone from my same building came to give me a small check to cover transportation, which far exceeded my one cab ride and 13 bus trips. Tuesday after work I got a ride to the towing place and cleaned out my car, salvaging the new Saturday Looks Good to Me CD and an umbrella. Wednesday the adjuster called to say my car was indeed totaled, and gave me money, which happened to be more than I was planning on selling it for, since they couldn’t tell how bad the engine was, or that the AC was broke. So, all in all, between the two checks I got exactly 9 dollars less than the price I paid for the car. Which of course doesn’t include the 1400 dollars in repairs, plus other maintenance. But, overall, it worked out ok, and my neck pain went away after a few days. So hooray for that.

So now I’m here, the move on Saturday went OK, my parents came that same morning and took some things with them, everything else barely fit in M’s car, which I think is a major accomplishment. How many of you can fit nearly all your possessions in a Hyundai? So unloaded quickly, got takeout from the great Thai place a block away, and quietly began our life of sin. Sunday we began to squeeze my possessions into nooks and crannies, right now my socks and underwear are still in a pile on the closet floor, most everything else is crammed somewhere until we get some nice bedroom furniture. Monday night M was on call, gone all night, so I assembled the extra wooden CD rack we bought (we have two, each hold 500!) and got to ‘The Great Reorganization,’ first combining all the CDs we own together (now THAT means commitment!) and then alphabetizing by artist, plus sections for soundtracks and VA/Compilations, and then arranging each artist chronologically from past to present. So between us we have about 600-700 CDs, not counting the 100 or so burned ones in my CD binder, plus some questionable tapes of hers. She has very sporadic taste in music, I’m welcoming some into my collection, like 4 belle and Sebastian albums, elliot smith’s “either/or”, the first neutral milk hotel record, and some early cat power and modest mouse that I don’t have. But, at the same time, on my newly assembled shelf, what sits between Tiger Trap and Tortoise but Mr. Justin Timberlake, and between the aforementioned Elliot Smith and the first Sonic Youth record, 1983’s ‘Confusion is Sex’, but a CD by one-hit wonders Something Corporate (‘I woke up in a car’). I did manage to convince her to get rid of about a third of her tapes and a few of the more questionable CDs. I may go sell some today, there’s apparently only one decent record store in my ‘hood, besides the awful borders which sells CDs for 19.99. I went to this record store, which sells new and used CDs and Vinyl (I now finally have access to a turntable) on Tuesday morning as it opened, in giddy, childlike anticipation of buying the Pavement “crooked rain, crooked rain” double disc reissue complete with 62-page booklet, all at a regular CD price, but of course it wasn’t in yet, it should have been in and the dude tried to call the distributor but no luck, should be in soon. Maybe it’s there now. I would’ve taken a walk there yesterday, but my knee was giving me problems, second time in a month. It just started feeling better an hour ago.

So I’ve been running lots of errands, did laundry and cleaned the apartment, getting up early when M leaves for work, yesterday I went back to sleep for a bit though. Looked through the Trib for job listings, found a couple things to highlight, but haven’t got my computer hooked up yet to print off any resumes. Yesterday with broken knee and nothing to do I felt kinda awful and bored, made dinner for M when she got home. Last night: fish and potatoes. Tonight, possibly pasta, though I haven’t decided.

Last night we went to a movie though, to an indie-cinema in The trendy neighborhood just north of downtown, which involved a 30-minute drive and finally finding a parking spot. Movie tickets were 9.50 each, which I guess isn’t that crazy. We saw “Undertow,” of which you can read a very positive review of if you click on Roger Ebert’s link to the right, I’m in no position to create one for you here. The movie was directed by David Gordon Green, who I admire very much, his last was last year’s ‘All the Real Girls,’ which I thought was the best movie of the year, hands down. You can rent it anywhere. Undertow is his third film and he’s only 29, I thought a bit of a step down from his last but still very good. Best usage of freeze frame shots I’ve ever seen in a movie, ever. Unfortunately for my girlfriend, there is a rather violent scene in the first half of the movie, which made her reluctant to open her eyes for anything the rest of the film. Her loss, though. After the movie I limped back to the car and we drove around downtown for a bit, tall buildings still amaze me, from my apartment they are too far away to gasp at. Home in time to watch the last two innings of the World Series, then to bed. Today I’ll test my knee outside in a little bit, eat lunch here and do some job hunting, I may get dragged for furniture shopping this evening, we’ll see. It’s been an interesting week.

Make all elevators smell like your sixth-grade girlfriends and boyfriends

Thursday as i was leaving work, about 6:30 and already mostly dark, I marvelled at the fact that my car seems to be acting OK, and I only had 9 days left before I no longer had to worry about it. I wished I wouldn't have spent so much time worrying about it over the past few months, and instead concentrated my time on sometime worthwhile, like helping the poor or painting by number. I left the parking lot and went around the block backwards from usual, just because I never have before. I got on the highway and headed home. Traffic was moderate, so after the second stoplight on hwy 51, it took a while for the line to get going again. I crossed the intersection and had to brake slightly.

the next 5 seconds:
Though when i was at the stoplight earlier there was no one behind me, i looked in my rearview mirror as i was braking and saw a car approaching fast. I though, "Gee Whiz, that car is going to have to brake pretty hard, it looks like it's going pretty fast. I surely hope that it doesn't bump me slightly." Sometimes while driving I marvel at how much trust of strangers it requires. You trust that people are going to use their turn signals and check their blind spots. You also trust that when a car approaches you from behind, it will brake, instead of hitting you at full speed, pushing you for a ways before veering off to the left, finally coming to a stop 50 yards ahead. My car was spun to the right, nearly falling into the ditch, before the engine died.

I thought that I was pushed into the vehicle ahead of me, but it turns out we were the only two cars involved, with everyone ahead of me driving off. I tried to start my car to move it out of the road, but it wouldn't start. A woman thrust her cell phone in my face, where I told an unknown voice that I didn't think i was hurt but didn't know about the other person. Police came quick, followed by paramedics who checked on the other driver, who got a ticket, who I found out the next day was a 70 yr old woman who had also been in an accident early that day. i knew she drove a toyota, because the nameplate was lying on the road by my car. My car, in addition to not starting, was destroyed in the back, everything was pushed up and dented all the way around both sides, and the bumper was ripped into a few pieces scattered all over the highway, along with random pieces of brakelight glass and metal from wherever. It also looked like the back springs were broken, and the body was resting on the rear wheels. Over the next hour or so i froze myself standing outside, talked to a cop, talked to a tow truck driver who took my car away to sit somewhere while the insurance business was sorted out. I never talked to the lady who hit me, but the cop gave me her name and address, and luckily she has the same insurance company as i do. The tow driver and the cop both said they couldn't give me a ride, because the other side of town was outside their areas, or some shite, so the friendly cop told me to walk to the nearest gas station and call a cab. I did, and the cab ride cost 2 dollars more than i had in my wallet, so i had to run into my house and find some loose change. I talked to my girl, my mom, and my insurance company, and went to bed. Yesterday I woke up at 530 at took the 615 bus, dropping me off a 15 minute walk from work, got there at 715. Talked to more insurance at work, they all told me that they couldn't really do anything for me since i only had liability coverage, and they had to wait for the other lady to file a claim, which she hadn't done. When i got home from work, after an hour bus ride, I called the old lady and told her to contact them or I'd beat the fuck out of her (just kidding). Yesterday my neck and shoulders started hurting, and it's hard to lie comfortably. Today i walked to the nearest grocery store in the rain and bought food to last me for another week and some of those instant heating pads, which aren't really doing anything so far. I have to catch another series of buses tonight, all in the name of working for 2.5 hours at the parking ramp. Hopefully monday I can get things more straightened out, someone needs to look at my car and tell me it's totalled, and give me a big check.

Next week also I had to train my replacement at work, which will be, ha ha, a pain in the neck I'm sure. Last wednesday all the underwriters took me to lunch, where i had a chicken chorizo enchalada, which was great. Yesterday I absentee voted, after a lot of deliberation I decided to go for Kerry. This wednesday I'm supposed to go to some happy hour thing after work, which will be a lot more fun now that I don't have to drive myself home. Also, don't have to worry about gas prices for a week! hooray! Next weekend i'm moving to chicago, and hopefully can fit everything into M's car, otherwise we'll put stuff we can't fit and stuff that was supposed to go to my parents, along with my car, in storage at some friend's house for the time being.

I've gotta go make lunch now, but in the meantime here's a very short story by Dave Eggers. He's one of a few males that I have or have had a very intense admiration for, not in a man-crush, sexual way, but more in a 'i wish he was my big brother' kind of way, or first cousin or uncle maybe. I'm not sure if this is a common thing, but I remember thinking that it would be the coolest if, say, my big brother Jack White could teach me how to play guitar, and let me fool around on his equipment, and I've learned how to play 'moonage daydream' by David Bowie in a very bratty garage-rock way (for real) and would he like to here it. I borrow Spike Jonze's movie camera and uncle michael chabon would edit my stories. And when my car was smashed on the highway, I'd call one of them to come pick me up.

The Punch in the Face game

Yesterday I saw a Ford Truck commercial featuring Toby Keith, who in the commercial actually shouted the phrase: "Bring it on!" Upon seeing it I immediately thought up a new game for you to play with all of your friends. It's called the Punch in the Face game, and very simple, yet not as easy as you think.

All you have to do is make a list of the 5 people that you'd most like to punch in the face without any consequences. They could be famous people or people you personally know.

There's only a couple additional rules.
1. You can't put George W. Bush on your list, because everyone's going to do that. It's like on wheel of fortune, for the final puzzle, they now automatically give everyone the first five letters, because everyone always picked them. So that one's a given. You are, however, free to imagine punching W in the face anyway. Go ahead.
2. None of the people on the list can be female, because hitting girls is not cool, dude. However, if you yourself are a chick, feel free. But, remember, we are talking punches here, not limp-wristed slaps.

That's it, post yr list in the comments section. The best part about the Punch in the face game is that everybody wins! Good Luck!

Here's my List:
1. Arnold Schwarzenegger
2. Toby Keith
3. Warren Sapp
4. Jimmy Fallon
5. Ryan Seacrest

Like depressing things? Read on, friends!

My first post in over two weeks. I disappear for a bit and the public goes berserk; I receive constant emails and phone calls, fruit baskets and gift certificates for Applebee's, offers of cash and valuable gems. Finally, I emerge from my silence and give the screaming masses what they want: a disarmingly personal insight into my life without any strings attached, to be read by friends, acquaintances, and people I've never met.

Most of my posts, and most bloggy-type post in general, always go like this: today i didn't do much exciting, work, chores, etc, blah blah blah for 400 words later. Well, i've got plenty of material from the past 17 days, but most of it is too depressing for me to go into, since this is surely being read primarily for comedic purposes. So instead of wasting the past couple weeks writing about daily tragedies, I will instead condense everything into one small grammatically-unsound paragraph of concentrated grief. Here goes:

...milwaukee hospital room crowded with me and the family, no other visitors, prognosis changes everyday -months-weeks-days and suddenly my girlfriend's mother, who she literally talks to everyday of her life, dies on sunday night, sept 26, I'm in the room the whole time while her family loses it and i'm not sure if i should stay or go, despite a quick coma the family talks to her constantly for the last day, monica's dad cries more in an hour than i've seen my dad cry in my entire life, I do house chores and yard work, miss work every day but tuesday the next week, my only suit (sportcoat actually) isn't very somber but i'm a pallbearer anyway on the day i was planning on proposing (but cant think about that, much too guilty), stay with the family an entire week, my girlfriend pushes me out of her bed whenever she hears footsteps. we run depressing errands during the day and do forced fun activities (museum, zoo, 3-D creature from the black lagoon at the theatre) at night/late afternoons. I go back to work the next week and have mountains of stuff to catch up on, I tell my boss my last day is oct. 22, i have occasional brief but devastating panic attacks caused by thinking about death, friday she visits and we have a bed picnic (wine, multiple cheeses, fruit and baked fish) and it is fantastic, saturday my left leg isn't able to straighten for whatever reason in the morning, I hobble around the farmer's market using one crutch, afternoon i feel better, visit a friend and then we go out to eat (applebees, using a 30 dollar gift card from some of MY coworkers (thanks a million, people i'll never see again after two weeks)), and then go to a corn maze outside of town, which is highly recommended. today we stayed in bed til noon, our one year anniversary, and she leaves, the ring still sits in my desk drawer and i don't think she's ready for it yet. The plastic shower head in my bathroom broke today, just snapped off, I told my constantly stoned roommate (who i hate hate hate so much) and he doesn't seem to care, i've got at least 13 showers left to take, maybe i can rig it for that long...

There's more to write and some will creep out in the next couple weeks, though i think i'm losing DSL for real on friday or so. Otherwise, thanks to those who did send me a note or message of concern, sorry i didn't reply, I just didn't really feel like getting into it again. I'm pretty much ok now, mostly just worried about M. Things being normal seem a long way off.

...

My internet radio station is officially the greatest thing ever. You have to have a yahoo account to listen I think, but it's worth it. It's made the past few days of work go by fast, but I've had to fork over four dollars for the paid account, since you apparently only get 800 songs in a month, which I used up in four days somehow. But, anyway, I'm quite happy with it, all of my favorite bands plus some that I've wanted to hear more of. A big variety, and if anyone hears a song of questionable quality on it, I will pay them 5000 dollars and wash their car. Well, I'll tell my butler to wash your car anyway. I have a butler, his name is Jeeves, he's a bit uptight.

Sunday I saw the Fiery Furnaces play at a club, very unusual show. They played literally 45 minutes without stopping once, singer, guitarist/keyboards, bassist/keyboards, drummer, didn't play one song completely through, more like played a verse from one song and then a part of another, like a big medley, and everyone in the band constantly knew what was going on. It was fascinating and frustrating at the same time, but worth the 8 dollar cover for sure.

Tuesday I was lucky enough to be able to meet up with the prettier half of 'M/Andy', who was in town on business. I couldn't see her face that clearly, since I was blinded by the light reflecting off of her giant rock the whole time. We talked of insurance (of course!) and Andy's poor attempt at a romantic proposal (of course!), and drank a pitcher of wisconsin's own Spotted Cow, which is like liquid gold to anyone who leaves the state, on her company dime. The best time I've had all week for sure.

Otherwise, things aren't going too hot at the moment, Monica's mom is in the hospital since the beginning of the week, and it's majorly serious. I'll be going to Milwaukee tomorrow after work for the weekend. Next week's trip is definitely cancelled, everything else is up in the air for the moment. I barely slept all week, and don't quite know what to do with myself or how I can help anything.

Here comes my baby...

Thank God for the Department of Home Security, protecting us from the likes of aging pop/folksters. Click.

Walk, with your credit cards in the air. Swingin' nunchunks like you just don't care.

Oct. 26, 2004: Pavement - Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain: L.A.'s Desert Origins

DISC ONEBack to the Gold Soundz
1. Silence Kit
2. Elevate Me Later
3. Stop Breathin
4. Cut Your Hair
5. Newark Wilder
6. Unfair
7. Gold Soundz
8. 5-4 = Unity
9. Range Life
10. Heaven Is a Truck
11. Hit the Plane Down
12. Fillmore Jive
======== end of original album =========
13. Camera
14. Stare
15. Raft
16. Cooling by Sound
17. Kneeling Bus
18. Strings of Nashville
19. Exit Theory
20. 5-4 Vocal
21. Jam Kids
22. Haunt You Down
23. Unseen Power of the Picket Fence
24. Nail Clinic
#1-12 from Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain
#13-14 from "Cut Your Hair" released 1994
#15-16 from "Range Life" released 1994
#17-19 from "Gold Soundz" released 1994
#20 from "Gold Soundz" Australian tour ep released 1994
#21-22 from 7" included with Crooked Rain
#23 from "No Alternative" released 1993
#24 from "Hey Drag City" released 1993

DISC TWOAfter the Glow (Where Eagles Dare)
1. All My Friends
2. Soiled Little Filly
3. Range Life
4. Stop Breathing
5. Ell Ess Two
6. Flux = Rad
7. Bad Version of War
8. Same Way of Saying
9. Hands Off the Bayou
10. Heaven Is a Truck (Egg Shell)
11. Grounded
12. Kennel District
13. Pueblo (Beach Boys)
14. Fucking Righteous
15. Colorado
16. Dark Ages
17. Flood Victim
18. JMC Retro
19. Rug Rat
20. Strings of Nashville (instrumental)
21. Instrumental
22. Brink of the Clouds
23. Orange Black
24. Tartar Martyr
25. Pueblo
#1-21 previously unreleased
#22-25 from John Peel Session Feb 26, 2004

Wowsers!

Groovy hippy party

So today I woke up late, went to a library and got a few books, hung out in my room and created my own internet radio station here, as nate tipped me to doing. It's awesome. My roommate Jacob has lots of questionable friends, and by that I mean dirty dirty hippies, and they arrived here this morning in a big blue van (seriously) with their dog. Then my roommates when shopping, and the hippies just hung out on the front steps, drinking coffee and getting dirt everywhere, like Pigpen from the Peanuts comic strip. Paul knocked on my door and said they had food; they had a cookout of hamburgers and mac and cheese, all on a table in the front yard, which was actually pretty good though I had already eaten lunch, I had some of each along with a cheap beer. These people seemed OK, though one of them must be closing in on 40, and another was a girl I thought I knew but it turns out she was just wearing the same hippy girl uniform. Poor thing. So now its watch most of the badger game and the go to work. Happy Saturday.

TV vs. Film

I have to admit that the relatively recent development of issuing DVD box sets of TV shows has really changed my opinion of the medium. I've pretty much avoided watching TV since I started college, maybe catching some simpson's rerun or conan o'brien. There have been flirtations with South Park, Undeclared, and, currently, Scrubs, but for the most part there's been nothing that I really have to watch, and I've never had the luxury of HBO's commercial free shows. My problems with TV are obvious, especially when compared to film: the quality is poor, low budget, subpar acting, episodes are structural carbon copies of each other, having to wrap up in 22 or 44 minutes, with a commercial break every 12 minutes, there's no one auteur to guide the program, it always ends up being a more collective vision. Plus, especially when it comes to network TV, the lowest common denominator is the goal, always willing to sacrifice art for ratings.

So it wasn't really until two years ago that my opinion started to shift. It was then that I bought my first crop of DVD box sets: SportsNight, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Six Feet Under. These are all shows that I had seen one or three episodes of when they were on the air (the pilot of SFU I watched on the web), and did enjoy, but despite the critical acclaim for the shows I never could find the time to watch them. When I finally got the DVDs, I was surprised to find how much I liked watching the shows. Without commercials, each episode seems to fly by, and can be better appreciated. Even better, I finally understood the rather obvious advantage TV has over film: that the stories can go on forever. Awful sequels aside, a movie has to introduce characters, give them problems, and solve them all in a space of 90 to 150 minutes, which is the longest an audience can sit in uncomfortable theatre seats without going crazy. A TV show, while it has to work with the clunky 'episode' format, can develop characters that can grow and change over a long period of time, and feature storylines that unfold over the course of an entire season or more. Thus, the best DVDs sets to buy are of shows that best take advantage of this opportunity. I now regret ever buying the first season of south park; episodes are funny, but there's no real need to see every episode, I'm now content watching random reruns on cable. But I've really gotten into the aforementioned shows, along with Freaks and Geeks and The West Wing. When I get home from work late and don't have much free time, watching a 42 minutes episode is a lot more manageable than watching a movie, and you get a lot more entertainment for the price. Granted, TV shows don't quite have the replayability of a movie, but still.

I was thinking about when they make movies out of TV shows, and how everything changes, despite the same characters, when the format shifts. Examples include, of course, the ubiquitous star trek, along with the X-files and South Park movies. I can't really think of any other examples. There was a show on fox a couple years ago, which of course was quickly cancelled and then found sucess on DVD, that is now being made into a feature film, to be released next spring. The show was called 'Firefly,' the movie 'Serenity,' and I did catch about a half dozen of the aired episodes, and thought it to be pretty good. The movie is being made with all of the same actors, along with the series creator as writer and director. I'm very curious to see how it turns out, just to see how it adapts to the big screen. The show itself is kind of a weird outer space/sci fi meets Western (literally) and is created by Joss Wheden, who is probably the best tv writer ever, but also wrote lots of films as well.