A -----> Z

A is for Absent, which I have been for the past month. I apologize. No excuses (except my cat totally attacks the computer screen every time I sit down at my desk. She has recently noticed the mouse pointer.)

B is for Binge Drinking, which I haven't done since November 18. That day I met a friend 'for a few drinks' around 9 pm, and then, yadda yadda yadda, I was stumbling home at six in the morning. My hangover didn't hit until 7 pm at night the next day. I called in sick to work the day after that. Stomach pains subsided about four days later, just in time for Thanksgiving.

C is for Colbert, Stephen. Though I've long ago said 'Farewell!' to cable television, despite this show (and college basketball... I had to go to a sportsbar this afternoon to watch UW beat Marquette (and have to deal with M cheering against me)), I still watch some clips online, and try to stay on top of things in the Colbert-o-verse. His new feud with the Decemberists will prove to be very entertaining, I think.

D is for The Departed. I had secretly given up on Scorcese over the last few movies, and regarding any hype surrounding his movies (Gangs of New York, anyone?) as pure historical hyperbole. So I went to see this with very modest expectations, and was blown away. Only flaw was too much Jack Nicholson, which I'll concede is not a flaw for most movie-goers. It's as violent as you'd expect, I had the urge to get in a fight for about two hours afterwards.

E is for Electro-pop Music. Is it me, or is every other acclaimed record this year belonging to this genre? I don't despite drum machines, or bleeps and blips, but for some reason recently my patience has been wearing thin. I'm trying to compile my Best of 2006 CD, and if what I'm hearing isn't this type of music (a 'type' under which I'll include the Knife, Junior Boys, CSS) its instead hyperliterate NPR-rock or lush twee. Since my plan was to concentrate on noisy rock n' roll extensively, it is kind of frustrating sometimes.

F is for Fantasy Football, which sucks. I scored the second most points in my league but won't even make the playoffs due to bad luck and bad matchups. And I don't even have any fantasy studs (a phrase I may regret typing), it has been all skill to make vodka lemonade from lemons and potatoes.

G is for Gifts. I haven't started Xmas shopping yet, and don't even know what I'm getting anyone. Considering we are heading north around Dec. 21, this doesn't leave too much time at all. As you know I hate shopping, hopefully I can avoid stepping foot in a mall this year. We'll see.

H is for Heat, which is on in my apartment. We have radiators, all but two of which I can't control. Over the last two months the heat has been on, but at a reasonable level, I'm certainly a person who would rather have it cooler than hotter, and though it was sometimes too cold for just a t-shirt, it was great for sleeping. However, since last week, the heat was suddenly ratcheted up a notch, now going non-stop, and even heating the two radiators (bedroom and dining/music/dancing room) that I had turned off. It is crazy hot. I may have to open windows if this shit keeps up.

I is for Investigative Reporter Carl Monday. For anyone who reads the great Deadspin blog, this is old news, but if you don't, he's worth looking up. Anyone who rose to notoriaty busting library masturbators and was eventually immortalized by The Daily Show is alright in my book. And then there is this, which is both funny and horrifying on so many levels. Giggles!

J is for Juris Doctors being all shot up. Yesterday some crazy nut who invented a toilet to be used in trucks shot and killed three patent lawyers who apparently had wronged him before he was taken out, SWAT-style. This happened about a mile from where I work. I only know one patent lawyer, and I can rest easy knowing that if a crazy man carrying a gun, knife, and hammer tried to enact some form of perverted vengence upon him, he would likely hurl his blackberry-type communications device with such a velocity that the crazy inventor guy would have no chance. The assailant would also, most likely, be billed for the hour.

K is for Kim Gordon the Cat, who is less violent lately but still a pain in the ass. She now enjoys diving into the bathroom garbage can and taking out all the used Q-tips and chewing on them. WTF?









L is for Lexus commercials, which are now a holiday fixture. Am I the only one who gets extremely angry at these ads? Oh, gee, your husband is such a sweetheart, he bought you a fucking luxury car with a giant bow on it! Lucky you, trophy wife! Next year's Xmas gift: Botox Gift Certs! Also, that new Lincoln commercial where the dude goes "to work," drives his fucking Lincoln around the block, then goes back to his house where his wife is suddenly his secretary and his kid his junior partner, as he sits at his desk with the big hi-def TV in the background tuned to the business channel. What a fucking asshole. I'm positive whatever company this dude works for just laid off 12% their workforce, just in time for the holidays.

M is for Minneapolis, which is where I will be on New Year's Eve (despite the fact that it is M's birthday). I'm very excited for this. It's been 3 years since I was rocking out there on nye. The last two years have sucked so bad that I'm going to desperately have to make up for lost time.

N is for Noise, the genre of music that has both intrigued and frightened me over the last few months. When does music stop being music and turn into an art project? I've been listening to the Boredoms for awhile, who certainly have musical merit, but lately have been checking out Wolf Eyes and Merzbow and others, trying to wrap my head around the concept. I was planning to go to a Wolf Eyes show the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, but was still suffering from the binge drinking the Saturday before (see B), and wasn't feeling like a mile walk to the Empty Bottle. I kinda regret it, as I hear that live it is supposed to be some sort of amazing experience.

O is for Oranges. It's Clementine season, bitches, get on the train if you haven't already. So delicious, so juicy, so easy to peel! (this was actually the last letter I completed... which is why I'm writing about oranges, I can't think of anything else.)

P is for Potter, Harry, who was present at a certain Halloween party. See photo for the most sober version:














Q is for Q, the inventor dude from the James Bond movies. Q is not featured in the newest Bond movie, Casino Royale, along with many other campy features of the series, which is a welcome change in my opinion. We saw this last weekend, and I enjoyed it. I actually read the original Ian Fleming novel many years ago, but had forgotten most plot points. Recommended.

R is for Resident Holiday Party for U of C Pediatrics, which I attended for the third consecutive year last night. Without the ladies of Filterless, who may or may not excuse my absence from Fancington Hors d'Oeuvres the week before, it was sure to be a disappointment, and aside from the delightful potato-bacon roll things it mostly was. Several New Castles and a frightening amount of beard/wardrobe/dancing compliments made it manageable. Still unimpressed with M's drinking ability, or lack there-of.

S is for shaving, which I haven't done since Oct. 31 (see pic above). Beard will remain until at least January. I'm in a beard contest at work which rewards longevity, but unlike the only other remaining competitor, I've chosen to not try sculpting into some vaguely professional shape. Also haven't had a haircut since July, which is par for the course I guess. I enjoy going to work looking rather different than others.

T is for Television. I still have the 20" TV my parents bought my for high school graduation/18th birthday nine and half years ago. It sucks. I'm pricing more modern TVs, but not sure if it's worth it without cable, plus living room is currently pretty small. But still, this is crazy, people have bigger computer monitors these days.

U is for Unemployment, which for me is both a fear and a fantasy. Do most people feel the same way?

V is for Velvet Underground, whose rare early recording just sold for north of $150,000 on ebay. Jesus! I like this band as much as anyone, but this is kind of ridiculous. Buying this doesn't give anyone license to reproduce and sell it, plus I hear there is already a digital reproduction floating around. You can't actually play it on your turntable, because you'd be risking damaging it. So, um, what's the point? The thing is, if I was the person who found this for 75 cents, I'd probably play it at home a few times, admit that the real record was better, and leave it piled up next to my SLGTM and Johnny Cash records, which sometimes the cat walks across.

W is for Wii, the new video game system from Nintendo, which I have recently purchased. I've pretty much ignored the concept of video games in the last 4-5 years, but for some reason felt compelled to return to the medium. It is hella-fun so far, except for my case of Wii Tennis Elbow.

X is for Xenophobic (Slim Pickings with this letter, obvs). That new Duncan Donuts commercial is all like: "We're in America, lets order our coffee in fucking English." Sort of makes me feel slightly uncomfortable. Despite the positive results of the last election, most state referendums make me cringe. The whole "English is official language of Arizona" shit isn't too catastrophic, but still seems unnecessary.

Y is for Young@Heart, the elderly choir who sings modern music. This clip is the greatest thing I've seen all week.

Z is for Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...... it's Saturday night, no one wants to hang out, time to go to sleep (plus I couldn't think of anything else that started with 'Z' except for Zebra or Zima.)

So two days ago on Election Night I was at this very computer and constantly refreshing the vote totals, IMing FFL Nate and at the very same time keeping a sort of 'live blog' of my thoughts. Since this began at about 11:30 pm when I had already consumed a couple nervous glasses of bourbon it was all very entertaining. Unfortunately sometime around 1:35 am and more bourbon later my constant refreshing of CNN.com resulted in internet explorer crashing violently, taking all of my election-night musings with it. So, mourn for my drunken political wit, America.

Since this was the first election since I've been at voting age where nearly everything has gone as I had hoped, it felt weird and strange. Usually the Wednesday after the first Monday of November in even numbered years is filled with depression and outrage and stomach pains (check early Nov 04 archive for details.) But this time everything went from mild excitement to mild high fives to mild handjobs for everyone. Green party governor candidate in IL got 11%, which is great, but otherwise my particular vote didn't count for much (House Rep won 86-14%). But seeing my hometown district go Dem and various bigots taking the fall (see hilarious Santorum family picture) was exhilarating. My hangover on Wednesday was epic, but it was all worth it. '08 seems almost too close, and I have no idea what is going to happen.

Otherwise not much else is new. Borat is as funny as everyone says, especially in a full theatre, and especially if you haven't seen the Ali G show or any youtube clips. Medical Halloween party was OK thanks to SEVEN Jack and Cokes, pictures may be coming eventually. Since then I haven't shaved a bit and everything itches something fierce. Time that should be spent reading or writing has been spent drinking with friends. Expect me to go straight-edge soon and get down to brass tacks.

WORD.

Gillyweed may be innocuous, but boomslang skin? Lacewing flies? You and your little friends are brewing Polyjuice Potion!

Though Halloween has long been, with Thanksgiving, in my top two annual holidays (there is candy for the kids, booze and slutty nurses/policewomen/pumpkins/prostitutes for the grown-ups), I haven't had much chance to participate the last few years since I've moved to the city. This year, however, I'll be attending the annual medical resident Halloween party for the first time. Obviously there is nothing better than hanging out with hundreds of doctors whom I don't know (and I'm fearing my closest allies, the ladies of Filterless, won't be attending this year), but the free food and open bar should help. I'm guessing tomorrow's hangover is going to be frightful, as nothing causes me to drink faster than standing awkwardly in between stilted small-talk conversations with people whose names I don't know. Yay, parties!

Unfortunately, unlike every Halloween party ever since the beginning of time, this party has a mandatory costume theme of 'children's book characters,' which kind of takes the fun out of it, and also made it excruciating to get a costume together. Also, how many variations of 'Slutty Little Bo Peep' and 'Slutty Red Riding Hood' can there be? Not enough, my friends, not enough. As for your humble narrator, I will be donning round glasses, scarf, and wizards' robes (aka used graduation gown from thrift store) in a half-assed attempt to be harry potter. Pictures may be forthcoming, if they don't make me look weird.

If you are a gambler, the over/under on number of times I ask a woman if she wants to see my 'Magic Wand' is six and a half.

...and Boom goes the Dynamite.

Drinking: Bottle of Shiraz, which went, from glass to glass, as being "meh", "okay", "awesome", "transplendant", and "Motherfucking Awesome!" as I finished the bottle. Also the rest of the gin mixed with Rose's Sweetened Lime Juice to make a gimlet (serve in used red wine glass). There is no more alcohol in the house.

Eating: Two venison sausage sticks, and then Jack's frozen cheese pizza with fresh spinach and sliced garlic on top. Delish.

Buying: Lots of drinks and lunches lately, plus yet another CD from Deerhoof's back catalogue. Otherwise nothing.

Playing: Ken Griffey Jr Presents Major League Baseball for Super Nintendo on my computer. I, since sometime last February or March, played an entire 162 game season (each game takes just 15-20 minutes) with the worst rated team (this was from 1994) the San Diego Padres, finished with a 118-44 record (Phil Plantier batted .443, hit 47 HR's and had 162 RBI's), and proceeded to lose the NLCS to Pittsburgh 4 games to 2. The weird thing was, and the only reason I'm mentioning it, is that during the playoffs I was nervous and shaking while playing a game I usually only played when bored or wasted. I may be the least calm person under pressure of all time. Today at work a client asked me a question I didn't know how to answer and I babbled 'til I nearly fainted. Could you imagine what happened when I used to talk to actual girls?

Listening: NOISE NOISE NOISE NOISE, plus Deerhoof. Best of 2006 is going to make ears bleed. But I could be bluffing, there's still a chance that Justin Timberlake could sneak on.

Reading: Just started 'Special Topics in Calamity Physics', by Marisha Pessl. Actually bought a book in hardcover for the first time in a while. God knows I love girls who can write, and this one seems to be pleasant on the eyes as well. But the writing comes first so we'll see. See the links on the side for more SFFW's.

Watching: Baseball, Season 2 of Angel, plus Noah Baumbach's Kicking and Screaming (not the Will Ferrell soccer movie), which I quite enjoyed, and highly recommend.

Writing: Not enough.

Like you have Planted the seed in the ground, I will plant my Seed in You

Tonight will be 'Cleaning Day,' which nearly always turns into 'Drunken Cleaning Party.' My parents are visiting Saturday-Sunday, along with M's Dad-New Stepmom on Saturday. The apartment really hasn't been cleaned thoroughly since sometime in August, before Kim Gordon arrived to ruin everything (this may sound harsh for all the cat-lovers out there, but KG's love of attacking forearms jumped the shark last night when I was bleeding.) And while cleaning in itself is troublesome and unpleasant, we also need to do laundry (today I wore my last pair of non-athletic socks, last undershirt not covered in magic marker, and last pair of boxers), hang the two finally-framed silkscreen prints we bought at Pitchfork, and assembled a newly purchased table thing, which seemed like it would be easy to do, since it is only a table, but apparently has 58 parts and a shoebox of screws and things. M should be a saint and start laundry when she gets home, then I will get home, shotgun a beer, and start dusting things. It will be an unforgettable night.

I haven't seen my parents in three months, which means we'll get along splendidly for a day before they leave again. I'm not sure what we'll be doing, but my goal is simply to make them eat at an exciting restaurant, which usually means not bar-and-grill, not mexican, not chinese, not pizza. I failed at this the last time they came (Piece and PJ Clark's) and am thinking about the Thai-Vietnamese-Japanese place nearby which doesn't give you forks, which will cause them to order the safest things on the menu and cry and complain. It will be great. I'm also curious to see what happens when they meet M's dad (for longer than 30 seconds at a funeral), who is a very strange man, and his new wife, who produces more eye-rolling per minute than everyone I've ever met. That was probably mean. Anyway, this meeting wasn't planned, more of 'Hey, my parents are coming down in a couple weeks.'; 'Oh, yeah, so is my dad.'; 'OK.' sort of thing. It should be fine, except when someone brings up marriage, in which case there will be tears. Not mine.

******************************

You see that little hit-counter on the right side? Well, a couple months ago I was going to post a contest for whoever provided the 10,000th hit (no cheating allowed) would get a prize, like a mix-CD and maybe the chance to write their own post, all in an attempt to get more people to visit my blog. Obviously, writing more would be step #1, but they fact that I'm averaging like 5 people a day is kind of sad. So, the contest should wrap-up sometime late next year I guess. Wah-wah.

Milk Man Smiles to You "Hi" in a Nude

First of all, if you want to go any further, you have to read this.

Now, at first I thought this was one of those ultra-hippy uber-expensivo private schools, filled with children whose parents still wear Chuck Taylor's with tweed blazers. But, according to the school website, this is a tiny K-12 public school located on an island with only 69 students. Now, I was a child once, and I assume all of you were as well, and I couldn't possibly imagine being, say, 8-years-old and being a part of this. When I was in sixth grade, our music teacher was a geriatric (NOW RECENTLY DECEASED) man who was so against the concept of pop music that when our class sold enough magazine subscriptions in order to win the class 'prize' of having any music we wanted being played and sang in our music class, he absolutely refused. We had class as usual, and the only concession he made was playing, on piano, the old-time rock 'n roll style ripoff song that was printed in our music class songbooks.* Incidentally, a couple years later our new music teacher did let us bring in our own music and then we'd discuss it academically, but eighth graders have horrible taste in music, if you didn't know. I do remember someone brought in some Guns 'n Roses (and not any of their classics but "Used to Love Her (But I Had to Kill Her)" from their horrible GNR Lies LP) and I, motivated by the desire to seem what then was perceived as 'hip' at the time, brought in my C + C Music Factory tape. No shit. I had to work hard to get where I am today.

Anyway, imagining the Milk Man album as child ballet is a bit of stretch. Granted, Deerhoof is one of my new favorite bands, I've purchased three of their albums in the last few months, and it has been a great pleasure to discover and explore their back catalogue. But, Milk Man, which I finally purchased just last week and is great, was an album I had downloaded last year, listened to once (maybe) and then deleted. Therefore, not the most accessible stuff to get into, and if I would have heard it twenty years ago I probably would have freaked out. You can listen to the title track from the album, which is by far the most mainstream sounding song they've ever made, here. There are other songs on the album that are much more unusual and designed to frighten small children and pets. I'm giving major props to the teacher who put this together, and the open-mindedness of students, parents, and other teachers for cooperating and not complaining.


*A little sidenote: I can't believe that when I was 11-13 I'd actually go out on my bike and sell magazine subscriptions (and CDs/Cassettes too I think) to strangers, all in the name of raising money for the K-8 parochial school that, while certainly providing me with a semi-quality education, at least in math and science (but not English, obviously), was during those three years my personal torture chamber. Obviously my parents bought like 3 in order to help me get whatever the highest goal was (one year it was a limo ride and a free sub from Subway, another year it was a trip to a Brewers game), but still I do remember riding five miles and knocking on random doors. Since I am now 27-years-old and would be too embarrassed to do the same thing today, and I was probably more shy and weird (I hope) then, it just seems impossible.

Would you like your Lube before or after your Steak?

I. Explanations

A. M has been using the computer a lot of the past month to study for an important exam.
B. I've been out of the house a lot lately, with weekend trips plus lots of after-work happy hours.
C. Football season, baseball playoffs, the three primetime TV shows I watch (The Office, Veronica Mars, and Studio 60), plus constant stream of Netflix keeps me pacified and lazy.

Hmmm... I may think of more, I thought there was going to be more.

II. Weekend Wrap-Up: I'm really not going to bother going into this in great detail, since 60% of my blog readers were present, but, a few observations:

A. On Saturday I may have drank more alcohol than any other day in my entire life. I'm not sure exactly, but anytime you have your first beer at 8 a.m. and your last beer twenty hours later at 4 a.m., that adds up. However:
i. My hangover Sunday turned from a dull headache to slight nausea a couple hours later, but by dinnertime (Popeye's Chicken) I was mostly fine. Perhaps spreading out your obscenely heavy drinking during an entire day is the secret, even if you do drink 20-22 beers plus mixed drinks. They should be teaching this in schools.
B. If you don't understand the subject of this post, go here. I had no idea, and am both awed and frightened. You can look at the menu as well, it appears that their spiciest chicken wing requires a signed 'Release from Liability' form. In that case, you'd be glad to know that there's going to be some lube involved afterwards.
C. I worry far too much about aging and saying goodbye to my youth. I can still keep up. I'm very proud of myself.
D. Two nights without getting woken up by cat, even though I only got to sleep for 6 and 5 hours each night: Unbelievably satisfying.

III. Manifesto for the Future.
A. I don't think I'm going to do NaNoWriMo this year, but I do plan to write more in the next six weeks than the last six months. More posts here, for sure, each of which will be more and more boring. Also hopefully some writing that may appear elsewhere. And, eventually, maybe a brand new website with several contributors and a horrible name that I didn't come up with.

Swan Swan Hummingbird Hurrah

Today was my first day at work since last Thursday, and it felt like an underwater dream. Nearly everyone was relocated to a new cubicle, a process which mainly occurred on Friday when I was busy sleeping in and doing other important non-work things that I'm sure were fantastic but right now I can't seem to recall any of them. I do know that later in the evening we ate out at a new restaurant (Francesca's Forno, good but small portions and touch pricey) and went to see a movie* but it was sold out so we bought tequila and came back home and watched Kiss Kiss Bang Bang instead.

*The movie we were going to see was The Last Kiss, which has gotten nothing but horrible reviews and the more I see/hear about it the more I don't want to see it. M was a big Garden State fan, and though I initially liked that film on the first viewing, every time since I've realized its many flaws, which cut through me like a jagged knife, making me cringe. And suddenly Zach Braff (who I've also been a fan of by the way, I've seen nearly every episode of Scrubs since the pilot (a show which in its last season has disappointingly become to seem rather formulaic)) is considered some sort of film soundtrack genius, but whose selections, The Shins aside (though they won't change your or anyone else's life), are largely made up of weepy singer-songwriter types and other mostly boring music. Perhaps I should stare off into space, looking wistful, perhaps, while some delicate guitar picking is heard; I will be a soulful and beautiful person. Anyway, haven't seen the movie, so I'm not justified to give a proper review.

Back to the main topic: new cubicle wasn't properly cleaned, and had a few things still in the desk drawers. This was disappointing because my previous cubicle is now occupied by my new cubicle's former resident (i.e. we switched), and I had spent much of Thursday afternoon inhaling fumes from a most likely illegal ammonia-based cleaner as I scrubbed up years of dust (I'd only been there a year and a half, but it certainly wasn't cleaned when I moved in). After cleaning, I tried to arrange my files and belongings exactly like I had them in my previous location (you are thinking, a cube is a cube, what's the problem here, Complainy McGee?) Well, it just felt different. Maybe because of the different lighting. I'm pretty sure my drawers are one centimeter narrower than previously. Also, the aisle separating the cubicle across from me used to be about six feet wide, now it is barely four. I am at least twenty feet farther from the nearest printing location. Whereas I used to have an empty cube in front of me, now it is occupied (and in fact, if you picture me as Jim J. Bullock in the center square, I used to be bordered on only four of a possible eight sides, whereas now I'm bordered on no less than seven), and, worse, whereas I used to work next to a bunch of people who I never actually worked with, now I am sandwiched by my two closest colleagues. And finally, and most severe, my same computer has been moved with me, but now I'm unable to access my fantasy baseball team, my football pool, and every other website with the word 'fantasy' in the URL due to corporate fascist filters, except for, oddly, my fantasy football team, on a generally slower than usual Internet, mind you. All of this, combined with the fact that I was coming off of a four-day unproductive and late-sleeping weekend, resulted in a not very productive day.

Other highlights from the weekend include another good meal out (at the Pacific Cafe, which was great, though I'm vowing never to eat tempura for at least a couple years), making vegetable soup, watching four episodes of Angel, meeting a long lost friend for only one beer and one hour, buying a bottle of Cachaca (which isn't too easy to find) and making endless caipirinhas, each of which was better than the last. Otherwise, not much worth sharing with the common unwashed such as yourself.

Red Thunder: Refreshing Beverage or Sign of the Apocalypse?

My apartment is 3 short blocks* from an Aldi's grocery store. For you international readers, Aldi's is a grocery store which sells mostly generic brand food for batshit-insane prices. Though, for some reason, they charge you for both the use of a shopping carts and for bags to put your food in. This means I visit once or twice a week and carry a handful of food home. Usual purchases include hamburger and hotdog buns, eggs, tortilla chips, and cereal.

A couple months ago I discovered 'Red Thunder,' which is the Aldi's equivalent of Red Bull energy drink. Selling a pack of four for just $1.99, I couldn't help but try it. I don't at present remember any specific times drinking that first four-pack, but I can tell you that it did the trick for the lowest possible price. I'm not an energy-drink fiend, but I do enjoy it from time to time, mixed with some sort of alcohol. However, on my last few trips, I've noticed it was out of stock, probably due to the terrific bargain it provided. Well, on Sunday I stopped by to pick up some salsa and bread, and found that there was one last four-pack on the shelves. They had, however, raised the price to $2.99, which luckily is still a good deal. I placed the four-pack in the fridge, where it patiently waited for its moment to strike.

Well, Tuesday I got home from work at about six and wasn't very hungry, and neither was M. We agreed to make spaghetti and meatballs later on, but for now we wouldn't worry about food. I said to myself, 'Well, I'm only slightly hungry, but I think maybe I deserve a drink to tide me over.' Unfortunately, we were out of beer, and the only alcohol in the house was vodka and vermouth. I didn't feel like a martini, so was prepared to walk out of the kitchen unsatisfied. But then I remembered the Red Thunder, and gleefully poured myself a 35/65 ratio of vodka to the tiny innocent little can. The rest of the evening passed, I enjoyed watching some bad reality TV, making dinner and hanging out with M and Kim Gordon the Cat. I went to bed around 11:30 p.m. A half-hour later I realized I was surprisingly too wired to sleep. I got up and watched some TV and enough of Elizabethtown to realize it was horrible, ate some snacks, drank some water, and lied down again at about 1:30 am. The next four hours were filled with tossing and turning and not being about to keep one coherent thought in my head for more than three seconds. Eventually the cat woke up and amused herself by biting me for an hour, then M got up for work. More tossing and turning, and a few minutes here and there of slightly dozing off and it was time to go to work. I hadn't felt so tired since the days of all-night-writing-that-very-important-paper-in-college-and-then-handing-it-in-before-I-passed-out. Work was largely a bust, I left an hour early and fell asleep when I arrived home for a two-hour nap. I woke up to sit dazed on the couch for a bit, then returned to bed at a normal time to toss and turn for most of another night. Damn You, Red Thunder!

Good news is that I don't have to get up early tomorrow, as I took vacation days both Friday and Monday, for no important reason. In fact, I just drank another Red Thunder & Vodka. I'll let you know at 4 a.m. how that goes.

*When I say 3 short blocks, I don't mean that 3 blocks by definition is a short distance, but that each of the 3 blocks separating me from Aldi's are actually unusually short blocks, so that it seems more like 1.75 blocks away. I apologize once again for the confusing syntax.

First Annual National Football League Preview: 2006 Edition

I've received 324 letters that are almost word-for-word identical to this one (grammar corrected by me):

Dear N---,

I've seen your blog. It sucks. Who fucking cares if you have a new cat? Not fucking me, that's for sure. I've never heard of any of the bands you talk about, are you some kind of queer? At least you have stopped knocking our great President lately, whatsamatter hippy?

I love 5 things: The Red, The White, The Blue, 70s Classic Rock, and drinking 25 beers while watching the Bears kick your faggy Packers' asses all of the field. Why don't you write about something decent for a change, motherfucker?

Sincerely,
Dr. Condoleezza Rice
Secretary of State

***

Well, Secretary Rice and the other 323 readers who were kind enough to drop me a line may have a point here. Aside from the four of you who read the blog on a semi-regular basis, there's not much for the common man to care about. Have I forgotten my roots? What gives me the right to be so exclusive?

I love indie rock, foreign films, and po-mo fiction, but I also love sports. And while past knee injuries (the first one occurred while playing basketball, the second while saving 8 orphans from drowning) have greatly limited my participation in sports over the past decade, my interest and love for it has only grown over the years. Since the past year was the first in which I participated in both a fantasy football, basketball, and baseball league, I've grown accustomed to reading and watching sports more that anything else. My morning routine this summer was to check my fantasy baseball league, and then Pitchfork. Anyway, I have some sort of knowledge on the subject.

My favorite of all the sports in NFL football, because the game has the least amount of flaws. Other leagues' flaws include:

College Football: It's all about the $, Making your own schedule, impossible to care about any team other than your alma mater.
Baseball: Too many players to keep track of, free agency and the Yankees buying whomever they want, individual games don't matter much. (though I'm routing for the Fl. Marlins big time this year)
NBA: 80 foul shots a game, superstar mentality, traveling is legal, shoe contract trumps all.
Hockey: No games on TV, no one really cares.
Tennis: I'm actually getting into this lately, good for watching on Saturday mornings, but no high stakes involved.
Golf: This isn't a sport.
College Basketball: Nothing matters until March Madness, then is awesome.

Anyway, my original idea was to give a very brief preview of the NFL season here, and then supplement my regular bloggy posts by making picks for the upcoming NFL weekend. Well, I can't do that anymore, since two of my most faithful readers and FFLs are in the same football pick pool that I am in, so I can't tip them off. However, below are my general predictions for the year. Granted, I don't have ESPN, so what do I know, aside from reading about 87 so called 'experts'' opinions online. But if picking winners myself the past decade has taught me anything, is that 'experts' usually don't know anymore than you or I. At the end of the year feel free to revisit this post and make fun of me for my incompetence.

Anyway:

NFC Eastern Division:
1. ...

Actually, hold on a second. The first NFL game of the year, Miami at Pittsburgh, is due to kick off in 18 minutes or so, and right now, in order to psych up the fans, Rascal Flats is playing on the TV. A few minutes earlier, Diddy hit the stage. Who comes up with this? Who says, well, I really wasn't planning on watching the game tonight, but I think I'll tune in to hear the new Diddy song and then keep the TV on for the next 3.5 hours and watch every commercial very closely? NO ONE.

Anyway:
1. This seems to be one of the most competitive divisions in football, since every team could either be very good or very bad but most likely all very above-average. Any team could finish first and I wouldn't be surprised at all.

*Hold on, getting pizza and watching beginning of game...*

Ok, I'm back. A couple thoughts:

a. I saw only about five seconds of Bob Costas. Why must we sit through a half hour of horrible music and boring sentimentality instead of listening to Bob Costas wax poetic about this wonderful sport? He'll be back to comfort me at halftime, but as far as I'm concerned, I'd take him over Al Michaels in the broadcast booth anytime.
b. Al Michaels, if you don't know, is a huge republican, and has given the maximum individual donation allowed to George W. Bush in the last two elections. As far as a commentator goes, he is okay, and seems more intelligent than average, but I can't get past the fact that he is likely evil.
c. The actual game telecast opened with pop artist Pink singing a song. Once again, I'm pretty sure that 95% of the viewers grimaced in horror as this was happening. I don't find Pink very attractive on TV, but I bet if I saw her in person I'd be drooling. Not sure why. Maybe because she could probably beat me in an arm-wrestling contest.

Back to the NFC east, it's pretty much a toss-up, but I'll go 'Philly-Wash-NYG-Dallas,' for the following reasons: 1. Philly will definitely be better than last year. 2. Washington will be better than in the preseason, but Brunell is awful and my fantasy football keeper Clinton Portis is already hurt. 3. The Giants have the toughest schedule, Eli is already overrated, and Tiki Barber has been due for a declining year for awhile. 4. Dallas is lot of people's pick for the super bowl, but Owens is team-cancer, and Bledsoe is almost as bad as Brunell, and I don't like taking the popular choices.

Moving on: NFC West. 'Seattle-StL-Arizona-SF'. 1. Seattle is largely unchanged from last year, save for losing a great offensive lineman, and gaining a great linebacker. 2. StL looks half-way decent, defense seems better. 3. Arizona is another trendy pick, but defense and OL are horrible. (go L. Fitz for FFball purposes, however) 4. SF is a disaster, worst team in conference?

NFC South: 'Carolina-TB-ATL-NO' 1. Carolina is the trendy pick, but they are the best all-around team here for sure. 2. TB might be a year away offensively, but D always solid. 3. Vick has already reached his ceiling, running game will decline, D was awful against run last year. 4. NO is America's team, but lines suck and Bush is overrated.

NFC North: 'Chi-Minn-Det-GB'. This is pure reverse-psychology, as my secret plan is for the Packers to surprise everyone and win the division, Greg Jennings rookie of the year. But: 1. Bears D is great, Grossman will injure himself while buttering some toast and Griese will be competent. 2. Vikes will run better and D is decent. 3. Lions will be better 4. Farve is a disaster, I'm actually hoping for a career-ending injury in week one. (remember, reverse psychology)

This is going well. Before I move on to the AFC and help myself to yet another beer, here are my football picks for the week. (since the first game has already started, all football pool picks are locked in).

Miami over Pittsburgh
Philly over Houston
NE over Buff
Denver over StL
TB over Balt
Tenn over NYJ
Seattle over Detroit
Cleveland over NO
Cinn over KC
Carolina over ATL
Jax over Dallas
Bears over Packers
ARI over SF
Indie over NYG
Skins over Vikes
SD over Oak

Ok, AFC East: 'Miami-NE-Buff-NYJ' 1. Ronnie Brown is a stud, if Culpepper can avoid sucking they should be a good team. 2. NE will make the playoffs but seem to be losing more and more good players every season. 3. Buffalo is bad but have a good RB and WR, luckily 4. The jets are worse than ever, no offense whatsoever.

AFC West: 'Denver-KC-SD-Oak' 1. Denver always has a good running game, and WRs are improved. 2. KC usually is 'Great O, Horrible D'; this year it will be 'Good O, Average D'. 3. SD has weapons but questionable D (getting shot doesn't help) and newbie QB. 4. Oakland is quarterbacked by Aaron Brooks.

AFC South: 'Indie-Jax-Tenn-Houston' 1. Indie will be less awesome but still good (until the playoffs). 2. Jax needs an offense. 3. Tenn has potential to be a surprise, but have question marks at literally every position at the beginning of the year. 4. Houston should have drafted Reggie Bush, even if he is overrated.

AFC North: 'Cincy-Balt-Pitt-Cleve' 1. Great offense, crappy defense will outscore most for the Bengals. 2. Balt will be better than you think if they can stay healthy. 3. Pittsburgh didn't deserve to win the SB last year, and will come back to earth. 4. Cleveland may be interesting to watch, but won't get to .500 until next year.

Playoffs:
NFC: Seattle, Carolina, Philly, Chicago, Wash, TB.
AFC: Indie, Denver, Cincy, Miami, NE, Jax.
Super Bowl XLI: Seattle over Cincinnati.

It's almost halftime now, so I'm going to go sit and watch Bob Costas work his magic.

ON NOTICE:

On Notice list for today.

***

Coming Tomorrow:

The First Annual Wyld Stallyns Blog NFL Football Preview: 2006 Edition

***

**

Pattern Recognition

Kim Gordon* went from crazy fun-loving party kitten to recluse who refused to eat in a span of 48 hours since we brought her home. Turns out she had the flu, and we got some 'prescription' canned cat food from the vet. Now she seems back to normal, save for some sneezing, and has horrible canned cat food breath. Her interests include biting my hands, crashing into furniture, and jumping on my laptop. I haven't had a full, uninterrupted night's sleep since she arrived. And yes, there is cat hair all over the place. And yes, she likes to sleep directly between the two pillows on the bed. And no, she doesn't recognize my authority, and does whatever she wants. 7t=gy0iuuijk <---- SEE THAT??? That was the cat trying to lay on the keyboard. I put her on my lap and tried to resume typing, but she bit my forearm, so I put her on the floor. Five seconds later she jumps onto the file cabinet, hops over the printer, onto the desk, walks around the back of the computer, and now lays down on the mouse-pad, resting her head on my wrist. Am I supposed to find this sort of thing adorable? How am I supposed to do NaNoWriMo this year if I can't get five minutes of peace?

In other news, I haven't been up to anything. A couple wasted weekends, a couple good meals, a fantasy football draft, and not much else. This weekend M's sister is visiting starting tomorrow, not sure what kind of things I'll be doing. Next weekend I plan on seeing The Gossip on Saturday, otherwise not much to be excited about. Today we got out of work early, which was kind of joke anyway, since I did literally 10 minutes of work all day and took a 90 minute lunch for someone's birthday. The early departure meant we walked a block away to drink many beers and play 'bags' (a game which I had never heard of until I had moved to Chicago), winning 5 out of 6 games thanks to a talented partner.

There is something more important that I was going to write about, but I've forgotten for the moment. Look for something important soon, either here or in 'Hi-Cool' form.


* And yes, I know just a few weeks back I promised I wouldn't post pictures of my newly acquired cat and waste valuable time and space explaining how catlike the cat is acting. However, perhaps some of you like that sort of thing. I won't judge you if you do.

I think a hairball might be coming soon. I promise I won't post pictures.

You Keep Me Comin' Home Again

We now have a kitten. I'm OK with that, except my whole weekend is going to be boring. I've also learned that after last night I'm in no condition to ever have children. I didn't get much sleep, and cats even go in a litterbox.

M had to leave her alone for four hours this afternoon, and she nearly had a panic attack until I got home from work and called her with no news of kitty escapes or suicide.

We named her Kim Gordon. More to follow shortly.

...
...
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And, in case you are wondering, yes, if we got a male it would have been named Thurston Moore.

Do as I Say, and You'll Live

Now that all the 'dark confessions' are out of the way, what better method of getting back into blogging shape than writing about Snakes on a Plane? Since I do have a blog I am contractually required to at least post once about the movie. Memory fails me on whether or not I've mentioned the movie before, but I've been anticipating/making jokes about/watching poorly-conceived YouTube parodies for the entirety of 2K6, and made plans with a surprisingly eager coworker (he doesn't get out much, if at all) about three months ago to see it on opening day.

As far as a review of the movie itself goes, you can easily find those elsewhere. My take is that the movie could have been a little better, certain scenes done differently, certain snakes more cunning, etc. But all of that is completely and utterly irrelevant. You could argue it works in a so-bad-its-good sort of way, or a childlike matinee sort of way, or a Susan Sontag sort of way, or a winking-ha-ha sort of way, or whatever. The movie could have been worse, could have been better. But the magic didn't come from anything on the screen, it came from the theatre itself, from the crowd. Surely you remember, before you were a six-figure a year douchebag whose aims to become members at the most expensive country club available within 30 miles took up much of your free time, when you went to see some shitty movie in your stupid small ignorant town with a dozen of your friends (and you'd like to imagine it happened more often than it actually did) and you all laughed far too much and were generally obnoxious and probably severely annoyed that one elderly couple who was sitting in the far left side section and just wanted a quiet evening watching The Man in the Iron Mask, and didn't attempt to stay up until nine-thirty p.m. only to be bothered by a gaggle of nineteen-year-old pricks with nothing on their minds other than alcohol, cigarettes, and the very distant possibilities of pre-marital sex, thank you very much.

We saw the film at 4:15 yesterday, in a large theater than was maybe 30% full. But it felt like I was there with seventy of my closest friends. I have never been in a movie where people applauded at least a dozen times, literally hissed during the overlong previews, let alone shout "Motherfucking Snakes!" at every possible opportunity. We laughed and shouted and behaved like obnoxious children, but no one was offended, we were all there for the same reasons. Leaving the theater, I noticed most of the crowd was very young (it was a 4:15 show, after all, I didn't sneak out of work over an hour early for nothing), but that seemed appropriate. For at least two hours (violins are swelling here), I felt pretty young myself.

On the Rocks

My long blogging absence can be explained, I swear. Here are the top three reasons:

1. Nothing much going on.
2. Been reading at least 2 hours a night the last couple weeks.
3. Week of sobriety.*

*A note about #3. The fact that I recently completed a week (that is seven full days and nights, or 168 hours) of self-enforced non-drinking of alcohol does not mean that I a) have a 'drinking problem' or, even worse b) must be under the influence in order to accomplish a task as simple as 'blogging.' However, the fact is that often when I sit at this computer and the end of the day, as in, at night, and feel inspired to type up a few paragraphs of nonsense, I often DO have a sweaty glass filled with some sort of alcoholic beverage sitting on the coaster on my desk. The Week of Sobriety (hereafter WoS) was brought on by a week or two of heavily than usual drinking, which was most likely not brought on by anything in particular other than boredom or possibly bad times at work. And the drinking might not have been overly heavy, in retrospect, but possibly only seemed that way due to the fact that I finished off 3 or so bottles of alcohol (finished, not started and then finished, but more like drinking the last few ounces) in the span of a day or two. Without much left in the liquor cabinet, I found myself asking a question that was immediately deemed as troubling, and prompted a short, very short, period of self-reflection, a conversation with myself, if you will, at the end of which the conclusion was reached to not have any alcohol for a complete week, last saturday until the end of yesterday, in order to cleanse both my mind and body, and because that is something I doubt I've done in a couple years or so. So I turned down beers and wine (both of which have been in our fridge the whole time) and drinks, ordered Coke at a bar, had a couple glasses of water with pizza. Not that big of deal, I was rarely tempted, except when I made a frozen pizza on Thursday night.

The question that brought everything on was "I wonder what vermouth tastes like by itself?"

The answer is 'sort of like white wine,' but that isn't important.

Sweet Liberation Has Come

I'm all rocked out for a few days. Skipping Wolf Parade tonight (and last night) because I can't take any more rock. Plus, expectations for said rock are at an all time high. Friday was my lollapalooza day, $73 dollars got me three bands' full sets. The Editors, who were pretty good (though note to lead singer: Ian Curtis called, he wants his DNA back). Mates of State, who I've now seen an all-time record ELEVEN times, were solid as always, though it was strange seeing them with the lolla crowd, there was a dude in front of me who only knew songs from their last album, and he was fucking doing the robot the whole show (while elbowing me every fourth beat). And of course Sleater-Kinney, who started off a little slow but soon gathered much momentum. As you can see from the setlist, they concentrated on 'The Woods', which actually worked in their favor in the setting. Carrie Brownstein has turned into an amazing guitar player, and the last three songs left me breathless. There is a feeling I get when I'm at a concert sometimes, when the band just fucking hits that chord change perfectly or harmonizes or something I can't explain, but it can give me chills and raise my heartrate like a drug I haven't taken enough of. I got it then, possibly for the first time in a festival setting.

Then I of course had to take a break from the rock, went to Milwaukee for M's Dad's wedding, which, if you haven't heard the background info, was set to be a fucking crazy disaster. Well, mysteriously, everything went perfectly, and everyone was surprisingly well-behaved. I looked smashing in a rented tuxedo as always. After the early Sunday wedding, saw crossword puzzle doc 'Wordplay' and headed downtown for Sonic Youth concert. Got there a little early, found a good spot in the fifth row of the Pabst Theater, another great place to see a concert. We were about fifteen feet from the stage, and the slanted floor gave me the best view for a concert that I've probably ever seen in a venue that holds more than fifty people. The Go! Team opened, and were pretty good. And then I could finally cross off another all-time favorite band that I've never seen live before. Who is left? Pavement, if they reunite, I guess. Flaming Lips. Stereolab. Uh, Neutral Milk Hotel (I heard a rumor that something is going to happen). I can't think of anyone else that wouldn't involve a time machine.

Sonic Youth didn't let me down. Concentrated on the new album 'Rather Ripped,' which didn't bother me at all (may end up as album of the year), gave me at least a half dozen of those magic moments. The sound was perfect, the band was amazing, and seeing them live (finally) has sealed their place in my all-time best list, and nearly made me completely lose memory of S-K two days prior. I'm not sure how they can still do this after so many years, but they fucking did it.

Setlist:
Schizophrenia
Reena
Incinerate
What A Waste
Mote + noise jam
Do you Believe In Rapture?
Kool Thing
Sleepin Around
Rats
Jams Run Free
Pink Steam
Or
----
Turquoise Boy
100%
-----
Lights Out
Shaking Hell

They are on Conan Wednesday night, by the way. And if you somehow have a bad taste in your mouth from the band, perhaps because your roommate played them too much in college, I suggest you give them another chance. They are also at the Minnesota State Fair in a couple weeks with the Flaming Lips.

EDIT: Their performance on Conan was horrible, due to sound issues.

Banned from the End of the World

1. The Fox
2. Start Together
3. Wilderness
4. Jumpers
5. Sympathy
6. Rollercoaster
7. Light Rail Coyote
8. Night Light
9. Ironclad
10. What's Mine Is Yours
11. Modern Girl
12. Let's Call It Love
13. Entertain
14. Turn It On

I can't believe I nearly considered missing this. Worth every penny. More later.

All Hands on the Bad One

I've been wrestling with an internal crisis all day today, if not all week. (But, you say, isn't this your eighteenth internal crisis this week? Yes, yes it is) It breaks down as follows:

Question: Should I spend $65 to buy a one day pass to Lollapalooza on Friday? (I'm out of town Saturday and Sunday (but I'm happily going to see Sonic Youth in Milwaukee on Sunday Night, FYI)).

Pros:
Sleater-Kinney, Sleater-Kinney, and Sleater-Kinney. If you would have asked me yesterday, or any of the 12 or so days before, I would tell you that I'm not going to go to Lolla this year. Friday's lineup isn't that great: Mates of State (who rule but I've seen them 10 times already), Death Cab (who I vow never to see again live unless a girl drags me), the Raconteurs (who might be good live but unfortunately are playing right before and on the other end of the festival (which is about a mile long), meaning I'd only have time for a few songs, if any, before I went to get a good spot for S-K. There are a couple other bands here and there, but mainly, this is all about one.

Cons:
Like I said, only one show that I'm looking forward to. The chance to see one of the truly great bands of my lifetime a week before they break up possibly forever. Yes, I know that sounds like some sort of grandiose statement which may only cause scoffing and eye-rolling, but if you've listened to the albums and seen them play live, I'm not sure how you could possibly argue. However, this show is at fucking Lollapalooza. Which means: A 50-55 minute set, a crowd that is filled mostly with people who aren't huge fans, and therefore won't respond to the band or dance or whatever, a band that has to play most if not all of their set in daylight (its from 730-830) who is only there to collect a paycheck. Pretty much every time I've seen a band I've loved in that environment, as with Spoon last Sunday, I feel like the show would've been so much better in a different setting. So, I'm afraid that seeing S-K go out like this would leave me with a bad taste in my mouth.

Pros:
I read some reviews of yesterday's S-K show in New York. Read this. "And really, one of the best rock shows of all time." Really? And that's coming from someone who doesn't like to throw around superlatives like candy. I've only seen them once, in 2000 at a tiny place called the Annex in Madison (for, like, $10), with a then-unknown band called the White Stripes opening up. By the end of that show my knees were so sore (I'd had surgery five months prior, and been on crutches as recently as three weeks earlier) that I could barely walk home. So much jumping, so much dancing with cute sweaty lesbians! I'm relatively sure that a short set at a massive outdoor festival is not going to hold a candle, but what if it's 50% as awesome? That'd still be pretty awesome. And I'd give all the money in my wallet (currently $14) and the rest of the hearing in my left ear in order to hear the opening to 'The Fox' live right now.

So, I've been going back and forth on this all day. Please give me your opinions.

Don't Make Me a Target

Right now at this very second in time it feels like about 110 degrees in our 'office,' which has inspired me to write a bit about last weekend. The Pitchfork festival was good. Too hot, obviously, though. I'd much rather buy countless $4 beers instead of wait for twenty minutes in the line to refill my water bottles any time, but who wouldn't? Also, I was surprised at the size of the crowd, I was a bit spoiled by Intonation's low turnout and reasonable temperatures. I arrived at about 2 on Saturday, just in time for Man Man, who I've neither seen nor heard before. They put on a great show, as did nearly everyone else on Saturday. I skipped parts of Band of Horses, Destroyer, and the Walkmen to gather water and/or food, but everyone else was great, at least from my usual vantage point right behind the soundboard (it was so crowded). Granted, eight hours of standing in the sun took its toll, so we didn't arrive on Sunday until about 6. I saw Yo La Tengo put on a rather lackluster set, then managed to squeeze into a rather decent spot up front to see Spoon play a great show as always (two new songs/new album early next year I believe) that was unfortunately cut short by the powers that rule the festival. Skipped Os Mutantes (remember the 12-year rule) to buy a couple silkscreen posters (Ted Leo/Rx and Death Cab) for our apartment, and headed home. Didn't sleep much last night. You can find more comprehensive reviews written elsewhere by people sitting in air conditioning if you spend five seconds looking.

An interesting thing happened Saturday while I was waiting for my overpriced chicken kebob: in the span of three minutes my picture was taken by two different and unrelated people who liked my tee-shirt. One of those people has a well-written but largely unread blog. Anyway, the attention was brief and completely unwarranted, but welcome nonetheless. I sometimes feel like a ghost here, especially in this neighborhood, walking around all ordinary and plain, especially since I've gotten a short haircut. I want to shout "I don't like my corporate job very much, but I suck at making art, even though I greatly appreciate it. Give me a fucking chance people!" It's almost enough to make a guy get a neck tattoo. Almost.

Catastrophe

I am not a cat person. I am a dog person. Simple as that. I'm not anti-cat. I'm not a cat-hater, I just prefer dogs. I don't need to go into reasons why, it is pretty obvious. You can't argue one way or another, and like with religion or politics, conversions are very rare. I'm a dog person.

So, we might get a cat. Our new apartment, being old and whatnot, allows cats but not dogs, and somewhere along the line M got the idea that we needed to have a cat. Or, as she says, a kitty. 'Can we get a kitty?' is the new question of the day, taking various alternate forms such as 'Either we get a kitty or I'll buy this $200 coffee maker, which is it?'. Recently this has turned into a constant barrage of feline-related discussions, and it is almost inevitable that soon enough everything I own will be covered in cat hair.

My family had a cat when I was growing up. It was named Pepper, and was well-behaved (didn't urinate on random things, didn't claw up furniture or do anything else that cats do that I don't even know about) but kind of a jerk (hated new people, didn't like to be petted, hid in the basement for days, and resented everyone when we got a puppy after a few years of becoming bored with the cat). I really don't want a cat like that. The cat that I'm looking for, if I have to have one, is one who behaves like the best roommate I've ever had. They should be independent enough to be able to do their own things, sometimes I may not see them all day. But when we do hang out, it should always be a blast. Also, they should be neat and not ever get pissed off. And never wake me up by licking my face. And not ask me for money (or catnip, or whatever).

If I have to share my apartment with a cat, I'm not going to become a cat person. I am making a vow here. I'm not going to start cooing about how cute it is, or waste valuable blog real estate telling you how fucking 'pwecious' it is, or post little pictures of it being adorable with horrible captions.

Some Youtube Goodness for the Childrens

Best Music Video Ever - "Sabotage" directed by Spike Jonze

R.E.M.'s first TV appearence - performing 'Radio Free Europe' on Letterman

Unaired Pilot for Heat Vision and Jack, starring Jack Black and the voice of Owen Wilson - Best thing ever???

Chappelle's classic Samuel Jackson Beer commercial

Why basketball and trampolines do not go together.

Pull Shapes

I've been going to the Pitchfork website daily since 1998, back when it was called live-wire.com, I think. For all of its faults, it's still my most trusted review source, even though I disagree with the reviews sometimes and it can be predictable (I always try to guess the ranking before clicking on the review. I can get it spot on some of the time, but they also manage to surprise me sometimes (like with this week's Pipettes review)). Therefore, you'd think that something called the Pitchfork Music Festival held approximately six blocks east and fourteen blocks south of my apartment would hold some appeal. Well, you'd be right. The line-up is fantastic. I can't see myself getting there any later than 2 or 2:30 each afternoon, and I will stay until the end both days. God knows what kind of shape I'll be in on Monday. Temps are supposed to be 95 or so, I wonder if I can survive in that sort of environment, though I'm sure I'll see plenty of hipsters wearing sweaters or leggings. I'll be the sweaty dude in shorts and a white tee shirt with "7.9" written on it in magic marker.

You're with me, Weather

Last Tuesday I walked to the train after work, but the doors closed just as I reached the platform. Five minutes later, I was on another train. We moved to the next stop and then the power went out and emergency lights came on. We stood in a now-air conditionless car for about ten minutes, before we received the announcement to empty the train and go up to the street. It turns out the train ahead of us had caught on fire. It was a big enough story to make the BBC news apparently. If I had been ten seconds earlier and been in the thick of it. I'd like to think that I'd help personally escort several pregnant women and elderly people to safety through the thick smoke. But, more likely, I would have wet myself, pushed past the old people, and used a fallen pregnant woman to cushion my jump off of the train, all the while thinking 'I hope this smoke doesn't damage my iPod.'

Syd Barrett was surprisingly well known for someone whose actual music most people have never heard. I'm sure Piper will at least receive a sales bump, which is certainly well-deserved. Everything Pink Floyd did afterwards always seemed brilliant to me, but then I turned 20 and realized most of it was not very good, and regard mostly everything today with dramatic eye-rolling. Dark Side of the Moon has been so overplayed that I don't think I'll ever listen to it again. Anyway, check this neat youtube clip of early P.F. on some BBC TV show, they play after some crusty dude gives a speech on why they aren't any good.

Last Thursday I went out for tapas and sangria at Iberico, ate about 20 different things, including rabbit(!), and drank enough to nearly kill me. The occasion was a farewell dinner for a coworker, who was nice enough to give me the alarm clock/CD player that was on her desk. Right now I'm trying to determine the loudest volume level that I can get away with.

On Saturday I bought an air conditioner. Usually, I can suck it up and get by for a few hot days, but with triple digit temps I finally caved in. It's just for our bedroom, for sleeping. Problem was that the airconditioner was so small that we kind of had to improvise to seal off the window around it. There are now several more openings for more house centipedes and long-horned beetles to come in and crawl up my leg. Welcome, insect-overlords. We didn't actually get the thing installed until Sunday evening. Saturday was spent sitting on the couch, sweating, not touching, watching horrible movies on TV and eating fruit and hummus. Cold showers rule, however.

This weekend, or Thursday, actually, I'm hitting the road back up to the land where ten dollars at a bar can get you hammered. My sister's wedding is on Friday, I probably will refrain from stopping it from happening. My hope is for the temperature to be comfortable, considering the ceremony is outside. Hopefully several FFLs will be around for good times on Saturday, we shall see.

Touche

I guess soccer isn't too boring sometimes. Any sporting event I watch in the next couple months that doesn't involve a ridiculous headbutt is going to be yawn-city.

Today a bunch of people at work were organizing an "MLB Home Run Derby" office pool. It involved eight people picking a random name out of a hat (well, probably not a hat, literally). I did not partake. First off, doing something so random is just ridiculous. It would be like ten people each throwing in five bucks, assigning themselves numbers from one to ten, and then rolling a ten-sided die to determine the winner. Not that I have a ten-sided die, or even know what one is. Secondly, I stupidly did this last year, in an attempt to feel like one of the gang most likely, and I picked Pittsburgh Pirate Jason Bay, who hit the exact same number of home runs that I did in eighth-grade softball (zero).

EDIT: That Zidane link seems to only work sometimes. He is headbutting the Leaning Tower of Pisa back into upright position. It is awesome.

Word Jumble

There's a lot of disorganized things floating around, so I'm going to have to do this bullet point stizz.

- On the 4th I went to a cookout which seemed to be organized by the hostess for the sole purpose of acquiring beer. I was having a music-related conversation with someone. At one point, he said, and I'm paraphrasing here: "So pretty much all during the 1980s, with Reagan in the white house, all the music changed into being all happy and poppy all the time, because there were no problems for anyone to complain about." I wasn't exactly struck speechless. He's still alive by the way, though very badly burnt.

- Our Great National Nightmare is Over! FFL Nate is back from his long hiatus, and promises to update his blog 4 times a week, thanks to my brilliantly-conceived petition. By the way, if you don't know Nate, he is a fine gentleman who looks exactly like a young Donal Logue. It's uncanny.

- In the past week three of my favorite coworkers (and, therefore, three of my best friends in town) are officially on their way out the door. One voluntary, two involuntarily. Plus my 'assistant' is leaving as well, and apparently is not going to be replaced. Did I ever mention how much work sucks before? Well, now it's going to get worse. Are there any record stores in the city who offer 401(k)'s???

- Middle eastern food is great! Let's throw in food from Nepal and India as well. And yes, I know that is a pretty broad area of real estate, but it seems that food from any of these countries can all be combined and mixed up together on one plate, Thanksgiving style. I live within baseball throwing distance from Sultan's Market in the W.P., which is one of my new favorite places in the hood.

- Some people have little pics of albums on the sides of their blogs, or sometimes books or DVDs as well, saying basically 'this is what i'd listening to/reading/watching and you should to, if you fucking know what is good for you, and by the way, I'm so much more cool than you could ever be.' Well, I'm no longer smart enough to accomplish something like that, but I can tell you, olde-fashionede texte stylee:

Listening:
-Lots and lots of deerhoof, especially The Runners Four and Reveille. Even though the former came out last October, I may put it on my best of '06 CD. Yes, it feels wrong, but oh so right.
-The Pipettes. They can't sing and the album is poorly produced, but you can tell by listening that they look cute in polka-dot dresses.
-The new Sonic Youth, obvs. Also every other album of theirs (all 16(?) of them) that I have.
-The Boredoms. Yup, I'm just that hardcore.
-The Beta Band. High Fidelity (the movie) reference aside, The 3 EPs is fucking golden.
-Pavement, Wowee Zowee. Still only my 4th fav pave album, but double-disc reissue coming this year, getting excited. (and, wowee, it looks like amazon is having a cheap pavement sale). By the way, saying this is my 4th favorite pavement album is like saying someone is your 4th favorite child.
-Everything Sleater-Kinney, to mourn their passing.

Watching, via Netflix:
-Walk the Line. Kind of sucked, pretty much EXACTLY what you expect. I do plan on reading J. Cash's autobiography soon, however.
-Manhattan. Haven't seen in ages. Not Annie Hall, but pretty fucking classic.
-Seven Samurai. Best three and a half hour movie I've ever seen?
-Angel, Season One, Disc 1 and 2. Eh? Hopefully it gets better. Though episode 8 did make M cry.
-Hustle and Flow. Better than I expected. Avoided all stereotypes. Recommended.

Reading:
-White Noise, Don DeLillo. Small enough to carry on the train, big enough to blow your mind.
-Gravity's Rainbow, Thomas Pinchon. Haven't started yet, just bought this week at Quimby's.
-The Better of McSweeney's, Vol 1. Just picked this back up today. Very good.

Wow, that was self-indulgent, huh? Let's move on.

- More evidence that I am an alcoholic: I combined Scotch with Coke (I call it CocaMacCola) and it was mostly horrible. But a week later, I had it again. Bad times.

- Last weekend I bought an exercise bike. Assembling it was my exercise for the first week. Rode it today hardcore for the first time: I am incredibly out of shape, despite having to walk everywhere.

- Veronica Mars got robbed by the Emmy noms. But that's what awards do, right? Crush dreams.

- Uh, I don't really have much of a big-time closer. Make up something good in your head.

Look Ma, No Hands

I've watched more soccer during the nearly completed World Cup than my entire previous 27 years combined. That's still not very much, about the same total as any given Sunday during the upcoming futbol americano season (by the way, am I delusional by thinking that the Packers have a decent shot to win their division or what?). Some of this was helped by having several co-workers who were obsessed to the point of boring everyone at lunch for a good month before the thing started. I'm usually in the a) Make goals bigger OR b) Smaller goal, no goalkeeper camp, but that's mostly due to ignorance of the sport. Since I've been baptized in the unsanitary foreign waters of soccer this year, however, I feel qualified to give some more opinions.

Ways to improve World Cup Soccer:

1. No Flopping. For a sport whose most common criticism in this country is "It's too boring," the last thing we need is countless whistles for questionable fouls (we already have the NBA for that, cough, dallaswasrobbed, cough, cough). Red and Yellow cards are so subjective that every one of them can be argued. Only award them when a player kicks another in the groin (Red Card!) or in the face (Yellow!). Eliminate fouls by at least 70%, everything that looks like they're going for the ball should be fine. We've seen far too many Oscar-caliber performances where a dude who's been running around for two hours straight falls down, rolls over three times, then clutches at their chest where their heart should be, but alas, it has been stolen by the opposing player, Temple of Doom style, only with his feet. Then they jump off of the stretcher when they are halfway off the field. These people should be Red Carded, every time. Nothing hurts that much. They should also be kicked in the groin.

2. No Penalty kicks to decide a tie. This is just stupid. Considering that someone being good at shooting/defending penalty kicks is the EXACT same level of skill as someone being good at Rock, Paper, Scissors, this is no way to decide a match of such importance that the losers, if they happen to live in certain South American countries, will likely be murdered in a parking garage a month later. We can keep the 30 minutes of extra time, but after that it is sudden death until someone scores. They do this during the hockey playoffs. So come on soccer, are you really worse than hockey? That is like being worse than syphilis.

3. Improve TV coverage. Sure, I like the fact that unlike all American sports, there are zero commercials or timeouts, but I would appreciate at least some footage of the crowds during these things. You know there is constant fighting and near riots, plus a few shots of hot Brazilian women couldn't hurt. Have you ever seen a Cubs game on TV? It goes like this: a) shot of Cubs pitcher scowling b) Dusty Baker scowling c) fratty Cubs fan scowling d) Hot Girl e) Hot Girl f) Hot Girl g) the pitch f) Hot Girl scowling. I'd much rather look at a hot Swedish soccer fan than another girl who lives in Lincoln Park and drives an SUV.

4. No offsides penalties. This is just stupid on every level.

5a. Make the goals bigger
OR
5b. Smaller goal, no goalie.

Burn, Don't Freeze

Thinking back to my Sonic Youth-inspired post of a couple weeks ago, I wonder what the influence of married couples within bands has to do within longevity. Sonic Youth has one, obviously. So do a couple other long-running bands, Yo La Tengo and Stereolab are the first examples that come to my mind. YLT and Stereolab might be a record or two past their primes (as I thought SY was a few months ago) but they have all had long careers making consistently good albums. Considering that most people, including myself, imagine working with their mate as being too much of a good thing, I kind of find this hard to believe. But it seems to work in the rock and roll sense. I've had a couple old girlfriends who were in bands, and I at the time wanted nothing more than to be on stage and play tambourine in the background.

Speaking of bands, I was crushed two days ago when I heard that Sleater-Kinney had broken up. Though I don't think they've ever reached 'Number One Band of the Moment' status in my head, they've always hovered around the top five to ten. Six great albums, continuous musical growth, a great live show, what more could you want. From the post riot grrl pop of Dig Me Out to the political screeds of One Beat to the epic bombast of last year's The Woods, they have cemented their place in music history. Their second-to-last ever concert is the first day of lollapalooza, I'm debating whether it's worth the 75 or so dollars or whatever for the one day pass, since I'm being forced to miss the next two days. If you haven't heard much of them, or only have heard a few songs from my Best of '02 and '05 CDs, please give them a shot. I know I gave a big speech about how it's better to burn out than fade away, and this seems like the perfect time for S-K to do just that, but it doesn't make it any easier to take.

Speaking of things ending too soon, I've created a petition to bring back naterohan.com. Half my hits were coming from there anyway. Obviously I made a spelling error, it should be 'enlighten' instead of 'enlighted'.

Speaking of spelling, I watched the National Spelling Bee Finals a few weeks ago. Awesome job by everyone; glad the Canadian girl didn't win, though it was very odd when she was whistled for a foul on Dwayne Wade in the last round. I remember back when I was in eighth grade, my last year of spelling bee eligibility. I fucked up in my school's spelling bee. I spelled illustrated as i-l-l-a-s-t-r-a-t-e-d like a fucking idiot. Obviously I wouldn't have made it past the regionals, thanks to one now-married FFL (friend-for-life), but still. I even was a recent subscriber to Sports Illustrated magazine at the time. I choked, plain and simple, but at least I didn't mess up on an easy word like antipyretic. That would have been embarrassing for sure.

In other news: Last weekend the Intonation Festival was great, I never realized that I'd enjoy hip-hop acts live so much, especially in such a non-threatening environment (aka 97% white). Ghostface, Rhymefest, the Streets, and Lupe Fiasco were all awesome. Jon Brion stole the show with his multi-layered solo act, however. I also spent fifty dollars on beers. The weekend before I was in Madison, WI, where the drinks are cheap, and I found out I can still pass as a student with my 1997 student ID, even though I had a worse haircut than at present, if that is possible.

expletive deleted

Some days I bring my "A" game, the world is my oyster and I am king. Today was not one of those days. I don't like to complain, I prefer the silent sulking method.

But:

At lunch today I saw a bunch of people leaving for the day. I was informed that they were all going to the Cubs/Brewers game; sitting in the executive box and entertaining a couple clients. This sort of thing happens once in awhile, I usually resign myself in thinking that I'm not executive-important enough to be invited along.

But:

1. I knew several clients had cancelled, meaning extra tickets were available.
2. The Cubs were playing my #1 favorite baseball squadron, the Milwaukee Brewers, which nearly everyone knows.
3. One of the people invited along was the brand new intern, who a) doesn't care much about baseball b) is here for two months and then never working here or in our entire industry again, and c) has already been taken out for three lunches and now the fucking baseball game despite he's only been here for six days, while yours truly in 17 months has reaped the corporate rewards of exactly two beers and a trip to Ft. Wayne, IN. He's better looking, 5 years younger, and much friendlier than I (obviously), so maybe he deserves it.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in full sulk mode, listening to Bob Uecker over the interweb calling the Brew-Crews 5-4 victory. A brief half-hour milkshake run in the 5th inning as the only exception. I also closed some businessy-type deals that would've made fucking Alec Baldwin circa Glengarry Glen Ross proud.

I went home, decided to get a haircut, just a trim, to make myself presentable for my sister's wedding in a few weeks. I waited a solid 35 minutes, then clearly explained to the hair-cutter-person what I wanted.

But:

Apparently when I said "thin out and texturize the back and sides with a razor-comb" is was interpreted as 'grab a electric shaver and buzz off six inches of hair, but make sure you do enough damage that it's not possible to salvage my dignity by neither keeping the rest long or cutting everything short' . I was left with a cool haircut from perhaps 15 years ago, long all over except the back and sides, except the long hair is long enough to hang over and hide the back and sides, looking semi-normal until the breeze from an air-conditioning vent blows. NO, fuck it, I can't even properly describe it. It looks weird and horrible, especially from the back. Nearly ten months of avoided hair-care professionals, now I know why.

However, I got the haircut for free, since it was so fucking bad. Hooray me!

2 glasses of scotch down, how many left to go?

Confusion is Next

I'm always been an advocate of the theory that it's better to burn out than fade away. The Rolling Stones, Woody Allen, Elvis Costello, Tom Wolfe, David Bowie, R.E.M., Martin Scorsese, U2, Bob Dylan, add some more to the list. All should have quit while they were ahead. That's the reason everyone still loves the Beatles, because we weren't subjected to The Beatles Do Disco! in 1977. The best thing that ever happened to Led Zeppelin was their drummer choking on his own vomit, and they were already pushing the limits. Granted there may be rare exceptions, but most of these are manufactured by fans and the press, i.e. a five-star review of the latest Rolling Stones album.

It's hard to blame the artists, really. They need to make a living. And, unfortunately, their fans, aging rapidly themselves, can never simply walk away. Why would the middle-aged Stones fan spurn A Bigger Bang in order to buy the Arctic Monkey's LP instead? If a Rolling Stones' fan admits that they no longer are able to make a great album (This is something they should have realized in 1973), do they not also realize their own mortality? Not to mention the artists themselves; I'm sure that within six months of the Stones breaking up for good (which won't happen by the way, without a band member's death) that at least two of them will die. Maybe this is the problem, that we can never fully admit that younger people can do it better. I'm at the age now in which every pro athlete in the first 5 years of their career is younger than I, which is kind of a hard fact to accept. As a teenager, I could always look at the athletes, and musicians and filmmakers and authors for that matter, and think, wow, maybe in a few years I'll be able to do something like that. As time went on, it was more "Wow, he directed his first feature at 23, I only have two years left." Now, it's: "Damn, I need to buy more nacho cheese, I'm out again."

Anyway, I'll admit that this theory can be clouded by the fact that we are always searching for the next big thing (and by 'we' I mean people who haven't simply given up on new music/literature/art and have chosen a closed-off existence in 1991 or 1987 or 1968 or whenever), and originality is often confused with greatness. Likewise, artists who change with the times are often accused of pandering (which no doubt is sometimes the case) with electronic blips and freshly frosted tips.

But let's go back to music, can you think of any band or artist which released their best album more than ten years after they started? The only clear example I'm sure of is The Flaming Lips' The Soft Bulletin (released in 1999, a solid 15 years after their inception), otherwise I'm at a loss. There are some that come right at the cutoff mark, but nothing definitive. The pursuit of greatness is something that cannot be sustained over a long time period, but is too appealing to stop trying.

The reason I've been thinking about all this lately is that the new Sonic Youth album is fucking great. Probably not 'their best album ever' great, but great nonetheless. It's called Rather Ripped and will be in stores on Tuesday. Am I just being naive? Am I as bad as the people I've described above? Sonic Youth always seemed on a different level than most bands, because even though they were never famous (except for a brief semi-famous period in the early-to-mid 90s (they were on an episode of the Simpsons after all: Thurston Moore: Aw, come on, Mr. Frampton. You're not gonna eat all that watermelon.)), but they always managed to pay the mortgage and avoid the factors that could break up a band or cause it to pander. Between the summers of 1998 and 1999 I bought every album they had released up to that point. Enjoyed all of them, some more than others, agreed with most critics that their mid to late 80s run was their peak. The 90s stuff was good, but there were always certain songs that never quite clicked. And, of course, they were never great singers or lyricists. But they continued to self-release experimental EPs and hold captive a devoted fanbase. I continued to buy their new records. NYC Ghosts + Flowers was mostly bad, and I was prepared to put them out to pasture, but they critically rebounded with their next two albums, which perhaps top anything they put out in the decade prior. This alone is cause for alarm. And the new album, it's nothing different except a bit catchier, perhaps their last offering of relatively mainstream fare (coinciding with the last album on their major label record contract) before they firmly shut the door on the masses that never accepted them. But the band members' ages are, as of today, 53, 50, 47, and 43. My parents are 54 and 52. This is old. Can you think of any 50-year-olds you wouldn't mind hanging out with, not to mention any who you would feel self-consciously uncool around?

Like I said, perhaps I'm just being naive here. But maybe Sonic Youth found magic alien pods in their swimming pool. Maybe they alone have the secret, or maybe just have been lucky. I'm not sure, but it doesn't seem natural.

A Cinderella Story...

Just finished watching Jim Jarmusch's Broken Flowers, starring Bill Murray. Good movie, I was very proud to hear one of my favorite songs, "There is an End," by The Greenhornes ft. Holly Golightly on vocals, used in both the beginning and end credits.

Near the end of the movie, Bill Murray runs. He runs about 40 yards or so, maybe less. Bill Murray, 55 years old, who in his recent resurgence, from Rushmore to Lost in Translation to The Life Aquatic to now, has always played a morose static figure who can only wistfully think about his life gone by so quickly.

Bill Murray can run faster than me. I can't even walk from the train station to my office without my knee giving out at least once.

We need a moat. A moat of fire... filled with fire-proof crocodiles

As a simple man (IQ of 73) who enjoys simple pleasures (bourbon on the rocks, loud music, post-modern art, potato chips), it doesn't take much for me to have a relaxing weekend. But usually I end up trudging to work Monday morning feeling that I left certain exciting stones unturned, that the two hours I spent playing RBI Baseball on my computer wasn't the best use of free time. Well, this past weekend wasn't like that. Here's a summary:

Friday night: ran to the store for groceries, then made satisfactory tuna steaks for dinner. Went with a friend to see Tapes 'n Tapes w/Cold War Kids (verdict = meh) at the Abbey, had a few beers afterwards, took train home, ate potato chips and watched the second half of Annie Hall.

Saturday morning: got up relatively early and took a bus to go to the Choke Garage Sale. Spent exactly $5 to buy about 25 CDs and 10 7"s. I've heard of about five of these (Marble Valley, anyone?) but the rest were choosen based on band name or album cover. Lots of punk rock, I think, but I haven't listened to any yet, since I've also bought 7 other CDs (that I've heard of) in the past week.

Then: dropped off bag of records at home and took train downtown to Printer's Row Book Fair. Caught Dave Eggers. Returned home.

Afternoon: ate pizza, watched Cubs/Cardinals, read on the porch, slightly dozed off while listening to music.

Evening: met coworker for drinks in the neighborhood, watched basketball game, out until 1 (including being at a place with a "Rescue 911" pinball machine), then home for an alcohol-soaking meal of stove top stuffing and Super Mario Bros 3.

Sunday: took train/bus to Hyde Park to meet M (who has been working all weekend), went to 57th street art fair, left with a new painting. Then the rest of the day I did nothing, and went to sleep before 11 for the first time in a month. If that's not excitement, I don't know what is.

Next weekend will hopefully be even better, as out of town guests will be here to amuse me. I'll try to get all my sleeping in during the week.

An Inconvenient Truth... that it is fucking hot today

About five minutes ago I was sitting at the computer, surfing the web idly and listening my yahoo radio station, when I heard a loud 'bang.' I thought to myself, "Gee, that nearly sounded like a gunshot." A minute or so later I heard a similar noise, repeated a few times. I walked into the living room and asked M what it was. Then we started hearing it in rapid succession, and it sounded like it was coming from somewhere close. Ten seconds later I looked to find both M and I on our belly's lying on the wooden living room floor. I heard our upstairs neighbors' footsteps scampering around. Only when I heard the sizzle of an exploding roman candle did I realize that fireworks were being set off, instead of being a close witness to a Wicker Park drive-by.

My parents visited this weekend, Saturday to Sunday, bringing us a futon suitable for inebriated guests and helped us hang pictures on our cardboard-plaster walls. We walked around my new neighborhood and downtown, ate pizza and drank micro-brews, took squinty-eyed pictures of each other. Today we went downtown and to Navy Pier, my parents took pictures of various buildings, most noticeably the Chicago Theater, whose impressive sign caught their attention. What didn't seem to catch their attention was the fact that the Chicago Theater marquee was welcoming "International Mr. Leather 2006."

What a horrible weekend to be hosting such an event, temps in the 90s today. By the way, if anyone googling 'international mr. leather 2006' winds up on this webpage, welcome!

Up to Speed

Our new apartment is so big that I've established an unenforceable rule that says that one person can't yell across the apartment to the other person, since there's no way to hear each other. If I want to, say, make nachos and watch basketball (on network TV only, natch), I have to prepare everything in the kitchen and then take everything about fifty feet away to the living room. By the time I've reached my destination, the cheese temperature is unsatisfyingly low. Despite the vast expanse of the place, every footstep on the sagging hardwood floors produces tremendous noise. The noises seem to be louder at 6:30 am, when I'm trying to sleep. There are ants, little black ones, in the bathroom. We have used an entire bottle of ant-killer spray and 8 mini-ant-traps, but still find at least a couple ants per day. This doesn't bother me in the slightest, as these ants rank nearest the bottom of the giant list of hated insects.

The move went OK, except for the fact that my bike got stolen during. The movers left it in the back alley of my old place before loading it onto the truck, and shockingly someone decided that they would like an old but dependable Trek bicycle. Worse was the fact that the movers disavowed themselves of any responsibility, and even charged me for the 45 minutes they spent 'looking' for the bike and yelling at my old building manager. Repeated phone calls to management produced a similar response. So, if you live in Chicago and are looking for a moving service, God have mercy on your pathetic soul if you go with "The Professionals - Moving and Storage", thepromove.com.

The fact that I now live closer to the loop is tarnished by the fact that my commute actually takes longer, thanks to trains that are so crowded I consider myself lucky if I can squeeze into the first one that comes along, which I've managed to do about 55% of the time so far. Plus I have to walk further to the train and to my office. Only good thing is now I have an easy way home at 3 am on a Saturday morning.

The week after moving we went to New York for four days. Much better than the last time around, lots of late nights and drinking and expensive food. Finally got to go to MoMA as well, which was even better than I had hoped. Jennifer Bartlett's "Rhapsody" was the greatest thing ever.

Last weekend was our first relaxing one in about a month, I went to see Saturday Looks Good to Me play on Friday, alone since M was 'tired.' I'm shocked that they don't draw a bigger crowd, there was probably only 35 people there, if that, which is sad considering that in the four bands who played there was about 17 people combined. Usually after I've seen a band live a few times I start complaining about how every show is now selling out and all these new fans weren't there from the beginning like I was. I'm not sure what is wrong with everybody. But I ended up having a great time, bought a couple LPs and had a few drinks with some complete strangers, none of whose names I can recall. My Saturday was crushed by my resulting hangover. No regrets, however.