i heard the dude blamed the chick. i heard the chick blamed the snake. i heard they were naked when they got busted.

If anyone is planning future vacations, I'd advise them to stay clear of Ft. Wayne, IN. My trip was fine, my rental car was shiny and new and I drove like a swallow flies. My hotel was a suite with a couch and 90 channels on the TV (except no Cinemax!!!!), the pool was small but deserted. I ate alone at a supper club type place, overpriced but on the company dime of course. I learned a thing or two, but most of my mental energy was absorbed by renting my car and checking into hotel and such. It felt like a vacation, and now it's hard to believe the week is over already. I highly recommend taking business trips.

So this is a holiday weekend, and while I'm not going anywhere exciting, I plan on having a terrific time. Saturday I'm going to see Saturday Looks Good To Me play for the first time since St. Patrick's weekend of reunion bliss, hopefully they will have a lineup suited for rockin' out this time. Any chicago residents are welcome to come along, no pun intended. Sunday and most of Monday M is off, so I'll probably be dragged somewhere that involves exchanging money for goods or services, but hopefully enjoy myself. What I really miss since moving here is grilling, G. Foreman doesn't quite cut it. If anyone has a grill, invite me over, I'll bring the finest meats available.

If for whatever reason I was dragged onto an open mic stage with only my electric guitar and amp, here are the songs I'd play:

1. "Moonage Daydream" - David Bowie
2. "Box Elder" - Pavement
3. "Let's Shake Hands" - White Stripes

What is the deal with Tom Cruise??? Even I wouldn't be that excited if I was dating Katie Holmes.

Watched the Criterion DVD of Hoop Dreams on Tuesday. A great documentary without a grandstanding director hogging camera time. (Though I do like 85% of each M. Moore film).

I bought the new S-K album yesterday, along with the new Malkmus. You can stream the former here, though you should just buy it. It comes with a live DVD.

The Sober Truth

Finally, someone asks for advice:

I have a problem. You see, I am in college right now...and find myself single. I'm very alone...and find myself drinking...by myself. Does drinking by yourself make you a loser?

Drunken in the Dark

Sorry for taking so long to respond, DITD, but I had nearly given up on the chance that anyone would actually ask for my advice. You see, it gets very lonely in this virtual ivory tower of mine, though I appear to have everything that a proud blog-owner could want (a loyal readership, an increasing hit-counter, membership to the exclusive 'bloggers-only' clubs around town), I longed desperately for some contact. A comment here or there, or hopefully, a sincere email asking for advice. I was lonely, just like you DITD. And when you are lonely, you want to do anything you can to make you feel differently. Such as... turning to alcohol. Somehow, the magic properties of alcohol affect us in such a way to make certain things easier to take, such as being lonely, dancing, cleaning your apartment, meeting your girlfriend's parents, mowing the lawn, going to the dentist, playing frisbee, flying kites, driving, going to work, sleeping, eating cereal, showering, going to church, voting, watching reality TV, and blogging.

Back to your question: drinking alone doesn't necessarily make you a loser. Everyone at some time or another enjoys a drinky drink to soak up their troubles, there's nothing wrong with that. But the thing is, drinking alone kind of sucks compared to drinking with other people. And the good thing about being in college is that everyone likes drinking. It is easy to find people to drink with! It's like that old Dave Chappelle joke about smoking weed with a Klan member; there's pretty much no reason anyone would refuse to drink with you if you ask them. As far as being single, that's fine too, and there's nothing more exciting than being single and drinking with a bunch of other single people. Even if you end up back home alone, it'll be a better time than sitting home all night drinking and reading some idiot's blog. You also have to enjoy being single, because someday you will experience a suffocating relationship and look back on this time as a golden age.

You should probably know that while typing I've been enjoying a very cold gin martini, and I'm alone in the apartment. Am I a loser? Well, depends on who you ask. But I have no qualms. In the past I went through my heavy share of ultradepressing drinking alone moments, but you'll always, hopefully, bounce back into drinking with others and making out with their friends.

If you have any questions, or just want an entire blog post devoted to a subject of your choice, please send an email to the address on the right.

Chaotic

As loyalists may know, during the day I spend the time I'm supposed to be working on boring office-y things daydreaming about being a Pop Culture commentator, or 'Fundit" on VH1. Well, I decided that I wouldn't be a very promising pop culture commentator if I accrued all my pop culture knowledge by reading blogs and online hipster magazines; I need more first-hand experience. I need to be 'in the shit,' as Vietnam veterans would put it. This means I need to watch more bad TV.

It just so happens that I'm lucky enough to live with someone who not only subscribes to US Weekly, but also has been talking seemingly nonstop for the past few weeks about the Britney Spears/K-Fed reality show, which finally aired last night on UPN. I figured this was the moment I've been waiting for to immerse myself fully and without guilt into the bile of popular culture.

Like the earlier alluded-to veterans, I think I may have terrifying flashbacks for years to come. Mrs. Spears has obviously been emotionally damaged by spending the last 6 or 7 years surrounded by people who dress her and do her hair and feel compelled (i.e. are paid) to carry on a conversation with her and seem interested. When you see a video or picture of her in a magazine you don't think about the fact that she never graduated high school and is possibly too stupid to be executed for any crimes; you think about the fact that her ass is the size and shape of a basketball.

I did manage to watch the entire hour. I should get a certificate or a plaque. To sum up: for the first half hour, Britney acts like a retarded donkey and complains that she needs companionship (is horny) and doesn't believe in marriage. In the second half, she brings K-Fed, who she met a couple times before, to London to give her some companionship at least three times a day. That's pretty much it. Even worse was the fact that instead of the traditional reality show look, the entire program was shot by Britney and her entourage on handheld cameras, giving it the weird combination of The Blair Witch Project meets a junior high slumber party.

After the show was over, I tried to cleanse the soul with the Velvet Underground, a chapter of One Hundred Years of Solitude, and the first act of Bottle Rocket, but nothing could make me clean again. On the plus side, it made going to work today much more enjoyable than usual.

Best News I've Heard All Week

"Speaking of mothers, let me give that oatmeal some brown sugar!"

The best show on TV (...ever?) gets renewed for another full season. If you don't think it's funny, you are banned from the blog.

I could throw you a party every single day

It always looks like trouble when a trip to the library is the most exciting part of your weekend, narrowly edging the trips to the produce market and Target, plus a dvd viewing of The Life Aquatic and the subsequent early-70s David Bowie marathon. On Friday M and I each chose numerically-titled movies to rent (Ocean's 12 vs. The Third Man, the former failed to live up to already low expectations, the latter is being saved for tonight.) Last week I finally got my state of IL driver's license, meaning no more fantastic tales of authority figures questioning my age (which last occurred at the Miller Brewery tour). I went Friday during lunch, and was lucky enough to get to stand in five separate lines. A year and change ago I took the State exam to be an employee of the DMV, I believed I did quite well on the test (which basically makes sure you're not dyslexic, and, using carefully worded multiple-choice questions, makes sure that when dealing with customers, you don't go batshit freaking insane), but, unfortunately there were no opening in my particular county of residence. Though at present it's hard to tell whether or not I'd like that particular career field more than my current one, I will have to agree that I'm less numb with my current position. The guy who administered the vision test (which I barely passed, stupid new contacts) was too lazy to push the little buttons on the control panel, so he simply held them down permanently with thumb-tacks, leaving his hands free to idly fondle himself while he stared off into space with his glazed eyes and mumble in a monotone. You have to admire someone with a job like that who says, "now, this job isn't too bad, but why do I have to move my fingers? I'm not your goddamned slave!" Granted, the fact that all the people in front of me were reading the exact same letters, and noticing the flashing lights on both sides, kind of helped me get through some of the tricky ones at the beginning. Like G and O, those bastards.

Thunder-stealer

Here's why the internet is wonderful: Last winter I included a song by Annie on my 'Best of 2004' mixtape, but her album isn't being released in the US until next month! Here's a great article from the Times.

I'm not an attention grabbing 'lookatme, lookatme, itsmybirthday, givemepresents!' type of person, in fact, I feel kinda smarmy telling anyone that my birthday is coming up. Big deal, a birthday. I don't want any presents, presents are usually disappointing. But it seems I work with someone who needs to tell everyone in the world (office) that it's her birthday, which happens to be on the same day (and year) as mine. And this is fine, she's a good person, happy birthday to her. But this also means we'd be standing next to each other, and a million and three people would come up and wish her a happy birthday, or give her a card or a big bag of cash, and she'd say 'it's his birthday too,' and whoever would say 'oh, i didn't know. uh..... happy birthday.' I signed a card for her that someone passed around the office. It had fifty signatures on it, each with a personal message. And the weird thing is, she's been working there less than a year, so this is the first birthday she's had. So it's not like a big annual tradition or anything. Today a group of 14 of us went out for lunch, and her birthday was supposed to be the occasion. I'd guess barely half knew it was mine too. So when the bill comes, someone says, "OK, divide by 13, since it's her birthday lunch, she doesn't have to pay." And I get out my wallet and someone else whispers back 'well, it's his birthday too.' then there is a long awkward pause, before the first person says, 'well, ok, divide it by 12 then.' And everyone grumbles when they hear what they owe, and one person tells me to put my wallet away while at least 10 others curse my name. I tried making up for it by buying a round of beers after work, but I still felt pretty much like an asshole.

Remember the weight of the world is the sound we used to buy/On cassette and 45

I know this blog has sucked lately, my little cumquats, and I promise to try harder in the future. But, yet, while I can apologize 'til my fingers are blue in the tips, you, gentle reader, have not exactly seduced me into increasing my output. I have received zero legitimate advice-seeking emails. And that fucking hurts, my little chickadees. So, as a last ditch effort, I'm changing my official Wyld Stallyns blog email address. Perhaps the original one was a bit too controversial. But, on the other hand, you are, hopefully on an increasingly routine basis typing a URL into your web browser of choice that reads suspiciously like a gay porn website, if you really think about it. So, for all blog-related purposes, including those poor souls seeking life-changing advice, my new email address is: seacrest_out@email.com (note the underbar)

Here's why this summer will rule: June 11-17 I'm going on vacation. And, though I've been to various locales throughout the years, and have gone weeks and even months without working, this will be the first time that I will be taking 'vacation days' while taking a week off. This means I don't have to go into work for a week, BUT I STILL GET PAID AS USUAL!!! How amazing is that!!! Think about it for a second: Last week I worked my ass off, my-new-contact-lens-wearing-eyes were burned out of their sockets staring at the computer. And the week of June 13-17 I won't work a single minute. And I'll get paid the exact same amount! Wowzers!!! To make matters more interesting, I'll be spending my time off in New York City, where my goal will be to not sleep the entire time (though, after tickets were booked, I found out I'd by missing concerts here by Spoon, Sleater-Kinney, and Ted Leo/Rx. drag.) And, even weirder yet, I must shamefully admit that it will mark my first time ever on an airplane. And while on that airplane, I shall drink liquor for the first time ever, and also have first-time-ever-sex in the bathroom. It will be the day I finally become a man, June 11, mark yr calendars y'all.

Also, summer goodness: July 16-17 is the intonation music festival in chicago, curated by the snobbish kids at the great indie music zine Pitchfork. Some great bands and it's only 10 bucks a day, pay at the entrance. And the next week is Lollapolooza, which is a million (i.e. 5) times more expensive, and the lineup isn't exactly that wonderful so far, but i've never been to any sort of huge summer music festival type thing before, so I figured the experience would be worth the 100-dollar two day pass. Anyone who wants to come can crash on my floor. Plus, the Pixies are playing!

But, reasons the summer might suck include: this. Any further two-week lapses in blogging can be attributed to me getting my ass kicked by a group of angry 14-year olds.

In more boring news: Last weekend I went on the Miller Brewery tour in Milwaukee, which was pretty cool for a free thing, and I learned from an informative video (narrated by High-Life-voice-over-guy turned dirty republican-campaign-ad-voice-over-guy) that 'Millertime' is the time when good times turn into great times, meaning, judging by the images in the informative video, at the precise moment when you are out at the bars with your wingman, when the girl you are eyeing up decides to sleep with you. I also got three free beers.

Later this month I'll be making my first ever business trip, to Fort Wayne, Indiana. Remember, kids: What happens in Fort Wayne, stays in Fort Wayne.

Tomorrow morning I'm going to my first ever work-related conference. It is less than a mile away from my building, but at least I get to miss a half-day because of it. I plan on composing future blog posts on my legal pad, just for you!

David Gordon Green's Undertow is now available on DVD, and well worth checking out. Buy All the Real Girls first though. Sleater-Kinney's new album, out May 24th, is one of the hardest rocking albums I've ever heard. I love the new Spoon (out next Tuesday) except I've listened to it so much on my iPod that I equate it with making the commute to work. My plan to become healthy and then, eventually, huge with muscle-mass, has hit a snag, as today my bike-riding warmup hit a snag when my right knee freaked-out big time. So I came back downstairs, though if anyone asks, I can bench 225.

And, finally and most self-involved, Wednesday is my 26th birthday (I know you forgot, fuckers). M says she has made secret plans for me that night (i'm guessing dinner at a soul food restaurant) and also sunday the 8th. I'm hoping the sunday means a ticket to the Built to Spill show, and not a trip to the aquarium, but I'm not getting my hopes up at all.

All Things Considered

The best things in life are free (right click and 'save as'):

Spoon - "I Turn My Camera On" (Hooray for falsettos!)

Stephen Malkmus - "Baby C'mon"

Well, either all of my faint-hearted readers were too intimidated by my choice of email address, or none of them trust me enough to ask for advice (save for one jackassy G&T-swilling, beer-brat-munching Friend-For-Life). Oh, well, I guess I'll just keep all of my knowledge and wisdom stored in my giant ever-expanding brain.

I haven't posted in awhile, and I'm sure you are wondering what I've been up to. What crazy adventures does one undertake in this city of limitless possibility? Where, for instance, does a dashing playboy such as myself choose to spend a Friday night downtown?

The library, of course. The library downtown is the largest public one in the universe, but it was closed at the time. I was there to see a Sarah Vowell reading/Q&A, which was very entertaining despite its foul odor of genuine nerdiness and geekery. (Well, at least I wasn't home playing online computer games, ha ha ha, I keed, I keed). I've been obsessed with a number of smart, funny female writers (SFFWs, for the acronym lovers out there) lately, because, well, I've been known to get crushes by simply reading a single paragraph of prose. It should be noted that my M is, alas, not very funny at all, but she is rather smart and used to write a 'zine, (A blog for people who have ambition), in which she makes everything from drinking coffee to walking home from class sound vaguely erotic, so that's not too shabby.

Otherwise, work has been a drag, sunshine is wonderful but allergies are not, and if AD gets cancelled I'm never watching FOX again.

Tomorrow: Hamburgers with the SFFWs of Filterless!!!!

Let me solve all your problems!

I consider myself a smart guy. No, well, not that smart. Never mind. I don't know the capital of Paraguay or how many acres are in a square mile or who should win this season of American Idol. What I meant is that I consider myself a Wise guy. And not wise guy as in the short lived Ken Wahl-starring TV drama. More like wise man. Someone you should trust. Someone you should turn to in times of need. I will help you when no one else will.

So, I've decided to become an advice columnist. You, my lovely reader-muffins, will write to me, and I will solve your problems. You, my sweet chick-peas, will choose an appropriate alias, like "Confused in New York," and I will post your letter here and my witty, insightful, and WISE response, so that rest of my 2958729357 blog readers who happen to have a similar problem can receive guidance in their own lives as well.

I see, my tender cutlets, that you are skeptical. You doubt my ability as an advice columnist. Fair enough, so far you haven't seen me in action. So, to prove my skill, I will write responses to a few advice-seeking letters. I swiped them from Dear Abby, Savage Love, and two of them I made up myself, but I'm not telling which one is which.

DEAR ******: I'm at my wit's end with my daughter, "Fran." She excelled in school and had a chance to go to college, but she chose to be married instead. Fran is now 35 and on her fourth marriage. I have seen my daughter through one violent marriage, amphetamine addiction, and one episode where she overdosed on medication and I had to rush her to the hospital to have her stomach pumped.
Fran can't hold a job because she has trouble getting along with others. My deepest concern is that she will commit suicide. She has been verbally abusive to me, but I can't just write her off. Fran is my daughter, and there are grandchildren to consider.
She refuses counseling. She says all they do is talk, and they can't do anything. She also thinks she is smarter than the counselors are. The children's father is no help. He's an alcoholic. Can you help me? -- WALKING ON EGGSHELLS IN THE MIDWEST

Dear WOEITM, Wow, your daughter sure is in a pickle. I wonder where she learned such self-destructive behavior? Could it be from her MOTHER!!? I'm guessing the apple doesn't fall far from the tree in this case. No wonder she's verbally abusive. But, seriously, I wouldn't worry too much. Fran treats marriage casually than most, like, say, a long-term relationship. And 4 LTRs in 17 years isn't that crazy. And I wish you would have told me what kind of amphetamines she was taking, and how she got them. Me, personally, haven't gone done that path much, save for occasionally drinking red bull or expresso in excess, or the one time on Halloween '01 when I took some ritalin pills and was up til 5 am. That was a great night. Good times....

I'm a 21-year-old hetero, two weeks from finishing my tour in Afghanistan, and I have a question about strip clubs. I live in St. Louis and enjoy the pleasures of East St. Louis as often as I can. One of the first things I'm going to do when I get home is get drunk and blow a bunch of money at one of the fine strip clubs there. I have no problem with a hot stripper sucking money from my wallet, but what do I do about strippers who aren't my type? If a less-than-attractive-to-me stripper gets on my lap, what is the best way to get rid of her without her telling all the other girls I'm an asshole?
Soldier Coming Home

God bless America and God bless our troops! You, sir, are a true American hero. But, seriously, strip club etiquette is a fine art, one that I've studied for years. Strippers, by nature, aren't very smart, so the key to subtly getting rid of them is simple: give them something to think about. Like a story problem. When I a too-old too-fake fake-blond saddles up to you and asks that age-old question "Are you having a good time," simply nod and say something like "A train leaves Boston at 2 pm travelling west at a constant speed of 45 mph. Meanwhile, at 3 pm (eastern time) a train leaves chicago travelling towards Boston at a constant speed of 55 mph. At what exact time will the two trains meet?" Don't say anything until she gives you an answer, and if she says anything but the obviously correct answer you shall say "incorrect" in your least asshole-ish tone. She should leave you alone shortly, making room for the sweet 22 year old victim of abuse in the catholic schoolgirl outfit to grind her sweet yodel-patch on the crotch of your dockers.

Who is your favorite French film director?

Bypassing the usual suspects of Renoir, Godard, Melville, Tati, Truffaut, and Varda, and God help me if I meet another girl in her twenties who loves Amelie, my favorite is most certainly M. Robert Bresson. Since my first exposure to him in film class, he showed me that actors are essentially inessential; that with the well-placed use of editing, voice-over, cinematogrophy, and sound design everything that motivates and moves a character can easily be revealed without paying anyone 25 million dollars per film. Pickpocket and A Man Escaped are two perfect pieces of cinema, and it's too bad that they don't have adequate DVD presentations. Granted, his earlier films are a little less brilliant, but still, if I had to give one reason for majoring in film instead of computer science or business I'd simply say "Robert Bresson" in the best French accent I could muster.

What did you do today?

Well, today I went to work as usual. It was okay, though friday afternoons are always super boring. After work I went downstairs to a psuedo-bar located in the lobby of my building, and watched the mighty Brewers of Milwaukee beat the Chicago Cubs in 12 innings. I always root for the Brew-Crew until they are assured of a losing record, but I was a bit conflicted due to the fact that if the cubs won I would be able to buy beers for a dollar apiece. As it was, I had three brews, hung out with my youthful and possibly all republican coworkers for a good hour and a half, played some cards, and had a nice time before taking the train home. The three beers kind of ruined my plan of ultimate production (laundry, return movies, clean house) that I had planned for my girlfriendless friday night, and inevitable led to more drinking. But i did return that dvd.

So, anyway, as you can see I am awesome at giving advice or answering ridiculous open-ended questions. If you, my succulant reader, have any questions to ask, please write to clownpenis@email.com and I promise to help you out. And, yes, I am aware that the email address seems a bit ridiculous, but every other email address was taken, so sorry about that.

Once again, please email clownpenis@email.com for any questions and/or personal problems, and I will fix your sorry life right here on this bloggity blog.

It was the best of times, it was the blurst of times

I found this link which let's you put in a website address and it generates a poem. Try it with your blog. Here's my favorite of mine:

rap album. on Seawall Boulevard
and 1950s lounge
music. For hours?
of the beach as
charisma , confidence , the start; this year by N. there
were clearly a bajillion more
that the New CDs and break a while
standing near the presence of
sloth, which
meant to fall out
the privilege of celery or
twice live, in Madison, it s
all of wild homeless
men, touching me. the best
American Reading more dollars? AND,
waited on purpose, so that
this is fine, on
making the same and
Garden State
park A Menards, and Balloons. The moment.


I could sit at a computer for infinity and could never come up with a line better than 'wild homeless men, touching me.' Not that I would try, cuz poetry sucks hard.

Awesome

Sunlight at 6:30

My family visited this weekend, parents and sibling, came Saturday morning and stayed today until 3 or so. I acted as chef (cooked pork roast on saturday lunch), tour guide (walked a million miles around the neighborhood, downtown, and Chinatown), and benefactor (I paid for their hotel room, turning the parent/child relationship on its head). It was a little cold on saturday, but it was a good time overall, they got to see tall buildings, ride the train, and see me, and I got to get some frozen meat return to my freezer. I visit my parents a few times a year, and they've visited for afternoons in the past, but this time was different. Usually when I visit, we have warm hellos and then they do whatever it is that they normally do, and I get bored of watching TV and go to a friend's house. Or, if they visit me, warm hellos plus trip to some store to buy me a new shirt or something and then a meal and then that's it. So, this time it was all of them plus me and M, constantly on the move and hanging out. And, I'm not sure if it was because we were so busying hurrying to catch the next train or to get out of the cold, but I actually had a really good time, and sorry to have them leave.

I don't mean to get sentimental. I'm going to go eat Mom's chili and leftover Chinese food.

To Do List:

1. Practice saying ridiculous things while keeping straight face
2. Learn how to wield large staff
3. Find new hairstyle that won't be disrupted by large conical hat
4. Be elected new pope
5. Move to Italy (or Vatican City! if you're a purist)
6. Get sweet apartment
7. Eata lotsa spaghetti!

Props! Vol. 1

"Props!" is a new feature on this site that will basically consist of a short list of things that are cool, things that are awesome, things that are recommended, and things that rule. I, therefore, will be giving mad "props" to everything on the list. Perhaps there is a better title, even though I intend this one to be goofy, but I really can't think of anything. The true purpose of this and, if any, future posts is to generate some sort of discussion, because God knows writing out all my most intimate, personal thoughts sure as fuck isn't working, you heartless motherfucking bastards. Anyway, please enjoy.

1. Having your apartment windows open. Spring is the best season, and it officially starts when you open all of the windows in your apartment (if you have an actually house then our petty 'seasons' don't actually apply to you, lord fancypants) and feel the sweet 50 degree breeze coming in. Bonus points for keeping the windows open even as the temperature drops and you know it's far to cold but you can't bear to shut the windows because it's spring! Spring, finally, about time, it's already the end of March, what took so long?

2. David Gordon Green. Unlike the recent wave of wunderkind film directors (Jonze, Russell, Payne, W. and P.T. Anderson, who I all love), DGG isn't willing to give an inch to anyone, and isn't afraid to throw the script out the window. That explains why you maybe haven't heard of him, but it also explains why he's making the most unclassifiable and exciting movies of the current decade. Reading an interview of his, or, better yet, listening to his director commentaries makes me remember how amazing film can be.

3. Spoon's "A Series of Sneaks", 1998. I'm still not fully sure about the upcoming Spoon album, scheduled for May release, but this is one I keep coming back to time and time again. Songs are short and sweet and spare, little Revolver-esque bursts of guitar and verses that go: "M-M-My, M-M-My, M-M-My-M-Ma " and still sound like the most fantastic things you've ever heard. "30 Gallon Tank" singlehandedly made me appreciate the value of a good drummer, and the two major-label dissing bonus tracks are like icing on the cake. I have 800 songs on my iPod, and I've listened to this album at least once a week (for the past two years).

4. Hooded Sweatshirts. Or, 'hoodies,' if you will. Whether if it's a brisk spring day, or at a summer bonfire, or if you're kissing your eighth grade girlfriend for the first time, you can't go wrong with a hooded sweatshirt. Practical, comfortable, what more do you need?

5. 57th Street Books, Chicago. I know most of my international fanbase might be a bit offended by me recommending a bookstore in my own neighborhood, and for that I'm sorry. But this place is awesome. You walk in and think, "this looks interesting, it's small and quaint, and has a lot of rad books," but then you see a door towards the back. You walk through it and are in another room, with more awesome books. Repeat the process 5 times and you have a bookstore which is like a borders with only the best parts, plus parts too cool for a borders.

6. Enchiladas. They are surprisingly easy to make, and are delicious as well. Best served with a couple margaritas on the rocks.

7. Girls who dress hot when at the office. I'm not sure if this is a recent trend or what, but it sure makes the walk between the train and the office some of the best eight minutes of my day. Keep it up, ladeeez.

8. Drinking like a man. When I was 19, I'd drink: Malibu Rum, Peach Schnapps, Vodka, Orange Juice, Cranberry Juice, and a dash of grenadine all mixed together. Now: two fingers of bourbon, straight up. Remember, kids, Neat is Cool when it comes to booze.

9. Mr. Goodbar. As the black sheep of the Hershey's family, Mr. G often gets a bad rap. But it's just like a Hershey bar, except with peanuts. What's wrong with that? Just because it doesn't have the name recognition doesn't mean you have to complain when you get it in your halloween bag.

The good old days

When I was barely 21 I saw the movie High Fidelity starring John Cusack, which prompted me to immediately go out and buy the novel of the same name, written by Mr. Nick Hornby of England, and was pretty much like the movie except with some additional material and a change of setting from Chicago to London. I bought the book at Borders in Madison, WI, in the week after Memorial day, year 2000, while I was staying at my Aunt's house about a half hour outside of town. I was there because I spent most of the week in one of the Madison libraries, trying to turn an Incomplete in Comm Arts 250 into an A/B. So I would wake up and take a shower and eat breakfast (My Aunt always had the best bread, which of course made the best toast!) and drive the Buick owned by my parents into town, and go to the well-lit library and surf the web for 8 hours. I was also on crutches at the time. It was pretty uneventful, except for one day after 'working on my paper' that I met a female acquaintance for dinner, for which I wore cologne and gave her a mix tape (!) and earlier had toyed with the idea that I would sleep with her if I had the chance, but of course I didn't, but that's not the point. So then I went home to my parents' house for the rest of the summer, and didn't have a job, and went to knee rehab three days a week, and drank too much and then drove occasionally home from my friends' houses or certain bars, and was present at several bonfires, and swam on hot days in swimming pools, and heard "The Real Slim Shady" by Eminem about 2394872 times, and tried pot and got arrested for it in the same night, and grew my hair the longest its ever been, and basically spent the entire summer getting into the passenger seats of friends' cars filled with complete excitement and hope, and my heart was like a hummingbird after a double expresso. Now, I know this is all nostalgia, and probably the first time that I ever have been so, but it just occurred to me what a great summer that was. I've had long periods of unemployment since, but never during the summer, and never with so many friends around to hang with, and never with such a sense of 'this is where it all happens' as then. Granted, it could have been better, I could've not gotten arrested or have actually come into physical contact with a girl who wasn't giving me a shot of alcohol, but it was the last summer that actually felt like 'summer,' as in summer-vacation, instead of 'when it's hot outside.'

So, this all began by writing about Nick Hornby's High Fidelity, which is a fantastic book that I read about 9 times, and seemed even better the last time I read it, when I was finally in a long-term relationship. Nick Hornby has also written a book called Songbook, published by the folks at McSweeney's, which is basically like the liner notes to a mixtape. I never read the book, but I think initial pressings came with a CD, and then you could listen to the songs and read an essay written about it. I think Badly Drawn Boy and The Replacements were on there, but I could be wrong about the latter. Anyway, the reason I was thinking of that is that just now I was sitting at my laptop and listening to my stupid yahoo radio station for the first time in a month and "Heroin" by the Velvet Underground came on, and while that song has really nothing to do with any of the events listened above (I had that record as a college freshman) I hadn't heard it in at least a few months, and when I heard those first few guitar notes I immediately was filled with such a sense of 'Oh this song is great, it feels like a warm blanket,' that I started thinking about the effect songs can have on people, and somehow that translated into all of the nonsense written above. You should know that while I was writing this, I also heard Pavement's "Unfair," the Pixies "Gigantic," "Fluke" by Mates of State, and "People" by the Silver Jews, whose 1998 album American Water was the best released in that particular year.

Live Look-In

Last weekend, thursday through sunday, was the greatest sports weekend of the entire year. I heart March Madness, and, despite ruining chance at winning any office pools (damn you wake and oklahoma!), watching college basketball was the highlight of my week. Work on Thursday and Friday afternoons was badly handicapped by me checking the realtime scores and stats on the web. (Also, Friday afternoon was made more non-productive by the all-you-can-eat Indian food buffet I went to for lunch. Note to everyone: All you can eat Indian food is not simply a meal, it is an excuse for doing nothing for the next 12 hours.) However, despite all the sqeaky sneaker bliss in the air, where did I find myself on Saturday afternoon?

At IKEA, of course. Sure, UW-Milwaukee was becoming the darlings of the media, with their second upset in as many games, but I didn't get to see it, because I was helping decide if we should get a new duvet cover (we did). What? Utah beat Oklahoma? Well, I missed that, I was busy fighting stand-still traffic to the far far far suburbs and then getting lost and then walking in a circle around a swedish furniture store for hours. Sure, I missed out on a solid 5 hours of the best basketball in a year, but I ended up with six new white wine glasses, two beer glasses (one of which I immediately tried out upon getting home), an on-the-stove expresso maker, and the aforementioned duvet cover, which at least is a manly forest green color. The rest of the weekend was a blur of basketball, snacks, beer, guests from Madison, Thai food, laundry, Morrocan beef stew, Arrested Development (the best show on TV), weekly chat with parents, and then going to bed and not sleeping the entire night. Maybe it was the dread of coming to work today, or maybe the fear of a day without basketball, or maybe the lingering effects of the double expresso consumed before noon. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the new duvet cover, which will forever serve as a plush reminder of how I've become a massive tool.

I'm don't want to go to your Party because your Party is Lame

Since my entire known blog readership visited last weekend, I won't go into details, but I will say that I had a great time. It's kind of sad that the best weekend I've had since I've moved to Chicago is when friends from out of town come to visit, but that's how it goes. Highlights included pizza, bartending TV-Nazis, an Ecto-Cooler river, racing for Guiness before noon, two badger basketball wins, so-bad-it's-good karaoke, seeing a drummerless Saturday Looks Good to Me and not being disappointed, and, of course, Chicken Apple Sausage.

This week seems fully scheduled already: full of college basketball, a possible long-overdue haircut, corned beef, and a trip to Ikea. I have an idea that in order to fit more into my day (like exercising, blogging daily, reading more books, and possibly becoming a Bhuddist) I should sleep less. I don't know how that's gonna fly; I've been meaning to start this weeks ago. Mornings are full of fits and starts, I can trim lots of time there by not using the snooze button (and, especially, telling M to do the same..... and since the alarm's on my side I'm the one who has to hit it 5 times, then fall back asleep for 40 minutes and then do the same for myself when I'm supposed to get up).

Coming Soon..... "Props!" (tentative title)

Party like it's 1999 (again)

Today is a Thursday that feels like a Friday, which makes sense, because this past Tuesday also felt like a Friday, which means that tomorrow (Friday) will probably feel like a Saturday, and I'll be wondering why I'm at work. Rarely has a weekend held so much potential as this upcoming one does, due to the fact that everyone I've ever known has decided to come to the city for the weekend, including M/Andy and possibly, probably, just maybe my rival blogger and former sidekick NRohan, whose possible stay at my apartment prompted the following discussion last night:

M (my girlfriend): Tomorrow night you can clean the bathroom and vacuum the carpets.
N (me): Wha? It's just Nate. If anything we should pile up some empty pizza boxes to make him feel at home.
M: Oh, man, and he's going to be dirtying up my new furniture?
N: Ha, ha, IN YOUR FACE!!!!!

Well, I'm just paraphrasing. Aside from my ol' Cville homies visiting, there isn't much of a plan for the weekend, but I'm guessing at least 5 of the following 7 things will occur:

1. Nate will have a crazy story about how the relatively straight-forward (3.5 hours according to MapQuest) trip turned into an epic Lord of the Flies-style life-threatening showdown between man and beast and/or machine, and will delay his arrival until sunday noon-ish.
2. Alcohol will be consumed.
3. My street cred amoung friends will be badly damaged when they see the girly decorations in my apartment.
4. The phrase "I dunno, what do you guys feel like doing" will be uttered more than once.
5. Buildings over three stories tall and 8.75% sales tax will shock and awe.
6. In the company of old friends, I will revert back to age 20, which will prompt M to break up with me immediately.
7. Everyone will have an awful time, which we'll all blame on the weather, but secretly know deep in our hearts that we hate each other, and will never speak again.

And thirty-nine other ways to make the Baby Jesus cry.

Today I googled myself. I don't want to get into the 'why' or go into the obvious jokes and Freudian implications such an act might present, I was just bored. And, to my horror, the number one result was this webpage you are reading right this second. My name does not appear anywhere on this page, and that is my intention. But there are links to this page on at least two other people's pages that do contain my name; click on his name: there's his page. If i was hiring someone for a job, I know I'd google them first; maybe older people wouldn't think of it, but I know I would. Pre-interview. Post-Resume. Type in that name, and... "What have we here? He's lazy! He wants to be on VH1, not work here for the rest of his life! He possibly has a substance abuse problem! He's not a self-starter! He hates capitalism!" Well, actually, I would definately call them in for an interview after that, but then religiously check back to see what they wrote about it. I wonder if my supervisor is doing that.. right... now. Oh, even better would be if you were dating someone and found their blog. Someone's going to make a horrible movie about that someday. But I've googled people that I had crushes on, and I know of others who've done the same thing. So now apparently my life is almost literally an open book, for anyone who cares. Luckily for me, I'm pretty sure that no one does.

Let it Ride

Since I now have a regular, real-world, grown-up type of job (despite not having anything to actually do at work) I have a full corporate benefits package. This is fascinating to me. But while medical and dental insurance are rather lame, the real excitement comes from something called the 401(k) Savings Plan. Have you heard of these things? Probably not, if you don't have a high-powered corporate job like myself. So, what happens is, I put a tiny part of a paycheck into this account, and then when I'm old and wrinkly, I get like a billion dollars. AND, apparently if I stay working here for over a year (eh...), then the company actually starts putting money into the account as well. All this is awesome in itself, but the coolest thing of all is that I can easily access this account via the internet, and can change all sorts of things, like which funds to invest in and all that. This webpage even has pie charts. So, while I'm grasping that the grand concept is to pick something and then in ten years when I have fake limbs and a flying car I can possibly adjust things to correspond with long-term shifts in the market (like, say, the rising price of flying car stock), the problem is that making changes is way too easy, and so far I'm adjusted my 'portfolio' three times in the last six days. But today I see that since yesterday I've hit the jackpot and made 95 cents, and I don't know how I'm going to be able to stop doing this, it's better than a damn smokey Indiana casino anyday. If anyone has any hot tips, let me know, but I only have 12 things to pick from.

I'm starting to get the feeling that I'm not meant to be a red wine drinker; I seem to get headaches quite easily. This week we finally saw 'Sideways,' and while it is a very good movie and not overrated at all (as I had suspected going in), the one thing it does do is give the viewer the desire to drink many many glasses of wine. Last night I opened the last bottle in the apartment, a 2003 Shiraz purchased (ahem, for $2.99) on a recommendation by our favorite Chicago tour guide, which was quite tolerable after ample time to 'breathe.' Problem is two glasses spread out over 2 hours shouldn't give me a headache, even a mild one. Granted, the headache could have come from a number of sources, but this isn't the first time this has happened. Unless it's the low quality of the wine that's doing it. And white doesn't seem to give me any trouble, really. I think further research is in order before I come to any realistic conclusions. In other alcohol-related news, I think I'm going to be making the switch from my current stock of vodka and tequila to a steady diet of bourbon. I'm going to be calling it 'my brown period.'

So, I'm about to start a new book, which one of my Xmas gifts should I pick next: One Hundred Years of Solitude, Don DeLillo's 'Underworld', The Best American Non-Required Reading 2004, or a non-fiction book called 'the history of god'?

I Heart Huckabees is on DVD, go see it and let me know what you thought.

I have decided to have a great weekend. Please do the same.