Awkward Backhair

What's Wrong is Write?

2012-01-31T17:28:00.000-05:00

Or is it what's write is wrong? I can be a pretty judgmental sonofavich when it comes to writing. All writing, from the short story, the novel, journalism, to plays, screenplays, and the often forgotten letter. Even in internet comment, this very blog, or text, I have grammatical standards — which results in the suffering of those who are text recipients of mine. The result is long-winded and over-involved and yet still, often, non-sequitur. And within I like that there are many styles of writing, but it's the levels that bother me. What is it, right, that separates good writing from bad? You pick it up, and you just know, right? Except what do you know? You know what style appeals to you for reasons you can't grasp which may or may not be influenced by all of the individuals around you who you do or don't like who or do or don't like the things you are trying to determine whether you do or don't like.

That's a long introduction meant as an effort for me to not seem bitter about stories like this one. Billed as a Cinderella story, I was unable to find the evil stepmother (perhaps Hocking's drudgerous day job) and it also struck me as devoid of pumpkin-based carriages and glass slippers. See, what I'm being is what is called an asshole. I know the Cinderella comparison need not be so literal. And you know what, good for Hocking. I thought, yes, here is somewhat who circumvented this system which may have remained a bit archaic and not evolved with everything else these days.

But then I read the first page or two of her hit book and I couldn't help getting a little deflated. The draw or appeal for me to keep reading wasn't there. That exposure though, was a while back now, and I just revisited it to try to be more...fair? It didn't seem as bad. And that, of course, is part of the problem.

Really it isn't about this woman managed to achieve success because, really, good for her. It's just that usual bastardly not-quite-entitlement where I hope to be slotted in, so I can enter the echelon of the lucky few who earns their keep writing.

Also, a quick shout to the Sister Cities of Chicago. It seems like a pretty good list to me, and only serves to make more sense why I find myself happily ensconced in this Midwestern metropolis.

At any rate, a warm wave has interrupted the cold of winter and so it's a reminder of sunny warmth on the horizon. You've got to embrace that cold depression for the enervating transition to summer. Let's see what old Punxsutawney Phil portends.

Grocery Shopping

2012-01-25T01:40:00.000-05:00

Sometimes you roll back to your abode in search of something to munch on and realize, "shit, I shoulda gone grocery shopping," or "shit, I should go grocery shopping." Seeing as I was aware of the possibility of the first before entering my digs, I could have fast-tracked to the second. But things just don't always work that way.

Of course, you should never go shopping hungry they say. You'll come back with things you don't need. Maybe even things you don't want. It's a shame that the mind is always shopping and things fall on and off that grocery list, often with no right to be there. Which then means at times they have no right not to be.

Right now my mind aches to add whiskey to its list, knowing that this will conflict with other items on there that might be deemed more important. Ah, but you see, who is it that is afforded the authority as arbiter of importance?

Another item of importance might be milk. But then humans are the only humans to consume the milk of another animal, and to do so after very early stages of development. There's a lot of information out there. We're just trying to sift through it. The grocery list gets long.

And anyway, I think milk gives me gas.

That Song We Would Sing in Elementary School

2012-01-12T16:30:00.002-05:00

It appears it is a small world after all. This isn't quite a revelation to me as within this very blog I feel as if I am making note of this. I certainly bring it up in day-to-day life in conversation with other humans. But yes, there is a guy sitting in this coffee shop wearing a Svedka vodka promotional shirt for their idiotic "Party Like it's 2033" campaign, complete with weird robot lady and other tags like "bot or not." But the thing about it is I think it's my shirt. See at an open mic a little before Christmas, I was eager to unload a couple of promotional bar shirts I've acquired in the last couple of years, this among them. I have far too many shirts as it is, mostly because I never get rid of anything (case in point, the New Found Glory t-shirt I am wearing purchased the summer of 2003) and so I figured I would unload these. Most aspiring comics are flat broke as they are working some sort of rather crap job that affords them the freedom to stay out late at night pursuing comedy, to take off days when need be for the same reason, and also the misery and monotony from which a lot of comedy is borne (my own tends to more borne of oddity).

And this dude looks familiar too, meaning I have probably seen him at open mics. But I'm pretty good with faces, so everybody starts to look familiar, even people I've just seen once walking down the street. It's the idiot writer in me trying to analyze and create stories from the smallest shreds of observation. At any rate, I can't think of any jokes he has told.

There is also another guy seated even closer to me that I know for certain is a comic. We have met in passing, he probably recognizes me, but it's in that manner of running into someone you sort of knew in high school after. Neither really wants to say hello and each is kind of relieved when the other says nothing. But because we're seated we periodically have to look at each other, which is weird, especially while he sits there with his girlfriend. Furthermore, not long ago I had a recognition stand-off with this very same comic in a pharmacy chain. The individual I was with on that occasion asked why that man seemed to be staring at me/us and I explained that we recognized one another, but neither was really going to say something. It's sort of blameless and just how things like that are. So it goes.

Otherwise it's snowing. First snow of 2012! Don't you love when people point out firsts all the time and stuff? Oh come on curmudgeons we can't get mad at everything can we, but then you have to get mad at some things. Or do you? And connecting by similar distastes and dissimilar distastes is how the world works when we're not connecting on similarity of likes and dissimilarities of likes. And it is the first snow, and it was sort of glorious to run in this morning for both the crunch of planting foot on fresh, packable snow, and for the awesome little ice and snow cap that formed in my hair, complete with me running in short shorts, like a true asshole. You know what they say, life's short...and so are my shorts.

Dude just asked me to keep an eye on his computer. I am moving up in the world in trustworthy appearance, in spite of my pink, youth large t-shirt.

If you're in this cold, grab yourself some cocoa or something and warm up while you chill out.

Lagging Jets

2012-01-09T16:20:00.001-05:00

I've never been much of a world traveler, so my experience with jet lag has been quite limited. Previous trips across time zones have involved long acclimation periods and interim stops for easier adjustment. This time, however, I settled quickly back into a six-hour difference and the effect was to make me into what I might imagine myself at age seventy or later...rising at five in the morning and very desirous of sleep at about nine in the evening. As someone whose mind often doesn't get going until nine at night many times, this was an adjustment. For those who travel very frequently and very great distances I can't really fathom how they manage to function. Perhaps you just stop thinking about it and just settle into sleeping when you can and not when you can't, which is rather how things are anyway.

The other odd adjustment is to more normalized life. Having never been to Europe before, inhabiting that space was pretty amazing. Of course I wonder if the magic wears off with living there, having to work a regular job and whatnot, as those are the things that tend to breed the resentment and dislike with a place of residence. As one who studied history as an undergrad, I couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the history of London and Paris. That's a rather silly statement and qualification as even if you, or I, hadn't studied history, there is a very strong chance that I would have been overwhelmed by the sheer history of what was around me. It comes down to this for me: I love me some old shit. Lots of old shit just looks cool, and I love that there is a story behind it. In there is some relation to my brain's focus on the most inconsequential minutiae.

Plus, England is a land where the pun and wordplay seem more accepted and though I wasn't running through the streets — although I was running through the streets — shouting puns receiving responses of uproarious laughter, it's just there.

Then there was Paris, and that place is pretty swell. One of my favorite things in visiting amazing foreign spots is how amazing they are to me, in many ways just by virtue of being foreign, and to the locals it's just where they live. Sure, many probably do appreciate it, but plenty will take it for granted much the way I take much for granted over here. And many too will wish to come to the United States, this reciprocity whereby the foreign is always exciting. Like many mental phenomena, it has its strengths and its weaknesses. I mean, hell, I was even intrigued by the different scams they run in France to rob you. I mean, after all, pickpocketing is a lost art. I am quite sure I have this look in my eye wherever I go where canvassers and grifters know they can start talking to me and maybe fleece me for a few bones.

At any rate, even though this is a personal blog, this diaristic entry is getting too diaristic for my liking, so that should do it for now.

Stay safe out there.

Touchdown

2011-12-31T16:07:00.001-05:00

I had this very specific thing in my brain whereby I wanted to post an entry before the year ended from good old London.

Well, I'm here, I think this place is great, and I've got to run out and get some booze, but a happy new year to all those on and off the Internet, who do and do not read this blog, and even who I do and do not know. Even if you're an asshole, so long as perhaps you stop being an asshole on account of having a happy new year. I think that's meant to be capitalized as it is considered a proper noun, but what're you gonna do sometimes, right? Right.

See you (or at least type to you) in 2012.

Cheers.

Solsticed Game

2011-12-22T13:21:00.002-05:00

If you live in a place that has seasons and all, chances are you see some rather dramatic shifts in daylight hours. There is something about all of this that led to things like daylight savings. Farmers were involved as well, or at least, supposedly, their best interests. At any rate, in the winter, the days get short and as this is the true start of winter, we're dealing with the winter solstice, which is the longest day...of darkness. But that's a good thing for the many who struggle with the lack of sunlight because every day will now be rockin' progressively more daylight. As much talk as there is about the weather, there is a lot of talk about how all people talk about is the weather. So whether you're talking about weather or whether you'd rather we weren't talking about the weather, you're going to have to weather some weathering discussions.

Oh me? I don't actually hate winter, just its length. Oh what's that, life is usually about compromise? Okay, cool. Wish I could say I'll never bring it up again, but that's just not true.

I was telling some jokes last night at a comedy venue in town and this particular venue has signed headshots of all of the comics that have performed there as, I presume, headliners. There are a lot of photos, and it is a great concept, especially because headshots are, to me, the great equalizer. There is no one who will not look like an asshat, no matter how good the headshot, and that is by virtue of them having a headshot in the first place. I mean, they're a necessity for comedy and acting and all, but they are inevitably embarrassing so, oh right, they have a term for it, the Catch-22. So to Heller with it...

Much more of my time than might be healthy is spent analyzing the commonly used phrases of the Internet, my friend group, the general populace that surrounds me, and so on. I overuse "the thing is..." I have been noticing it a lot of other places, but that's because I noticed I do it and so now am super conscious of the phrase itself. And "chill," I say chill a lot. Most people don't noticed these overuses as much or, at least, are not as bothered by them, but if you point them out, there's a good chance they might be. What I'm getting at is two phrases that must go: "natch, obvi/obvs." Sure, a lot of humor is derived in ironic usage of these words, mockery of those who used them unironically. But let me tell you, it is a fine line. I am thankful I have not heard "natch" uttered in real life, but seeing it in print, even internet print, in something like Forbes...cool I'm done. If anything it sounds to me like Americans trying to sound like cool Brits. Hey, I like British stuff, and I get to pretend to write if off by being British, but I was born and raised here, and I don't say "natch." I sure have typed it a lot though today.

In a quick holiday round-up, how is it that there are so many Christmas songs but the Jews really seem to have half-assed it for Chanukah? Maybe there's not a lot of money in holiday music...

For the purpose of printing text onto a color background I was trying to find out what font colors paired best with background colors. I pretty much googled that very thing and one of the top results was this gem of a site. Thanks Ted. I ended up just winging it.

Oh right, another quick bit about the holidays. Lost in the shuffle of Santa Claus is Santa's counterpoint, a creature that drags out the kids on the naughty list and in a somewhat grizzly turn, devours them. I'm talking about good old Krampus.

Happy holidays folks.

Potentially Embarrassing Moments

2011-12-15T17:22:00.000-05:00

Ah yes, there are a great deal of these in life. Take, for instance, that seated in front of me in this coffee house is a guy I met once at some event, who then friended me on facebook, after which we even have facebook interaction (this is rare for me, in general, the interacting on facebook), and has, it appears, de-friended me. Of course, I can't remember his name, so I consider it not a big deal. But like, um, totally, for real, does he recognize me? Right. For me to be writing this paragraph is embarrassing.

The other much more potentially embarrassing moment is that I am reading through notations and editorial suggestions on a printed draft of a novel I have been working on for about two years (this statement alone is tough to stomach). On the back page is my photograph. No one really wants to get caught in such a moment, unless perhaps their name is Hank Moody. If you don't watch Californication I should note that, even that situation doesn't exactly work out tip-top for the man in question. So I'm sure to have a carefully placed hand over the photo. Ted Mosby had a run-in with this circumstance but let's face it, unless it's Bob Saget narrating as old man Ted, not a lot of people are lining up to be Ted Mosby.

What isn't embarrassing though, is the herding skills on display by these Scotsmen. Man, I think they are Scots. I am not rewatching the video with sound right now and I'd probably get accent identification wrong. Oh, the embarrassment...

Well, there were a few things I had thought about writing about but, as usual, I forgot them, so I am glad to once again be bringing up this fact. Today while running I was chewing gum. I can't remember the last time that happened but it really changes the run. In the beginning of my run I was all like, "What's different about this run today?" Then it hit me. Then, later, that gum hit the sidewalk when I attempted to be smooth and spit it in a trash bin on the sidewalk without breaking stride. Sorry couple I almost spit gum onto the path of. Some sort of karma might stick around. Took a while just to work up the gumption to attempt and then I botched it.

Well, see you at the party Richter.

Because Everything Comes from Something

2011-12-08T00:49:00.000-05:00

For the past, oh, it must be two months now, I have been going through my iTunes library to discover and rediscover the myriad tracks therein. Through the course of that, one of the things I noted was the similarity between the piano in Ingrid Michaelson's "Corner of Your Heart" and Adele's "Someone Like You". Maybe it just arose independently, and maybe they don't sound as similar as I think, but my brain says they do. But with brains bombarded by so much information and noise these days, it can be hell determining from where it is all derived. Take right now. I am listening to a track—one I will make note of later—with ESPN on (as I wait to cue up my next episode of Gossip Girl) and, oh, right, here I am typing.

And speaking of Gossip Girl, it's just always scooping me on music, just the like the mothertruckin' OC back in the day. If I'm not outright discovering a song through the show, I seem to only be a week or two ahead. Not that it matters, but it's sort of frightening the way it's tuned into a specific brainwave to which I adhere. Is it any wonder I keep tuning into the show, even when it gets worse and worse? At the close of a recent episode I caught Gotye's "Somebody That I Used to Know", which was not even credited. And not long before that it was Lana Del Rey's "Video Games."

It's amazing that, with the sheer volume of music, video, journalism, blog posts, and so on being created and the sheer number of outlets for them that there are a specific and small number of them that reach the great masses. There is a name for this phenomenon I am certain, somebody or other's law.

And oh my god Gossip Girl is killing me with the never-ending back and forth of these relationships and everyone is in love with everyone but not sure if they're really in love and somehow everyone is super conniving and crafty even the characters most peripherally pulled in. I get the concept of them all being tainted by the toxicity of the life but how are they so crafty so quickly and okay, alright, it's fiction. And they just quoted Camus?

I read this nifty little piece in The Paris Review where a high schooler in the 60s asked a bunch of contemporary authors about symbolism. It's pretty much what a lot of teenagers struggle through in high school English and some of the responses are excellent (they only show a few, but I'd like to read them all).

Google has released a new ad, as of about two weeks ago for Google +. I found it...depressing...So it goes.

At any rate that seems enough sort of information and information of sorts at the moment.

Caffiend

2011-11-30T17:46:00.001-05:00

That I have mentioned before that my coffee consumption was rare prior to a move to The Windy City seems quite likely. But one thing I have strived to do is not make myself reliant and thus the terrible person many of us can become without the thing, so often a substance, that we have come to rely upon. This, of course, is related to the everything in moderation rule. And I allege non-reliance in spite of being able to nod off or, at least, wanting to, immediately post cup during the holiday. That I attribute to heavy consumption of carbohydrates and sweets, increased running, and decreased sleeping instead. Why in the Hell do I bring any of this up? Well because I'm seated sipping a cup, perhaps a little too late in the day, but nothing a couple of drinks at dinner can't balance out.

I was thinking not for the first time about the image I project with my haircut, fashion, and also by the places I choose to hang-out. A penchant for a cheap drink at a local establishment that is a true dive and home to derelicts galore—what this says of me, I will not bother to say—is what seems to have gotten me on this particular occasion. As I walked down the street, on the phone mind you, a man walked toward me repeating the word "blow." A lot. "Blow, blow, blow, blow, blow, blow, blow, blow, blow," and, in case I missed that, a grabbing of the nose to go along with it. I'll admit, it did take me a second to grasp what he was talking about. When he came upon me he was even more direct, "You gotta any blow, man."

"Sorry dude," I had to tell him for I, in fact, never have consumed this powdery nose substance—though this is not the first time I have been taken for one who does—and I really was apologetic.

"Come on, maaaaaaaan," he went on. "I've seen you at ________. Quit holding out on me."

Repeating myself I suggested he make his way to the very place he had seen me, the derelict bar in question. There was more to the exchange, but that seems good enough for now, especially with regard to preserving the anonymity of people and places in question (although it's not as if I know this guy's name). The point, to go along with my reconsidering my image, is to be amused at the way I was looking around with my senses when this occurred, expecting that someone might give a shit about a wasted guy looking for a score from pretty much a total stranger. I am routinely intrigued by how much is going on right around us that we are completely ignorant to.

But image is nothing anyway.

Well, there are the usual things and stuff I've forgotten to mention, but I'm already at the point where I feel as if I may have made this entry long enough. Shout out to the east coast for delicious bagels and the availability of high quality, non-deep dish pizza. Shout out to hills and making me tired as shit while running but I appreciate them for improved fitness. Shout out to the dopey face—complete with open mouth and mildly fear-ridden eyes—some woman just made looking for a seat up in this bitch. And shout out to mistakes via me accidentally ordering a tuna sub the other day! My crusty ass expected the sandwich to have fresh tuna. How would that have been possible when it was cheaper than every sandwich on the menu? Oh cheapness, you are always fooling me.

Old Jersey

2011-11-22T13:33:00.005-05:00

Aaaawwwwwwwwwwwwww shit. Whenever I return to the place of my birth and raising I get quite nostalgic, but I also get quite lazy. And they feed each other. It's unreal the amount of crap brimming in my childhood bedroom. If I was a bigger consumer, I might make the classification of hoarder. I've got clothes up in this em eff that I haven't worn in, maybe ever, and yet I'll look at them and think "perhaps in 2015." And the colors on my blog, they've got to be changed. I also realized something, which I realized before but may not have addressed, and that is if you came here only seeing me on twitter you might be surprised at the inconsistency. Where on twitter I stick to quick and terrible puns and rhyming, here I am verbose and blather a lot. Then again, that is what each respective medium is for right? Or something like that.

Do you realize if you add the current month with the current year—using abbreviated date format—that they add to form the day that is today? Of course you do...

How about Radio Shack, am I right? You've got questions, and one includes how they are still in business. After reading their wiki it appears that their days are working towards being numbered? Oh buy Solley, you say, all days are numbered, it's called a calendar...and that's just a call-back to one of my many terrible jokes about being fired.

A few weeks ago I'd decided I would go entirely through my iTunes music library deleting tracks that did not appeal. Part of the problem with this is the mood I might be in, and part of the problem is my same issue with off-loading my old clothes and notebooks and goodness knows what else. But it's been a fun project, even if I'm only at "J," which means at this moment I'm plowing through JJ. I love me some Euro shit, from my strange soccer (or footballer's) mullet, to my fashion preferences, to my love of British comedy and of Russian novelists and, I presume you get the idea.

So it's all good when my family refers to me [mostly] affectionately as Eurotrash. I am stoked for that in two days, as it will be Thanksgiving time. Yes, it needed to be italicized. This has long been my favorite holiday. I like eating, I like pie, and I like my family, so it makes sense. The year also nears its end and the weather is maybe just hanging on to a little bit of warmth. I like to think I'm thankful for how good I have it most of the time, especially more as I age, but I don't mind another official reminder even if I generally grumble (not gobble) at manufactured holidays. Because the truth is, I am really thankful. I've got a good life and maybe everything doesn't come together, but it is about the journey as some of them will say.

I've not really the space here at this point to discuss how ridiculous those buckled hats are. I mean, really, does your head change size that frequently? How we devise and continue and augment traditions is an interesting business.

So I hope you're spending the holiday with family and/or friends. In this rising digital age, let's be glad for the times we can be physically together. I, for one, love getting physical.

Elvis Costello

2011-11-13T19:11:00.001-05:00

This is my inaugural blogging effort from the confines of Madison, WI. Incidentally, whenever I think of Madison, I sing it in my head—and sometimes aloud—to the tune of Elvis Costello's Alison. I haven't gotten around to any of the other lyrics because I don't know the original ones, even though I've listened to that track many times. This is good for everyone involved.

As one who has become a big-time coffee shop and house attendee, I have to say there are some pretty good offerings here over in the university section. The university too, is pretty effing beautiful, complete with a somewhat sandy path that runs along one of the two lakes that this part of town isthmuses between. Though I have not been to some of the larger state schools (they're all large), I've been to a few and I don't see how any campus can possibly have as many people wearing gear adorned with university name, emblem, or something of that sort as is the case here. It's a sea of red, though I admit I am likely blinded by proximity.

No need to do a full-on review though since a fellow over at The New York Times just did one, and it covers a decent amount of the stuff. There is no shortage of delicious cheese, in standard, curd, or fried form. And there is no shortage of beer, especially those hoppy IPAs I favor. Madison affords one access to beverages from New Glarus brewing company, which are not distributed outside the state. I'm going on record as saying the famous Spotted Cow is gross. Uh, I mean, it's not for me. Plenty of other good beers though from New Glarus and beyond. Oh, and in further homage to dairy, you can get some damned good ice cream, by which I don't mean that the ice cream is condemned and headed to Hell, but is delicious.

Right now I'm parked about a 100 feet from the Capital Building, as featured/photographed in that linked article, which was apparently down-sized—the building, not the photograph—to be smaller than that in the nation's Capitol, the one that is afforded the distinction and distinct spelling of the Capitol Building. This one is rather gigantic. Many thanks to my tour guide for the bit of history there.

The same fear of boring blogging that has been staring me in the face many of my prior posts is rearing its head again, so I'll be heading along. I am looking over at a guy who has the cup of coffee from So I Married an Axe Murderer and my heart just exploded and vision grew blurred with the thought of consuming that much caffeine. Also just with the fond memories anytime I think of select scenes from that film. Next time I am here, I'll have to order it on principle. What was that about boring? Oh right, you stay safe out there folks.

Nothing Lasts Forever

2011-11-08T19:11:00.001-05:00

Even cold November rain. I can't imagine I've never linked that in here before. As usual, though, I'm not going to take the initiative to check. Remember when I was going to go back and label/tag my old posts? Me neither. One day...one day. Plus, being self-referential is pretty narcissistic, you know, like people who quote themselves under favorite quotes on their social media profiles? I'm [trying to be] writing about the giant craphole vortex we're being sucked into with the advent of technology, as usual while using technology, but it isn't going super hot because my brain feels ill-equipped to keep up with the acceleration of technology, and its adoption, while recalling that its adoption is not so universal. With all of this talk about the 99%, what about the percent of the world that really uses the stuff that blogging bastards like me take for granted. I'm one smartphone (and perhaps an iPad) away from being a complete techno-junkie.

On more important matters though, it truly is a bit chilly and rainy today, but not as full-on depressing as this weather can be. It's all about having certain things in mind that are weather-dependent. Tea, hot chocolate, books, movies, cuddly creatures (which can include other humans) are the best thing in my estimation. And of course, a good seasonal soundtrack. And some muthafuckin' snacks, made with muthafuckin' real butter and real sugar.

If you want truly depressing and terrifying or just deeply disturbing as I referred to it recently (which is awfully self-referential of me), take a look at not just reality TV, but the Disney channel. And then take a look at the fact that you are taking a look at it. Of course, in order to criticize, it generally proves essential to be familiar with what it is you are criticizing. A chum of mine has a habit of watching America's Got The Voice of Idol (idle) X Factor Talent and he will give me the rundown on the best of. Some of these folks are indeed very talented, but much more of it is simply frightening. The attempted earnestness with which the judges deliver their verdicts on the fate of these acts may indeed be the toughest for me to come to grips with. Nobody likes being rejected, but it's part of life and that's how we learn to both grow and determine too if we really want to do a thing. Everyone's been rejected from one thing or another at some point in their life. That's just the way it is or, more succinctly, that's the way it is.

That I am meant to feel more compassion for the person who might be a bit tone deaf (and this from someone who is not much of a singer) than, for instance the guy who can't earn enough money to feed his family, seems pretty off-balance to me. I'm all for distraction from certain of the world's ills or I wouldn't watch TV, read books, write stories, or attempt to tell jokes, but there's a line, a mothafuckin' line. Incidentally, this may be the most profanity-laden post of my blogger tenure.

Anyway, as seems to be the case far too often these days, I find my blogging a bit on the preachy side, a bit beyond the standard realm of traditional gripes. Where is the goofy light-heartedness with which I began? I mean, I'm getting old but not that old. I leave you all with a pretty great recent moment in Canadian newscasting. It's a long link but, I think, worth the time.

Right.

Hallowclean

2011-10-31T23:59:00.001-04:00

Not that I have spent the day cleaning, but I needed an alternate title to counter the now twice used Hallowmean. Plus, I was completely clean and sober today. No drinks but coffee and the poison of Subway (eat shit). I have eaten a lot of Subway sandwiches since moving near a 24-hour installation. Reminder: move near a garden, all of those are 24 hours.

Perhaps since I wasn't hanging around schoolyards today (rare for me) I happened not to see much in the way of costumes. I witnessed plenty of interesting ones this weekend I'm sure but as it happens I am actually rather awful at identifying peoples' Halloween costumes. Today is about the time I need to be considering costumes for next Halloween, something that isn't timely and pop-culturally relevant, which aren't my style anyway since a) I'm out of the loop on a lot of that stuff, b) many others will have that costume, and c) relating to b, someone will have executed the same costume far better.

In unrelated thoughts, I feel as if Facebook should send notifications when someone defriends you. I mean, they're keeping track of everything else, why not that. I note, in general, a fluctuating number of friends, and while I acknowledge this may be due to some deactivating their accounts altogether, well you just know when it isn't all that. Of course it doesn't matter all that much considering I don't do much in the way of Facebook interaction and, if these are my biggest concerns, I need to find, well, bigger ones. The damn why always seems to get me. Then again, I suppose if I can't figure out who these folks are weren't exactly friends anyway.

In an effort to cap this particularly boring entry in grandiose style, here's a little Rihanna, one of the unofficial anthems of the Halloween weekend. And for another precious minute, it's all about tonight.

Judgment Day

2011-10-21T18:35:00.000-04:00

Ah yes, today was another of those days predicted to be Judgment Day, the End of Days, or the Rapture. Those may very well not all be the same thing, but close enough for government work. But the judgment I speak of is that judgment that grips me on certain of my days dwelling in coffee shops. Maybe it's because I blog a lot on Fridays and am just ready for the week to be done, but I can point to probably too many posts where I am a judgmental prick about the folks seated around me. It has an awful lot to do with projection as plenty of it is related to the perceived feelings I have about them having about me. The long and short of it is that I may spend too much time in coffee shops.

Luckily, between a caffeine buzz, and the diuretic effects of caffeine I can be a little more ADD and less focused on dislike towards any one individual. I already was wrong once about that today. That doesn't stop me from being bored and depressed for the people having a conversation on the couch next to me, nor does it stop me from peering periodically at the Gorbachevesque jelly stain on a man's bald head. I am glad I can't view my own interactions from outside.

And now, since my brain doesn't appear to want to cooperate with writing any more, and my battery is very inclined toward running out of power, I'll leave things to the experts. Enjoy some Mitchell and Webb (I have probably posted this exact video sometime in the last three years). Have a swell Friday folks, even you dingles I was down on earlier in this post and earlier in this day.

Thursday the 13th

2011-10-13T15:28:00.002-04:00

That title just lacks the menace of alliteration but, well, it's accurate in describing today's date. Am I the sole loather of the time at which people seemed particularly fond of saying "factually correct?" A fact, by definition, is correct. Otherwise, it fails to be a fact. Sort of like wet water, except also maybe not.

What brings me here is a combination of procrastination and realization, the former in that I am putting off things I need to do—look at my definitive prowess, which is to say my prowess at defining things, not an affirmation of my having prowess in general, which would be both ambiguous and incorrect, factually so—and the latter with respect to my not having actually written anything in here in October. Oh yes, I have a post dated but five days ago, but that is recycled and regurgitated. What of thought isn't? Fall always has the effect of making me aggravatingly introspective.

Before I forget, let's hear it for Sweetest Day, which I had never heard of until an email received today. I love sweets, but man, that is some contrived shit. But October 15th, pretty good chance I will eat some sweets, since it is, after all, a real day.

Well, whatever creative swell I thought I had that I was going to drop here I now have to devote to the things I was procrastinating from. If your ears need something, give Matt Kona's Podcast a listen. I haven't listened yet, but let me tell you, Matt Kona is a most righteous fellow.

See y'all in the digital realm, and some of you, maybe, in the real one too.

In Which I Just Paste an Email Here

2011-10-08T13:01:00.000-04:00

The following is the contents of an email exchange with a friend. We had, along with many other more worthy writers, submitted to McSweeney's annual column contest. Needless to say, neither of us was selected and I can't say that I blame the editors over there, but I can say that it did make for an easy email to write relating my feelings towards the actual winners based on only reading their column titles and their names. Please know that this is a joke, and no ill will is meant, just good fun. Perhaps I will read some of these columns, but probably not. Some are a little less than PG...Enjoy!

The Peculiar Arab Chronicles
by Nour Ali Youssef

[Go fuck Youssef]

History’s a Bitch: A Dog Walk Through Time
by Robb Fritz

[I'm Puttin' it on [the] Fritz to make dog-walking interesting to me. His name has two B's. Does he get more points if the dog is female, or male? From the dog's perspective?]

It’s All Greek to Me
by MM Locker

[Extra points for original title. I should have submitted "It's All Greek to Me: My Experiences at Diners and Fraternities"...and fucking Greek women.]

Assimilate or Go Home: Dispatches from the Stateless Wanderers
by DLM

[DLM...Dumb loser monkey? Is this about immigrants? The Borg (Star Trek)? I don't care!]

No Fear of Flying: Kamikaze Missions in Death, Sex, and Comedy
by Michelle Mirsky

[Uh oh, this might have been the comedian entrant to beat me. Shouldn't it be called "A Fear of Landing?" And what's a kamikaze mission in death? You avoid it? So like Final Destination?]

Graphic Dispatches from a Recent College Graduate Still Living in a College Town
by Larry Buchanan

[Boring stories from a boring person who hasn't grown up.]

Dendrophilia and Other Social Taboos
by Dani Burlison

[Dani, that's a girl's name. This should be a guy. And he should have called it, "Rubbing my knob on knobs: A woodsman's job...with his wood." I want it good and obvious. "Using big words, trying to sound intelligent, and other such social taboos." ]

Gyros To Heroes: A Column About Sandwiches
by Lindsay Eanet

[Oh come on, this is the worst anagrammed last named of all time and anagrammed isn't even a word it appears! Eanet? Like eaten? Is she just dyslexic? Is she implying that Gyros can't be heroes? Sounds biased. This one's all Greek to me...]

The Long Walk: A Column About Washington
by Alec Bings

[Pretty good title. I hope it's Washington state. The person I hate least so far. The first Arab chronicler would be fine if his title was different. Also, the last name here needs to be binges, and the title of his column should be "Tales from the Toilet: My Life in Purge-atory."]

Fading the Vig: A Gambler’s Guide to Life
by David Hill

[I don't know what fading the Vig is. Good start. Damn, I hate how unknowledgeable I am! I have friends who gamble a pretty good amount, either in the very obvious sense of casinos and sports or in taking life risks. Maybe this guy twists those together. But since I don't know what fading the Vig is, I don't care.]

American Policy Suggestions from a Chicago Sports Fan
by Matt McKenna

[Nope.]

The Chorus Boy Chronicles
by Brian Spitulnik

[Choir sounds so much better than chorus. There are differences sure, but the main difference is choir sounds better.]

Good luck to all of the runners of tomorrow's Chicago marathon. Weather's great, I would like to join you for parts. But as it stands I'll be cheering you on, from my dreams.

Fear

2011-09-30T19:07:00.000-04:00

I have a weird relationship with privacy, truth, and online personas, so when I saw the other day that The Department of Homeland Security had dropped by this place, I admit, I got a little worried. In general I don't say anything too sensational on here, but dating back to when Google started reading your email and offering targeted ads, well hey I read 1984 okay? I've already been on the cusp of minimizing my online visibility and footprint, because I prefer real-life interactions and perhaps just because of the change of the seasons. I can't exactly dictate why I go through these back-and-forth feelings, I just know that it happens. Sure, I like to be accessible, but most of the people I want to be accessible to would be capable of tracking me down without Facebook, a blog, or Twitter. I am also aware that this is not a unique feeling.

As far as discovering how discoverable I may be, I realized that I am the number 5 search result for "deaf people are assholes," (number 3 if you change assholes to "jerks") and the number 2 search result for "shitty boy bands." That last one really amazes me. For "backhair" I yield a solidly unlucky 13, but where I come in number 1 is for "'Me Want Honeycomb' ad." The old quotes within quotes thing really gets to me.

At any rate, welcome to October folks, an even more appropriate time for bourbon and whiskey (actually, when isn't?), and a time at which it's okay to consume the occasional pumpkin ale, now that they are available and all. The weather back in the Chi is decidedly fall, and while I'm a bit bummed to be unable to run in it, just walking around, smelling and drinking it in is pretty damn skippy. See ya in a jif.

Eastern Promise

2011-09-27T15:37:00.002-04:00

It's damned hard for me to avoid getting nostalgic, a feeling that's only compounded when I revisit the east coast, as it is, after all, where I grew up and spent the greatest percentage of my life. Nostalgia allows you to revel in the changes that have and have not taken place and has the effect of making me simultaneously feel both old and young. I have heard it described as to be of a place, an identifier, a citizen, a denizen or any number of such related terms, when you can say that you can remember when. How it used to be back in the day.

And yet the interesting thing is that this is still not what I would call home. Everything about it is familiar and, yes, memories abound, but it isn't the place I feel the most myself. Or, to place it in better distinction, where I find I am the best version of myself. I am lazier, perhaps because of the comfort of these memories tangible and mental, knowing I can enshroud myself within them rather than doing or creating anything new. There is nothing wrong with this from time-to-time, and so I do enjoy a homecoming, but extended periods I find troubling and conducive to restlessness. It's not that I mind being at rest, but that I don't want to be at rest here.

This isn't precisely what I had in mind when I got going writing here, but so it goes, does it not Mr. Vonnegut? And it is not all for naught as it allows me to be contemplative and analytical about the world and my very small place in it. Again, the danger is how long you delve there. Walking down 10th Avenue the other evening, I had a spectacular view of The High Line, part of ambitious efforts these last few years to make the city of New York more pedestrian friendly and, in that one word popular to sum it up: livable.

It made for a pretty sight (and site) lit up to my left and, as I managed to reach 10th Avenue just past its start and exit it not far before its end, I could operate under the temporary illusion that it went on forever. For a time, I wasn't in New York at all, which made sense because rarely had I ever made my way to those precise cross streets. I thought how nice it is to have one's little pocket carved out within this gigantic space shared with others. To be so much a part and yet so separate. Which reminded me of what I consider the loneliness of cities. No matter who you are, there are those periods of downtime, or when you might find yourself traveling alone, and when you do, you can be struck by the group activity surrounding you, or by the astonishing number of people existing as individuals. I can never decide if it is conspiratorial or just creepy when cities grow quiet. For the first time I verbalized that New Yorkers aren't rude they're just, in general, not concerned with your existing around them. How could they be, when so much is going on? If one did, one might never move, paralyzed by observation and endless ocular assault.

This is the path I sometimes see the whole world headed: overstimulated by a glut of access to an immense tome of information. Someone or some ones will surely figure the way to navigate this great mass efficiently and effectively, but even for those my age, who grew into the new technological age, it can be difficult to remember what it is to be somewhere physically and mentally in the same moment. In a sense technology has become part of our environment. You could delineate this to say that happened with the earliest tools and innovations and you would have a point, but I speak instead of perhaps watching a sporting event on one's phone while being in attendance at another sporting event. And further and broader, the idea summarized as being off the grid.

But the point is that the east coast is where I'm from. And whether or not I define it as home, it certainly has helped to define what I have become. And I like this place. So thanks east coast, for always inviting me back.

Yesterday I Had a Title for This

2011-09-16T14:30:00.001-04:00

You can't hurry posts, no you just have to wait, words don't come easy, when it's new content you seek to create.

Looking over a lot of my writing from the past couple of years, I've realized I should probably spend more time editing and less time creating new content. The problem arises when I look back at something written, and regardless of my feelings towards its quality, the content is largely foreign to me. It's as if I black-out in fits of inspiration and compose thousands of words. Except that at lot of it, on rereading, is rather less than inspired.

Having forgotten not only a title for the entry but also what I had intended to write about, I might as well talk Contagion. I decided to check it out in spite of an uninspired preview and the usual curse of too many stars in one place. It was a perfectly fine movie I suppose, but nothing too special. Here come a few spoilers of sorts. The best part might have been this ad installation done in Toronto to promote the film.

But right, the movie. I'm going to tell you how it ends. It starts on Day 2, so you don't know how the virus really began its spread and it concludes, surprise, on Day 1. And you know, I could have done without that. Lord knows I don't know how to end the bulk of my own stories, nor are the interim details necessarily well-crafted, but I can tell you what would have made the ending of this movie better. Here are three alternate endings, only one of them remotely PG-13.

So first, the legitimate alternate ending:
There is a doctor that discovers the cure for the virus. She injects herself to test it. In the conclusion, the camera should be on her coughing, and then it should fade out, like a classic X-Files
episode. Then they'd even be all set if they wanted to milk it for a Contagion 2.

The incest conlusion:
Matt Damon's daughter is locked away in their fortress of solitude in Minneapolis. This makes me want a house one day to raise a family, but that's not related to this ending. Said daughter has a boyfriend and they act out prom in the picturesque living room. But instead, Matt should take matters into his own hands. Just in case his daughter might die from the virus, he wouldn't want her to die a virgin...

The Punny Conclusion (with hints of stereotype):
This one I really like, because it contains a pun, and I really like puns. On day 1, some bat eats a piece of fruit, which only happens because the evil big corporation Gwyneth Paltrow works for knocked down some trees in Hong Kong. The bat spits this into a pigpen, a pig eats it, this pig is brought to a restaurant/casino where Gwyneth is hanging out on her business trip. Chef is cutting up the pig and wipes his hands on his filthy apron then shakes hands with Gwyneth. Further Rube Goldberging takes place. I feel like the take-away here is supposed to be that big corporations are evil and helped set in place the creation of this virus, which is consistent with the CDC being hand-in-glove with pharmaceutical companies and so on that goes on during the film. But this is just about an alternate ending, not analysis!

So yeah, instead, in a decidedly not PG moment, the chef employs the dead pig as a sexual device to please Gwyneth. Later one of his friends at the casino asks, "What happen to pretty white lady?" Chef replies, "Awww, I porked her." Annnnnnd scene.

The takeway? Watch 12 Monkeys instead and/or again.

Also, because it's Friday. Happy just-over-halfway-done-with September everybody.

Sleptember

2011-09-07T14:50:00.002-04:00

In the spirit of some consistency in this here blog, let's say I am again amazed at how quick time is passing by and that we're a week into September. I'm not gonna lie, September got off to a rather shit start for me when I strained or tore some muscle or tendon in my leg while running this past Friday. It's also possible I fractured my fibula. In any event, it's less than ideal, though I am accustomed to injuries incurred from running.

Much of the shame is that fall descended in a hurry, and the weather, even the very smell of the air, is something I love. And yes, it leads to fond reminiscences of autumns past. It signals the start for me due to it being when school begins, even though my schooling days are well behind me. For the runner in me, cross country was the best season of the year. The heat of summer training was endured for the pay-off of the fall, when the running mattered, and when the weather was more conducive to the activity.

In the past 24 hours, my brain has been infected by the Gorillaz' "On Melancholy Hill". Where I caught it, it's hard to say, as it had been a while since I'd listened to the tune but I found myself whistling it—side note: whistling is so annoying when it's not you, right?—and now listening it. Yes, I omitted that "to" on purpose. Pointing that out says plenty about me. I'd love, for now, to be up on melancholy hill, lungs bursting and legs full of acid from physical exertion. Instead, I shall limp about looking like a bad polio impersonator.

If you don't check out the Google homepage everyday—I don't—here is a little reminder why you should, in the form of yesterday's Freddie Mercury tribute.

To celebrate the frustration of injuring my leg, I chose to imbibe well, actually, about the same amount as usual, but perhaps a touch more on the side of derelict. Meeting a few friends to work on our respective writing projects at a local coffee house, I opted to empty a flask into my stomach. This led to a glassy afternoon that appeared perfectly acceptable as it was a) a Saturday and b) College Football had kicked off. As day turned to evening and an even level of inebriation was maintained, a new drink was born, one that shall henceforth be referred to as the Charles Barkley. The reasoning behind this name shall be made clear—or, at least, clearer—at the conclusion of the following recipe presentation and explanation.

Finding myself in a local CVS, I noted a whiskey bottle I'd never seen, called Canadian LTD and, as that link proves, for which I overpaid, even at $14 for a handle. The plastic bottle and the assurance that it was "bottled under the supervision of the Canadian government" made it a must purchase. I pictured Parliament sitting around presiding over its distillation, just as I picture some goofy Rabbi scene for all products deemed Kosher. A quick taste verified all expectations on quality. With the addition of some flat Mountain Dew, some Sourpatch Kids, and a Pepperidge Farm cookie for classy garnish, the Charles Barkley was born.

Since I started college a math major, the breakdown:

+

+

+

while wearing:

=

That concoction may rot your liver and/or brain and/or reduce one's ability to produce new memories during the duration of its consumption. But it sure helps make for a fun game of Catchphrase.

It's best to snack on Doritos concurrently, so MSG (not this MSG) can be blamed for any ill feelings. And it was damp that night, so you could always blame it on the rain.

Yes.

Sometimes Numbers Don't Add Up

2011-08-31T15:37:00.006-04:00

There is a problem I experience from time to time that I know I am not alone in. It's where I have a number in my phone's contact list and have no idea who in the Hell that person is. This is a relatively minor problem, of course, as it suggests a true connection is lacking and thus, the necessity of having this phone number is not that great. But it can get worse when I have assumed it to be a person of the same name that I see with passing regularity. As it happens, at times I then text this mystery number that I expect not to be mystery at all, only to find that there is mystery indeed. Because it has been some time since the exchange of numbers I identify myself in text, only to find that the recipient is incorrect. Yet surely they are still someone I have met and should they not remember me? Guess I didn't manage to make myself too memorable either.

But the crux of the problem is that when you move about, you meet so many damned people, and after a while, names can get tough. I remember faces very well, but struggle with names, where once I was so good. I can even remember life details, which I think is more important in a lot of ways, and yet it would be nice to get names. Many others suffer from this affliction though, and so we are afforded the opportunity at many reintroductions.

Moving on then, I turned to this blog as a break from some other writing and when I did so I noted that I was on word 1111 of 1111. I greatly enjoy coincidences such as these. That's really all there is to say about that.

Further pertaining to writing, there is a lot of doom and gloom talk about the death of publishing so it was nice to see this piece from Lloyd Shepherd—a Hell of a name by the way—coming out with a much more optimistic outlook. Kudos to my pal Jeff Phillips for sharing it with me.

Shifting to another love of mine, the Track and Field World Champs are upon us. There have been some surprises there is no question, but rather than a long-winded analysis, I bring you my favorite name: Ethiopian turned Bahraini Shitaye Eshete. I am in the habit of saying it phonetically as Shit-eh, Eh-sheet-eh. And I say it with a very bad Italian accent, like one mocking the menu presented by an Italian chef. The accent isn't bad for the purpose of making it funnier, I just happen to be bad at accents.

There is a dude that just rolled into the coffee shop I am inhabiting and I recognize him as a former barista from a coffee shop just down the street from this very one. I guess since he no longer works at the other place, it would be weird to keep showing up there. He looks as if he would fit in very well in The Shire.

Also, it's about to be Fall. That's weird. Gotta wear my white pants as much as possible before Labor day. Insert pregnancy joke. Cool. Later.

Just Say No

2011-08-25T19:48:00.000-04:00

I've been watching a good amount of Mad Men lately. A look at my last post notes that I noted having begun watching at last. Good show. Great show. The advertising part of it is such a small facet, but a facet just the same, and I've always been intrigued very much by advertising. There is a flyer that has been on my kitchen counter for days, a direct-mail piece for $5 off at DSW. It shows a pair of nice men's dress shoes on the one side and asks, "What goes great with a birthday suit?" Now, do we have different definitions of the phrase "birthday suit," DSW and I? Is there a new demographic calling for pornography where men wear just discounted high-end dress shoes? Or maybe I took it too far and it is tasteful nudity, with the wobbly bits covered up by discounted high-end dress shoes. There is a better joke waiting to be written, and perhaps a better chance this premise should be cast aside altogether. That's your joke?

A moment of amusement did seize me last night when I attempted to attend a popular open mic. The scene was packed and in an artsy, hipstery, up-and-coming neighborhood and, yes, those are all distinctive adjectives. And yet, when I arrived in a button-up shirt and vest, people seemed to look askance at me. I wore these clothes for a show, I thought to myself. Also I was surprised to find no other vested individuals just because. The problem is the problem I often have of attributing negativity to any attentions. I mean, I don't always do it, but sometimes you're right, and sometimes your wrong. Just this past Sunday, quite late, also wearing a vest—I gotta stop wearing vests to shows—I took some flack. It was as I walked into the train station and a bloated and inebriated cubs fan yelled out, "I didn't get the memo that it was vest night." But fat drunko, jerseys are sometimes referred to as vests in other parts of the world...

The thing is, I probably don't like seeing people in vests either, but I wouldn't totally mind if people wanted to cut me some slack. Some people say positive things too of course, but it's so much more fun to focus on the negative. At any rate, a lot of people do not like when you wear vests. I think that's the obvious moral of that story, extra obvious because we all knew we hate people wearing vests for the most part.

Oh, and I cut lots of my crew neck t-shirts down the middle of the neck and fold in to create v-necks. I think this gets a pretty mixed reaction too. That's a good tagline for me: mixed reactions of the extreme. Just like how this entry was extremely boring you know? Gosh darn blogs...

Oh right, and I'm turning off my short story blog since like even though some of that stuff isn't great or anything I don't want to like give none of it away for free or nothing. Not until I have to, which will be soon. I would, but like, I want that to be the way I eat and stuff. Good thing I like cheap food.

You know what, that's probably plenty of words for the moment. Just meeting my monthly quota of entries folks. Thanks Chi, for the nice weather lately.

The Fragile Internet Ego

2011-08-15T01:04:00.002-04:00

It will happen. From time-to-time people will defriend on that social network that is facebook. And I have, at times, been the recipient. I could understand in the wake of some real-life shake-up, or if I were some sort of overactive updater, that kind of thing. Of late I have been tweeting much more than ever, but I keep that separate from facebook, so you wouldn't have to keep up with it, just as you wouldn't have to keep up with this blog if you didn't want. All independent separate sources, united by a common strain of being authored and administered by yours truly. My tweet increase has come at the departure of a couple of friends from facebook and I enjoy communicating with them over Twitter. I still think it's a little weird, but so it goes. I'm bad at change. I feel weird about interactions that aren't in real life.

But that facebook. My friend number will fluctuate periodically, generally the result of the temporary deactivation of an account. But reiterating, I have in fact noted that, at times, it is the result of defriending. The thing is, it generally (everything is happening generally in the post, which I suppose is okay, in general) takes time to realize, and by the time I realize I am left to ponder why it is that it has occurred. I know, rehashing paragraph one. It makes me feel as if some dirty rumor is going around about me and I'm unaware of it. This is so foolish, and yet with the advent of the internet persona, it's also somewhat of a reality. It's why I want to disappear from it at times, and yet there is a remarkable convenience. You take, of course, the good with the bad. I cannot decide if I would prefer a little feedback after the fact—like marketing research—as to why you did not enjoy a specific product. I suppose I lean toward the wanting or this post might not be being typed right? And since those that I have noted have come for no discernible reason. It goes back to my juvenile desire to be liked by all. I've gotten over that all will not like me, but once you have ostensibly granted your basic approval through social network connection, I do wonder as to the changeover.

That's a little much on that. I already addressed my strange fear regarding this whole deal during the day to someone—yes, in real life...But hey, that's sort of what I said might be the hallmark of the old blog here, griping about the very inconsequential matters of the universe. And you know, perhaps it's a glitch in the system, or something akin to my fear that an email I address will end up entirely with the wrong recipient. Entirely? As opposed to in parts? What I meant was end up with the wrong recipient entirely. Or with entirely the wrong recipient. Right.

I thing I do enjoy is the Mr. Little Jeans' track "Angel". Really, it's a good one. And I've finally begun delving into the realm of Mad Men. From the get-go I had an Ad professor raving about it, and critics and other folks raved on after. Finally, I have settled down and I get the appeal. Good work creators.

Each time I blog away these days the entries seem a little too much about me. So let's make the end of this more about funny signs. Like these ones about gay marriage. Or these little edits/responses to existing signs. I actually managed to see an edited bench in my neighborhood, which had been well done to replace "your ad here," with "your ass here." Nice one. And for good measure how about these warnings and product disclaimers? Yeah, I'd say that'll do.

Lolla-pa-lovin-it

2011-08-09T13:55:00.002-04:00

This weekend past marked the arrival and departure once again of Lollapalooza. Now while that opening sentence makes this seem like a boring chronicle, there's a possibility that will be true. Thanks to a friend (I try to avoid real names in here because like I don't want this being all personal and stuff and it's already creepy how much you can easily find out on the internet) I was able to get into a couple of semi-exclusive events. What I always enjoy is the mixture of true VIPs, folks like me who happen to have a friend that can get them in, and then the event workers. I mean this is the inevitability in lots of things, like eating at a fancy restaurant. Even when you're the finest and most respected wait staff in the world, you're still the wait staff.

The thing that makes these events so great for me is that, by-and-large, a strong positive vibe permeates. Since things like this are a rarity for me, I enjoy them a great deal, although I do try to maintain that "act like you've been here before" demeanor. But amidst free drinks and food and whatever else, why be in a shitty mood? The only day I was able to attend the festival (with some finagling and bs-ing) itself was Friday evening to take in Bright Eyes and Muse. I thoroughly enjoyed Bright Eyes, though I did long for a few more older tracks (I don't know the newest album at all) but a shining moment was viewing a quartet of girls who disliked a duo of girls in front of them. The duo was into it in that stereotyped free and hippie way where I wonder who their parents are because they were probably all of 18 and I don't know, I was pretty mainstream then and I really kind of am now. In viewing them, the quartet made snide remarks to one another about the duo, prompting them to dance more spirited in mockery of the duo, which all led to my joy in viewing from behind.

As for Muse, I perhaps regret a little bit not staying for their whole set, but the problem I have with concerts in general is that I have very specific feelings about how I want to enjoy and react to a live performance, and if everyone isn't on the high energy level I am, I am let down. We're all there to enjoy the same music, right, so why worry? No, but I get it, it's hard to be completely relaxed and just enjoy something without fear of judgment. I probably would have judged you in the past, but for me there's nothing better than when someone just genuinely loves the shit out of something. But the couple behind me and my friends was on the right page and probably made my day the most when the guy held up his phone and asked if I was Sergio the Saxman.

I did sight and briefly interact with a couple of celebrities and even by making that vague reference it may be even worse than to actually name who they were, but hey, you know, so it goes. I did witness Taylor Momsen sing and I was impressed at her ability to belt it out. A joy was catching a hint of Elijah Wood dj-ing an event as it closed down. I was very on board with his song selection, which included "Iko Iko"—Dixie Cups version—as I left. The real strength though was his opening with "Goodbye Horses." As that is a personal favorite tune I was busy hamming it up on the dancefloor before I realized who had picked the selection. So here's to you Elijah Wood, for being a chill dude.

Yeah, I guess that was boring. Cheers all.

Bye Bye July

2011-07-31T22:37:00.003-04:00

Good googley moogley, that there month of July seemed to go by pretty quickly and I don't know that I like that. Sure it was hot as monkeys (monkeys get hot you know, with the fur and all) a good number of days, but when I can ignore my crackhead level of sweat it's the summer after all, and summer is great.

Tonight I took in that Crazy, Stupid, Love film and I'll give it the old seal of approval. Steve Carrell just cracks me up and there was the presence of old guard hot redhead Julianne Moore, and soon-to-be-huge hot redhead Emma Stone. A reasonable dose of cheese and cliché thrown in but enough self-awareness to keep it reasonable. Will it be the best movie you see all year? Probably not, but I don't know how many movies you watch. It does, though, have a healthy dose of humor and if you're not being an overly critical dingus—as I have certainly been many times in my life—I'd say you'll enjoy yourself.

The previews prior to the film—yes, that is redundant—were nearly as hilarious as the high points in the film for reasons rather entirely different. None inspired much confidence and I was rather ashamed that they were made and the lines of dialogue delivered were of a quality of unintentional humor. One of these days I'll go and get a screenplay together and it will ascend to mediocrity. Standards must always be kept high.

Another place I employ high standards is in wardrobe. As a friend noted last week: "[I] clean up nice." This is the polite way of saying, "you are often dressed like a slob." I take no offense at this, though, because my general attire is indeed quite casual. Yesterday, at long last, I debuted my smiley face t-shirt, where a mouth is cut out at navel level, and eyes on the medial sides of nipples (not trying to be obscene, you know?). This is trademark and copyright me. Heck, I doubt I am the first to consider this, but just in case, July 24th, 2011, I done did it. I am choosing to ©™ the creation date since it's earlier. The response was as expected. There were those that got it and appreciated the shit out of it, and there were those that got it and were not quite feeling it in that way but at least got a good chuckle out of it. And that's all I wanna do, spread a little mirth one way or another, maybe give you a silly little story to tell a friend.

It went over way better than my running through Humboldt Park this evening. This is something I do frequently, but at times you get hmm, let's call them non-fans. This particular gentleman told me I should "get the f#ck up outta there." But these details are best reserved for my running log. See you in August folks or, like, not quite see, not in a literal sense, but you know what I mean. Rock on.

Thanks for Being a Dick...

2011-07-25T15:55:00.002-04:00

...dick. Not really, not totally, not anything too extreme. I'm just making a little incidental reference to an interaction I've just had at a coffee shop I frequent. Though free wireless internet is provided, the network is password protected and altered periodically, to maintain less of a strain, I would think, on the system. When I asked a guy at the table with me if the password had changed recently, he said, "It depends on the last day you were here, they change it every week or so." Now this is actually something completely reasonable to respond with, but I did specify in my question that the change would have been recent and, also, the iteration prior to this one had existed for more than a month. Add in, too, that he is also a frequent attendee of said shop and I took it as a specific affront of not noting who the Hell I am. Have we had deep, mindblowing conversations? No. Have we even exchanged names? No. But we've seen each other a bunch of times and even if he doesn't know me, he recognizes me, so I don't think he needs to deliberately act as if he has never seen me before and yet I get why he needs to and it speaks volumes about the type of person he is, and the type of person he takes me to be.

Sometimes, of course, you just interpret things incorrectly, like the other day, when I saw a linked article referencing "hijab" and processed it as hi-jab, as in perhaps a boxing reference, not the traditional headdress of Muslim women. I like making mistakes like that, it keeps you grounded.

Speaking of not grounded, The Fifth Element was on TV the other day and man does that take off (even literally, dudes and dudettes, 'cause there are like spaceships and stuff). But really that movie is awesome and everyone I know who has seen it seems to like it and I've probably even talked about it in here before. Everything about that film is great, but it's hard for me not to have an extra soft spot (boner joke redacted) for Milla Jovovich as Leeloo. So of course during the film I google image searched old Milla think this image of her is most excellent:

As luck would have it, a fellow from down under whose blog I periodically peruse had posted this very same image of MIlla only about a week ago. That was probably right around the time I was watching that movie anyway. Cosmic alignment or something. But he posts lots of really cool pictures and stuff so if you like cool stuff check out his blog. It's more than just tasteful degrees of female nudity.

Damn damn damn, look at the time or, really, the length of this rag already. I might post but once a week but I'm still not trying to have long dense pockets of boring shit from my brain.

B oring
L oad
O f
G arbage

Come up with your own acrostics kids! Shoot, a couple of funny things happened in my life in the last couple of days I swear, but I don't think this is the place for them. No humor here, just griping! Damnit, life is too good to gripe, but I still have to gripe about nonsense because it's kind of fun. I have sort of forgotten what this place is for. Oh yeah, just to keep me honest about um, sort of something. Writing? I guess. I do that all the time. I'm going to go do that now. I just wrote an email to some sales and marketing rep that believes I teach French at my alma mater. I hope he writes back! I think the bottom of this cup of coffee tastes like weed or, I mean, what I would imagine it would taste like based on the smell I have smelled before that people say is attributable to that. Okay okay, I'm done here.

Don't Profess to Being a Professor

2011-07-13T15:36:00.001-04:00

This past weekend I found myself on a plane headed from Chicago to Boston. I would not specific the locations but for the differing experiences associated with each. To preface this tale, when I was booking my ticket, I thought it would be great fun to list myself as Professor [My Name]. I believe I have made prior reference to some exchanges with students at my alma mater mistakenly crediting me as a certain professor there, so in some ways I've already done this sort of thing before. But with it always right there in the drop-down menu, I thought I needed to go for it. And yes, it's true, one day I wouldn't be completely against being a professor, which is more than you can say for the people who would have the power to make me a professor.

At any rate, on the leg out, there was no incident beyond my silent smirk (do smirks generally make noise?) as I printed my boarding pass. On the return leg, however, there was a moment before I got into a security line, the one where they actually check your ID against your boarding pass. There seemed to be a delay, and I don't know who flinched first, but it was probably me. It was like a football game though, as I felt I'd been drawn offside by this woman's hesitation. An exchange ensued regarding the professor business, which amounted to me, at a time, saying, "I'm not really a professor, I just thought that would be fun to put there." She was not, as is to be expected, amused. "We'll let it slide this time," she said, crossing out the four-letter abbreviation in front of my name. "Right," I said, "thanks."

"I wouldn't do it again," she scolded me, "you'll be noted down as a troublemaker." A troublemaker?!? NO! The highest offense of any 4th grader, the kind of thing that might make 5th graders know who you are. I wanted to continue on because I couldn't see the real dilemma. Was someone going to ask some very academic and integral question aboard the flight, prompting a steward or stewardess to ask, "Is there a professor aboard?" Then this bitch would chime in, "No, but there is someone professing to be one." I'd commend her pun, then feel like I was belonging somewhere in the late 1930s or early 40s along with Camus and some other absurdists. Side note: I wish there were a good "Camus the Whale" joke. Maybe if he had ever gotten fat or something.

At any rate, that's about enough on the old boring stories from the life of me front, even if this is me damn blog! I'll sign off with a grand little number sung by 11 year-old Anna Graceman during the tryouts for "America's Got Talent." After viewing I called it the best performance I'd ever seen on anyone of these vocal-based or vocal-inclusive talent shows that have emerged. Oh, and she's also playing the piano at virtuoso-enough level. From Juneau, Alaska, I like to think it's a testament to the focus one can have when a little more of the beaten path. But seriously, she kicks ass. Merry mid-July folks, and a happy early Bastille Day. Bastille? All they took was their freedom...

Uh-mer-kuh

2011-07-06T20:25:00.001-04:00

The fourth of July has passed on again and, as always, it was a great time. It really is one of those things that brings people together. I will say, however, that running shirtless in American flag shorts through the predominantly Hispanic neighborhood of your city may not be the most sensible. One driver did yell "America," but that was before I had crossed the line—the literal neighborhood line. And though I run through this neighborhood all the time, one man did ask, with reasonable menace in his tone, what in the f#ck I thought I was doing running through there. The best thing to do sometimes is to keep running. As I neared my abode on the return, a man yelled from his third-floor balcony, "Woooo, America, f#ck yeah." I gave him a woo back and my faith was restored. The unusual thing was how deserted the roads were, and how few people in general I saw. It was like a scene from 28 Days Later or any such [zombie] apocalypse film, and it was a rather creepy thing. For all that at times I might want less bustle, the contrast, when not changing environs, can be confounding to the point of mild disturbance.

At any rate, I'm sharing the following photo to show how I decided to embrace America the rest of the day. Even amongst the eclectic attire of Boystown and certainly on the lakefront, much commentary was inspired. I only wish I had a photo as a good chum and I—he decked out in equally intriguing cut off America jeans—entered the liquor store, a spectacle in itself with half of its facade a rather cheap-looking castle. To be able to do this, spend time with good friends, and walk to the lake to watch free fireworks with thousands of strangers, this is why I love this country. I can't describe why it is I get such specific joy. Perhaps because everyone seems so on board with one thing, a rarity amongst the overarching culture of antagonism and negativity I see in a lot of pop culture that sometimes is thrown under the moniker of hating.

As I rode the train last evening in cut-off corduroys and cut-off tee (the very one in that photo in fact), I couldn't help but allow some negativity of my own to seep in as some loop workers boarded the train along with me. All of the stereotypes about douchey behavior of finance types were being fulfilled in speech so I did what I sometimes do and stared judgmentally at them. I recall a time an ex-girlfriend did this on a subway train in New York to marvelous effect. Silent, seething disdain, while generally not the best way to go through life, I do appreciate when it puts at least a temporary stick in the spokes of boorish buffoonery. My true favorite moment, aside from the slow realization, is the discomfort when one of these parties of two vacates the train, leaving the lone man or woman to stew alone. It all starts when they get on and give me a look for my attire and haircut and I only need remind them judgment goes both ways. My constant vacillation between fun-loving human and a nauseous distaste for so many of my fellow humans may very well be what helps propel me through life

In other news of crappy chronicling, a proof copy of my first effort at a novel arrived. While it's entrance to the public domain is dubious, I couldn't help but grin with the sense of completion there is in having a tangible copy of my effort. Maybe if I started using a typewriter...And maybe it sucks, but it's a hell of a feeling just to have completed something. I, for one, don't do that enough. So yeah, there, once more, for Uhmerkuh!

The End of June

2011-06-30T23:59:00.001-04:00

Would this Jew lie? All right, so it's hardly a secret that I enjoy word play, or perhaps it is, I'm not entirely sure that I do it with great regularity or make it obvious, but I probably do. Certainly I employ many adverbs and speak in wishy-washyisms. But right, June, it's all set to end in a few minutes here by this midwestern clock, so I'm sneaking in a last-minute post. Another thing they're trying to bring an end to is the Oxford Comma. I'm too lazy to link to any of the articles about it. I will say, though, that I'm in favor, because I operate most of my grammar based on speech cadence rather than actual rules learned in a book. And so, when I make a list, I like that last comma as a pause in delivery.

Due to discussions of abolishing the Oxford, or serial, Comma, the Wikipedia entry for it appears to have undergone some amusing temporary edits, including this one, which I will post lest it be removed before you click the link. It is listed under "Unresolved Ambiguity."

The Times once published an unintentionally humorous description of a Peter Ustinov documentary, noting that "highlights of his global tour include encounters with Nelson Mandela, an 800-year-old demigod and a dildo collector".[21] This would still be ambiguous if a serial comma were added, as Mandela could then be mistaken for a demigod, although he would be precluded from being a dildo collector.

I stumbled upon some exclusive dumb shit today, called The Royal Few. All of these websites make me embarrassed for the people who create them and the people who would want to be a part of them. But I guess because I wouldn't join is precisely why I feel that way.

Before I forget, I must promote Quietube, which strips embedded ads from youtube videos, and provides a link you can then share with whomever you would like. I wasn't too sure about how many people were really using this, so I wanted to go ahead and get my little share of the word out there.

At one of the coffee shops I frequent, there is the delight of a chalkboard in each restroom. I consume extra glasses of water (coupled with the diuretic effects of caffeine) to ensure I can make a trip or two to do some scribbling. Today I scrawled "July 4th is only a quarter," and returned later to find LOL and an arrow pointing to the phrase. Sadly, all it takes is for an anonymous stranger to enjoy my punny scrawlings to make my day. So thank you stranger, I hope you went back to enjoy "Any mathematician knows that mean people are just fucking average." I think a big part of the reason I enjoy their enjoyment is all of the joy I too received when reading amusing stall scribblings over the years.

Tonight's crazy ass weather put an electricity in the air that I am fully behind, especially because I managed to not be hailed upon. It's so clichéd to talk about the weather, but going from mid-80s, to strange breezes and dust bowls in the park, to full-blown hail, well that's Chicago! It hurt a little bit to type that sentence, I think it was the exclamation point. Stay tuned for my updating the font and colors if not the entire layout on this blog because I forget what it looks like when I am not typing in this little box. And it is ugly, oh yes it is ugly.

Oh, and this weekend, let's celebrate America. Because sure there's shit wrong with America, but it's also pretty all right. UHMERIKUH!

Wi[sh]consin

2011-06-22T14:09:00.000-04:00

I'm vaguely fresh off of a visit to the rurals of Wisconsin. And I'm super fresh on wanting to vomit on the married couple seated across from me with their, as I see it, forced affections. The same couple was here yesterday, and one of my favorite moments was when someone went to sit next to this girl or, I guess, woman, and she said, "Oh, sorry, my husband is sitting there." He hadn't been there for quite some time and I rather liked the idea that he was imaginary, but it's funny to me the way that, it should be natural to say my husband because of course he was her husband and yet it still came across as forced to me. Just maybe I kind of have problems. In fact, that's as much the point of this blog as anything else, an ongoing chronicle, stored freely by google, of my association with the world around me and my willingness to share certain thoughts with the knowledge that, of course, it might be searchable and read.

My favorite recent search to land a stranger here: "why deaf people are assholes."

Have I mentioned yet I need to rework the color scheme in here? It's amazing that if you go back and read certain entries where I reference things like this they will one day make even less since since, by then, I may actually have changed them and yet you won't know unless you are diligently following, in which case you will just think that you do or don't like the colors, which is exactly the same situation as now.

But let's talk 'Consin 'cause it's on my mind. I am going to not name the town I was in, to both preserve it's relative untaintedness by strangers like me, and to protect it's identity in general lest anything negative seem to come out. It shouldn't, because this town kicks ass. It's on Lake Michigan and a good ways from Chicago, which is a reminder if I ever needed one of the enormity of Lake Michigan. No really, this lake is enormous. I had to clip an f-bomb there. Sometimes I curse too much. We were outliers there, it's true, and yet we were quickly made to feel at home and it doesn't have to be that way. I am skewed in general by my own liberal upbringing and exposures and while I know very conservative individuals and groups exist, it doesn't mean close to the same thing if you aren't standing next to it.

So I just realized that by keeping this vague I risk making this exceedingly bland, but I didn't want to not give a shout out to how grand this place is. Double negatives can be great. OH MAN I WANT TO STAB THIS COUPLE. It's weird, by the strange nature of their interactions, a bizarre formality and forced (again, as I see it) affections, they seem like robots.

But this Wisconsin town. It's small. Everyone knows everyone, but that doesn't mean everyone likes everyone, and yet it has a safety to it, a regularity in the way everyone attends the few bars in town. I used to live in a small town, not for long, but up here they seemed to get it much more right than where I lived, even though my former residence was much more a known quantity. Guess that makes sense, as when the secret's out, the magic can get lost a little. And so I'll preserve the sanctity of this little town.

Hell, every place I stopped in Wisconsin on the way up and back was so different from what I'm generally used to. I tend to have a short memory for a lot of things. But it made me glad. Glad I can still be surprised by things, glad that not everywhere is the same, and maybe even glad I don't live there. Because maybe the magic wears off, and maybe not, but magic is just unexplained occurrences of real life that you find amazing. You don't always need an answer. Just enjoy. Thanks Wisconsin. Thanks friends.

A Short of Sorts on Shorts

2011-06-16T16:44:00.004-04:00

I found myself fiending for a 1984 British Olympic uniform for not the first time earlier, so I embarked on a very non-scientific google search to see if there is, in fact, still some way to acquire these garments. I found little but did not dig deep because I was immediately intrigued by this Wikipedia entry on shorts. It is extensive, as many Wiki entries are, and awesome. I haven't even read the entirety of that entry, but it did say that, after Adidas sponsored the 1980 Olympics, their nylon shorts became a fashion item for some years. Oh that those years still existed!

I truly appreciated the segment on cut-offs and Daisy Dukes, especially for the final sentence which I have placed in bold for emphasis. On a side note, I tend to use far too many adverbs.

Cut-offs or Daisy Dukes

Home-made by cutting the legs off trousers, typically jeans (known as "denim cut-offs"), above the knee. These were particularly popular in the early 1970s. The cut is not finished or hemmed and the fabric is left to fray. They became so popular that they were sold in stores as such. Originally a practical use for trousers with worn-through knees, they are now a type of shorts in their own right. The ultra-short version of jean cut-offs are also known as Daisy Dukes, in reference to Catherine Bach's character of that name from the American television show The Dukes of Hazzard. They are a form of hot-pants or short shorts. The character Tobias Fünke from the television series Arrested Development is also known for wearing cut-off jeans as an undergarment.

With the arrival of warm weather, I get the urge to chop the legs off of weathered pants. Although I wear shorts for far less of the year, I end up washing them far more than my pants because I am routinely sweating through them. The thing is, at my favorite place to shop, Marshall's, it's just as cheap to buy a pair of pants and cut them off as it is to buy a pair of shorts. Especially since I can never seem to find shorts of the length and fit that I prefer. I have minor hoarder tendencies as well, so I often end up chopping the sleeves off of shirts I never wear under the illusion that I will then be more likely to wear them at some point. Hell, I even want to cut my hair every week or less. Guess that's why Meursault ends up shooting somebody. The heat can make you irrational and crazy!

In one maddening moment on a run today I felt a beard hair get lodged in my gumline. I tried to remove it so frantically that I ripped part of my gum off, when a little patience would have removed it easily. Instead, of course, I drove it in deeper and had to execute some surgical precision to remove it once home.

I walked by a coffee shop earlier whose chalkboard read "Home of Sluts" on the first line. But I've been there, and it's not slutty enough for me.

Stoked to invade rural Wisconsin for the weekend. Goal is to not get beaten up for my stupid haircut and dumb clothes. Maybe a beach run in some Daisy Dukes...Viva Wisconsin!

Noontime in Chicago

2011-06-07T12:00:00.000-04:00

Excursions to the movies have been somewhat of a rarity for me for quite some time. I suppose in some ways I have always had a weird feeling about movies, or really just going to them. One thing I can't do, for instance, is go to the movies alone. And so I tend to end up there only on suggestion and invite, creating a rather incongruous map of films. This past Sunday I took in the film Midnight in Paris, on the invitation of a friend. As it happens, I hadn't heard of the film, but thanks to the wonders of the internet, a simple search of "new woody allen movie" yielded the film title and a allowed for a quick review of the cast.

Owen Wilson was about all I needed to see on the billing, as his presence alone generally produces something redeemable for me. The circumstances were opportune as they let me go into the film in my most preferred way: with next to no knowledge and thus next to no expectation. I'm not exactly the greatest film reviewer but I'll say this one is pretty delightful. I don't think I spoil a thing by pointing out it pokes fun at nostalgia and the concept of the golden age. See I like it when film and books poke fun at the things I get roiling around in my head from the standpoint of having been there. Condemnation without any association, on the other hand, aggravates me. You get to make the joke because you were or are part of the club. There are many choice characterizations of famed artists and authors that are playful and amusing.

Nor did it hurt to have some moments of Lea Seydoux who you know is clearly a model but has this "but I'm simple and could never be a model, I'm just this country girl" thing. The only problem I have with characters like hers is I then find myself out walking about expecting to find their carbon copy suited just pour moi (to use the extremely limited amount of French I have maintained). I can't explain why I chose French over Spanish in high school, but whatever the little spark was gets reawakened every time I see movies set in France. Heck, I'm listening to Carla Bruni songs at the moment just because of her cameo in the movie. It's a testament to the fleeting and obsessive nature that may always have existed but the presence of all this content at fingertips just seems to magnify.

Merde, it appears that I've already taken to a ramble-a-thon. The evolution or reverse evolution of my blog is such a strange thing to me. A day removed from my aggravating eavesdrop of coffee shop conversation (to be accurate, I wasn't so much eavesdropping as I was unable to ignore the loud and obnoxious monologue/vague dialogue going on next to me) I will refrain from comment as it is something I get to do plenty in here. In fact I feel as if I vacillate between those melancholies and these more joyful embrace posts.

So following that note, I'll keep a theme here and give love to the Chicago summer. It's hot for the moment, very hot, but out in the heat was a free concert treat, with Iron and Wine headlining a show opened by The Head and The Heart. Nevermind the music, which was great—although Iron and Wine sounded like a jam band to my surprise—the atmosphere was unbeatable. There had to be a good 7,000 18-35 year-olds, all in good spirits, likely augmented by having brought their own spirits, wine, beer, and that other grass to enjoy on the grass. I had waves of healthy nostalgia and, for those few hours, everything seemed right with the world.

Me[MyselfandI]Morial Day

2011-05-31T23:25:00.002-04:00

Every now and then I just love messing around with Wordle. When it comes to art, I don't really have the old creative skill which, given the color scheme—among other things—of this blog, rather goes without saying. Still, thanks to talented people there are a great many variations and whatnot you can create of the word clouds Wordle creates. I opted to upload a chunk of text from a short story I'm working on and accept the default. It's quite interesting to see from small and large samples what words you have a penchant for using.

I am still wrapping my head around today being Tuesday, as Memorial Day Henry David Thoreau my brain off. The warmth of spring finally arrived, melting me a mite bit as I traversed a four-mile route. Unable to stop sweating, it was clear that whiskey and lemonade was in order. As the day wore on I got that sort of sneaky drunk that transpires when you are well-practiced at drinking. Translation: only I knew how much I was skirting the line of wasted.

As the night wore on, I like to blame fatigue rather than inebriation for an embarrassing episode of paranoia that set in late in the night whereby I thought I'd lost my computer. With unconscionable amounts of intellectual (this word might be a stretch) property on this bad boy, I was in a rather terrible way. I am just glad that at this moment I can laugh about it and, goodness, though every time I say I will back my shit up...I'm gonna back my shit up! Through embarrassment I do hope to mature and grow.

Relieved to have found my computer but queasy from incorrect balancing of food with spirits, I decided the classic detox run was a good idea. For it to be seven miles was not a good idea, as I sweat till I could sweat no more, nearing my peak of wobbly, tight-skinned, drooling mass. Though I will be a dripping, stinky human for the coming months, I am glad it's warm. Sometimes you beat the heat, and sometimes the heat beat(s) you.

More mindless musings on spring and summer sweating to come.

Cremorial Day

2011-05-28T00:00:00.001-04:00

While it's not quite Memorial Day, this Friday that is nearly completed was, for myself and some others Cremorial Day. I suppose that is not so apt as we were not the ones cremated but, rather, we witnessed a service devoted to one who had been. And while her husband was not an American veteran of World War II, he had fought for the Britons. After that lengthy explanation of my struggle for a title I've completely forgotten what it is I intended to talk about. Presumably little, as always.

In fact, this past weekend an old teammate and I suppose I could say chum of mine told me that he reads this here blog of mine on occasion without enjoyment. I asked him, then, why he read it, and if he did have an answer—which I contend he did not—I will admit I may have been too soused to recollect it.

In my life I have seen precious few celebrities in the flesh, but after this past Monday evening I have now had occasion to see one celeb (I cringe at that abbreviation) twice. The man in question is Jesse Eisenberg of Social Network and other fame. That he is the same age as me and grew up in a neighboring town are some very loose connections, but now I have seen him twice. Time the first he was accompanied by two dudes and was walking by Chicago's Second City stages and training center building. Time the second he was near Times Square, walking his bike—which appeared to be a brand most average at best—then riding it for less than a block, before dismounting again to rendezvous with a woman I presume is his girlfriend. His posture and manner of movement is much like the characters he often portrays: gloomy, sullen, and hurried all at once. And though his posture remained bent when he met his presumable girlfriend, a smile breached his face (and, I should note, once again a hat adorned his head). Granted this was New York, and I am sure many are used to seeing many celebrities but I couldn't help but appreciate that he flew under everyone's radar and the regular-guyishness he exuded in both instances. Dare I say this is success without fame? And yet, he is famous, so perhaps notoriety is the word I seek.

At any rate I shall wonder if the cosmic crossing of young Eisenberg and myself shall continue and when, if ever, I may annoy him with brief verbal acknowledgment. Cosmic is probably an overstatement, but I can't help but have fun looking for signs and the connections in things. Call it the failed and cynical AP English student in me finally deciding that kind of shit, while contrived, can be good times. Let's take that a recent reader here was from Malvern of all places. There are ~28,000 people that live there and this internet user conducted a standard google search for something perhaps a bit obscure, which I happen to have somewhat addressed in a post here just a few weeks back (three fortnights to get more British sounding). The date of the posting and its connection to my own birth which was, in turn, from the body of an individual whose own birth took place in this very town in England, well, actually that doesn't really mean much. And those sentences were vague enough that even I might not know what I mean when I go back to read that.

After all that nonsense, I'd like to give a shout-out to my alma mater. The pleasures of Wadsworth forest continue to be exquisite, as does the quality of the Freeman Shower (though I am sad the soap smells better now), and of course it allows for me to fully embrace my inner asshat and know that few will judge and so very many will embrace. Cheers to the old 'Tech and all of those whom I have known and loved in my time there and since.

Condiments

2011-05-16T19:52:00.001-04:00

Not to be confused with condomints of course, the minty-fresh safe-sex option product I never released. One day, that along with complimints—the mints that say nice things about you in the wrapper—shall continue to not exist. Condiments are on my brain though (no not literally you sillies, old mustard-brain Solomon) but, like, I'm thinking about them because they were the savior of a sandwich I was afraid to eat. Rare are those occasions on which I consume canned tuna but given a far too long stretch of fishlessness, I decided I could settle for the canned variety. As it stands, I made grave error my last excursion to purchase canned tuna, opting for chunk white. While not as vile as chunk light, as I opened the can, worry creased my face. But waste not want not and the best way to learn a lesson is to eat it. So I dropped in some olive oil (mayonnaise is my nemesis) and chili powder and adobo, because those were in my spice cabinet. It's difficult to determine whether these had great effect on increasing the palatability of the primary constituent part of my sandwich, but Grey Poupon really saved the day. The conclusion is that condomints can keep a _______ smelling minty fresh, and condiments can keep flavor fresh. Both can mask something otherwise gross.

Another of the primary things on my brain is the death of reigning Olympic and Chicago marathon champ Samuel Wanjiru. The circumstances are exceedingly strange. That immediately one of the police investigators was shouting to the media that it was a suicide speaks to one of many cultural differences between The United States and Kenya. When I have such little grasp of circumstances, I like to keep any judgment in check so I'll just say that I loved to watch the man run and was impressed by the way he competed. As a distance runner myself, the desire to run long distances may or may not be indicative of a mind somewhat less stable than what is alleged to be the mental standard. If further proof was needed of how insane things can be over in Kenya, I'll forgo some of the stories told me secondhand from visitors and cite this tale of random assault of former (and would-be otherwise current) Division III star Peter Kosgei.

Well, at this juncture I really must be making some ambulatory motion from my current sedentary perch. Chicago, I shall bid you adieu temporarily in some 40 hours. If you could find it within your weather to warm in the days of my absence, I am sure the other residents might be just as appreciative as I.

Man v. Security

2011-05-10T00:59:00.001-04:00

In a week's time the strongest recollection in my brain at this moment is the triumph a friend and I made over the security device placed around the lid of a legitimately purchased bottle of scotch. The device, meant to be removed with a specific magnetic key, can be seen below:

The internet being what it is, I expected to find some intrepid and enterprising methods at removal sans prescribed key. But all that I could find spoke to plenty of potential for damaging the bottle. In the end, all it took was a serrated meat knife, a couple of screwdrivers for leverage, and some faith. The triumph was due almost entirely to this unnamed friend but I am always unsure whether to name human acquaintances of mine in here, but the sentiment is there: the victory was mine only in afterward enjoying said scotch.

I heard that new Katy Perry song today, as I have before, the one with Kanye West, and where she comes in at the near chorus moment, I couldn't help but think of T.A.T.U.'s hit "All the Things She Said." The cadence and rhythm more than anything are what remind me, and it's not really as close as a lot of the connections I tend to note in here, but one triggers the other just the same. Perhaps a bit more of my associative brain than melodic theft or even influence.

At any rate, I'm tired just having watched the Thunder beat the Grizzlies, so I'm going to trundle off to bed. Rest well ye weary internet travelers.

The Pledge

2011-04-30T20:19:00.001-04:00

No, not that shitty Jack Nicholson movie, my pledge to post here 4 times a month. Here I am, adhering, with the end of April nearing, myself towards several beers veering. I'd rather be heading to Bohemian Napcity because I am a tired MF.

With some curiosity about tall buildings the other day or, to be more accurate, tall structures, I ended up searching for an image of the CN Tower in Toronto, which yielded this delightful result as the third image:

The objects to which the eyes are likely to be immediately directed are a bit large and absurd for my liking, but to each his own. I enjoy that the url for that photo has in it "fake illusion." Isn't being fake part of the nature of being an illusion? Now what isn't an illusion is how good a couple of the articles I read in The Awl this week were. Not that they are from this week, but this week was when I read the. Right. Now any time you discuss how egotistical and nutter Ayn Rand was, I am going to want to read, but the piece is very well put together, connecting her with her old pal Alan Greenspan and the way each informed the work of the other.

The other surrounds a man I've not read much beyond his non-fiction, the late David Foster Wallace. This is a great piece put together by Maria Bustillos after touring UT-Austin's DFW collection. I, like many, am fascinated by this man I did not know, and while I look forward to reading his fiction, I wonder that I might find the efforts to unearth what he was truly like more fascinating. The theory that genius and mental illness are so closely linked and what it even means to be a genius are quite prominent and recurring thoughts in my brain. At any rate, a really really great piece.

Ke$ha just popped on my iTunes, a song called "Dinosaur," that I will not link. I find it difficult to consider these songs are real, by which I mean meant to be taken remotely seriously, but I am always comforted when her tunes pop up because, sometime past, I inadvetently changed the artwork for her album to that of a Norah Jones one. Maybe Norah and Ke$ha can collab to make an album alternatingly (why is that not recognized as a word?) soporofic and sophomoric.

Well, it's time to blow this taco stand. Thanks Chi for the mostly lovely weather today.

Easter's Kiester

2011-04-25T16:39:00.000-04:00

Not trying to make Easter the butt of any jokes here, simply adopting this title because Easter is already over and has shown us our backside. What needs to be done is the classic day-after-candy-themed-holiday-discount purchasing. One of my Easter favorites was the Cadbury Egg which, I contend, was larger in my youth, and not just because I was smaller. I recall this being addressed in the not-too-distant past and the gods of google obliged me quickly, yielding this confirmation in a flash. How fitting to use google for a product with a creme-filled center, no? How about those words with alternate spellings, like creme/cream? Love that stuff.

The other day the headphone jack on my laptop crapped out for good and while I can still pretend to be immersed in my own music and world, I'm now less plugged in to my own world, and extra eavesdroppy. Take the dingles sharing a table with me. My favorite commentary is on the commentary of others. I mean, this creature opened with discussion of "Return of the Jedi," not having seen it for a while, and its quality, and quickly (I always like adverbs, but seem to love saying "quickly" today) launched into discussion of music. This is inevitable in the neighborhood I live in and hey, to each his own, but I still find myself intrigued by how frequently people slide neatly into these little stereotype boxes. After all, why be here otherwise?

The best part of it is, their age, or lack thereof. I assume these guys are about 20-22 years older. Whatever proclivity they have for precocious musical judgment, which is an ordering of words mostly nonsensical and what I mean is, no matter how valid a couple of their assessments might seem, without a hint of even mock humbleness or acknowledgement of their own immaturity and lack of perspective, I'm left as not a fan. Hey, I'm not anti opinion, I'm just anti opinion for the sake of fear of adherence to some perceived existing monoculture. There's a monocultural mean for every cultural group and subgroup. I'M JUST SAYING IDENTIFY WITH WHAT YOU ARE, NOT BY WHAT YOU ARE NOT. Why is this important to me again?

Those last two paragraphs were chock full of judgment, so I must say I make it a point to be able to face the music myself. Why just yesterday, standing in wait for the burrito I had ordered, two young black girls stared at me and, rather than a mostly open commentary on my appearance and certain extrapolations made from said appearance, they proceeded to text message while seated next to one another. We no longer need different languages to communicate things about people right in front of them while keeping them in the dark it seems, we just need different mediums of communication. As always, I am afraid of where we may be headed, a future of disengaged, disassociated, distracted individuals on the near horizon. Something will surely save us from it right?

Well as I've put down some words, and gotten back to griping, as I originally set this blog to be a forum for (I shall not mention my bowel woes of the last 24 hours), and yet not really reached any solid conclusions, I feel concluding right here is a most excellent decision. I need to put more pictures and shiny things in here, to make it more attractive and dupe newcomers into visiting. For the moment, that's a wrap.

Birthday Blogging

2011-04-19T15:46:00.000-04:00

I intended to post in here a couple of days ago and call this "Spring Break," but it appears spring has gone on break, with a sprinkling of snow on the roof of the abandoned Pizza Hut building when I awoke yesterday morning, and today a delightful 37° and rainy. But hey, that's how it goes sometimes with the weather. In fact, when I visited Chicago for the first time almost exactly two years ago, the weather was cold, wet, and dreary. I still chose to move here and I'm still very happy with the decision. Of course, nor would I mind if things spontaneously got warm again, just not too warm, since I sweat easily.

With regard to my rising age but stagnant maturity level, I suggest a listen of Devendra Banhart's "I Feel Just Like a Child." The video, I must say, is not my favorite, but the sentiment of dancing about in only boxer briefs is the right idea for how my mind/lifestyle goes. For whatever reason I have spent a couple of minutes each day in April looking at the celebrity birthdays of the day and a recent one was that of Olivia Hussey, who may have represented the first and last boobs I saw in a classroom (excepting perhaps Health class), when she starred in Franco Zeffirelli's "Romeo and Juliet."

Though that story line follows teenage love (hey, life expectancy was lesser in Shakespeare's Day, and anyway Conor Oberst was crooning about heartbreak at 13), I still find it strange whenever young actors are, well mature. I found this interview with Hussey and co-star Leonard Whiting quite intriguing. For one, Hussey smokes on camera, and the reporter chides her for it. For another, young Leonard Whiting looks a Hell of a lot like Zach Efron or, I should say, vice versa. And then I think what I might have acted like in an interview at that age. At 17 I did tell the now defunct UPN morning news my views on grinding at high school dances. And yes, I wish I had the footage to laugh at in private.

And since my body is rather mashed up, I'll use that as a weak segue to the popular mash-up genre of music. Thanks, as always, to the human internet, I was apprized of this Don McLean meets Florence + the Machine effort. I'm a fan. Also, this video has been making the rounds. It wasn't long ago that I was remembering how dope Yo-Yo Ma was, but I'd never realized the skill of "Lil Buck" until seeing that. Subsequently I viewed many of his videos and they do not disappoint. It just might make me feel a shade inadequate in my ability to use my body (Hell, I struggle enough running in straight lines), but mostly I can just marvel at what the man can do.

I judge that is probably enough words for the moment. In the interest of a much talked about celebrity also born on this day if, in five years, I've managed to get 1/37 as much recognition (or even derision) for one of my pursuits, as old James Franco, I can think of worse things. Stay fresh.

[Un]Sound Decisions

2011-04-07T15:33:00.002-04:00

One of these might be that I recently ventured back to running. I was getting antsy with the lay-off and lack of improvement in my leg/foot health and since I was feeling all not physically fit I hobbled out the door for a few miles a few times now. But what I'm really getting at is a little sonic analysis akin to what I have done some times here in the past. Namely, some songs end up sounding like other songs. It can be that there is the same producer, it can be coincidence of a finite number of chords, and it can even be subconscious borrowing. The same is a fear of mine in joke-telling and why I don't listen to or watch as much comedy as I might. Nobody — well, I shouldn't say nobody, but most people, don't want to be joke thieves. That's the performance-enhancing drug (PED) of the comedy world. This goes on in countless realms and I try to steer clear if at all possible.

So when on my iTunes a certain song came on, that certain song being Ryan Adams' "Burning Photographs," I noticed that the prevailing chord sounds an awful lot like the famous riff to that mid-90's King Missile classic "Detachable Penis". I don't mind much because I love to be reminded of that song.

Soon after, a certain Gaslight Anthem song was playing, and I thought it was a Brand New track. Admittedly this one may not be as close as I originally thought but when "We Came to Dance" started playing, the opening and persistent riff, struck me as suspiciously similar to that of Brand New's "Logan to Government Center. Actually, it's as if the ordering of notes if slightly different, although I think it comes out better at about that moment. Admittedly (how many times can I say admittedly?), the arrangement sounds fairly similar to "Jude Law and the Semester Abroad," and maybe another song too that I am too lazy to link.

I shared a moment with an old man on the train, a few weeks back now, that I am recollecting as my foot throbs. He was on crutches and just began to speak to me about his surgeries and how he nearly lost his foot. There seemed to be a relief in his telling the story, and I was happy to listen, at which point I shared that I had undergone four surgeries and my body is still not operating on premium. But thank modern medicine that I can go at all.

In pretty chill news, the podcast I've been doing for a good eight months or so (I mean good as an estimator, but I promise some of the material is good too) got mention in TimeOut Chicago. The photo-featured fellows of WoodSugars are recent friends (and did a crossover on RyeBread) and excellent gents that I hope to collaborate with a good deal in the future. I actually aim to not make this blog too personal or boring, but every now and then I will drop things from my regular old life in here. Soon I will complain about complainers complaining about being complained about. Or something like that...

Oh thank heaven, it's 4/7/11...

March[ing] on to April

2011-03-31T17:48:00.002-04:00

Well I just made it on the old self-imposed quota here of four posts a month. It also gives me breathing room not to concoct an April Fool's joke. My regular content borders on the jokeline and seriousness to begin with, so I don't feel any particular need to joke it up extra hard tomorrow. Just as I am not any sweeter on Valentine's Day, any more expectant of winter ending on Groundhog Day (seriously, why is it still pretty damn cold), and any more likely to give gifts on Christmas (I'm vaguely a Jew).

I found myself viewing a rather choice Hallmark Channel film entitled "Chasing a Dream," during a somewhat insomniac-ish evening not long ago after catching wind of the existence of said film on a running forum. You can check it out here. It's about 90 minutes, and I certainly watched close to the whole thing, skipping some middle bits. It offended me as both a runner and a human, and as writer even, but I did keep watching. Blame accepted.

The vague outline is a chubby football-playing teenager's quest to run under 4 minutes in the mile, as a high schooler. He is doing this to fulfill the dream his childhood friend had. His childhood friend who trained hard and is at least lithe in build. And who dies running home from a party he didn't want to be at, dragged there by CFB (chubby football player). The football player is a Lawrence child, as in Joey and Matthew Lawrence. Tubbly and unathletic in movement, he'd be as hard to believe as a credible football player as he is as a runner. With no prior running experience, Lawrence takes off on short-legged sprints with looks of anguish on his face with every step. As someone who wasn't far under 4:20 in the mile, and never made faces like that, I found this, to use the word at least once more, offensive. With no disrespect to the Special Olympics, he looks more qualified to participate in those. Here is the part where I say I am allowed to say that because I have been called a retard while running.

The rest of the film fits the complete lack of research and realism brought to the film. When Lawrence is DQ'ed from the state sectional for knocking his top competitor — who has a poorly contrived African name — to the track, his competitor pleads for Lawrence to be re-instated by sending a fax to the state athletic board. What? This, yes, is set, in 2011. Earlier, there is a high school party scene where attendees jam out to a boombox, one that I don't even think has CD capability. That's not a knock, those things are just hard to come by, especially in the ritzy southern California area portrayed. There are also an awful lot of shots of New Balance sneakers, and when Lawrence races, he does so in shitty flats, not even a pair of spikes. At least his African opponent looks like he can run (in a way more normal fashion than I do when running, that's for damn sure), strange as it is to see his smooth gait confronted by the clodding disabled person that Lawrence portrays. Take it from my own style that it doesn't always look pretty, but there is a limit to the believability.

Spoiler alert: they set up a special race and Lawrence loses to the African but they both break 4! Argh, if only I had played football all of high school and then stepped onto the track, sprinting stiff-legged with a look as if I need to crap my pants, I'd have beaten Alan Webb to becoming the 4th high-schooler to break 4 minutes! New Balance kicks and the boombox were sure to be essential as well. But featuring a heartfelt theme using recycled Everwood cast members, it is what it is! Yes, it was a complete mockery of the sport I love, but everything about it was so preposterous that amusement superceded true anger.

In lighter news, I think this children's choir cat duet would make for a wonderful improv warm-up game. On second thought, though, I think it's great as is. Legitimately performed at a church.

Next, I've got an oldie but a goodie, oldie to me only as I stumbled upon it recently. In general I find British news, tabloid, and real, more fun to read. So check out this dude fathering kids and working the system. It really is a tremendous read.

And last but not least, a little news from the tennis world or, at least, in the tennis world it constitutes news. I am a tennis fan, no question, but it's amazing how in need of a story news sources can find themselves. So in need that they might post as news something about a news story that shows how in need of news something is...This article (and ABC News) alleges a frustrated David Ferrer lobbed a ball into the stands to quiet a crying baby. There's all sorts of things wrong with this situation, but I'm ignoring all of them to say that there are, as I type this, over 6,000 comments on the article. Over 6,000. I can't say if all of them are tennis fans. But let's just imagine that they are, and think of the people who watch tennis. It's generally the more affluent, just like the people who play the sport. The same people clamoring for Groupons and writing reviews on Yelp. The kind of people who produce self-masturbatory internet content thinking that their opinions...oh wait a minute...

Carry on folks, carry on. Stay safe out there.

Music for the Reign of Rain

2011-03-22T16:08:00.001-04:00

Well mf's, it's raining out, at least it is here in Chicago. I don't know if that's why I'm in quite a mood for some fresh (actually they're really old, but the sound is fresh if you catch my drift — speaking of which, there are rumors of snow later in the week, whaaaaaaaaaat), but at any rate I am. At any rate has been my phrase of choice for a while now. There is a name for those phrases and modifiers that maintain the flow of writing, specifically boring writing. Looking back, all of those standard essay paragraph beginners (since I can't remember the name of the thing that they really are — my brain is not firing on all cylinders here) are quite horrendous. However, moreover, furthermore, this has the effect of, and in conclusion I don't think formal writing has to be boring, but so often it is. If you find my regular posts, boring, beware, the following is me gushing over some dope classical celloness.

Classical jams though. I believe most of you will find yourself familiar with Bach's Cello Suite No. 1, consciously or not. What I am linking then are several of the greatest cellists performing this piece that I have a strong liking for. The first is Mischa Maisky. He may seem a little emotionless in his appearance at first (not compared to Rostropovich though, who I will link next) but I think the tilt of his eyes belies a certain otherworldly focus or accessing of brain. He produces a rich, beautiful sound, and a great rendition of the classic. I also just love the room he is performing in, complete with its little pedestal. And shit, he's from Latvia, where I derive a quarter of my blood.

Next up is the technical proficiency of Rostropovich. He plays the piece with alarming speed and, again, technical mastery. And though it could be described as more emotionless than Maisky, I find very impressive the relaxed wrist and little evidence of outward physical exertion, while producing as pure a sound as he does. It's the kind of thing where, when it looks so effortless for the performer you might not realize how amazing their performance actually is.

And then there is the one cellist that people who really do not know classical music (heck I am very amateur in my knowledge) still know: it's good old Yo-Yo Ma. That clip is a little silly in parts and there is some weird clicking sound at times, but man can that dude play.

I must also reference the cello concertos composed by Edward Elgar because good lord are they delightful. I'm not saying when you listen to Yo-Yo and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra rock this that all kinds of emotion will sweep over you, but it probably kind of should. This shit murders me. And for posterity, you should hear the late, great Jacqueline du Pré perform as well. I don't think either of these quite capture the auditory magnitude and ass-whoopingness of this piece, but you also won't have abundant opportunity to see this live. I would highly suggest you buy/download the album though as the sound will make you shit your pants (in a good way).

If this weren't already so long I would make fun of a Hallmark film meant to portray running that just completely bastardizes and makes a mockery of the pursuit. You can look forward to that in the coming days, or look backward at some old posts or, better yet, read a quality blog or some real news.

In the middle of March Madness, there was a ridiculous conclusion to this Spanish League game.

At any rate (tee-hee), stay fresh.

St. Patty's Way

2011-03-13T15:00:00.002-04:00

In this city of Chicago, like places all over the world, we seem to feel as if we need excuses to get drunk. It is no illusion, except perhaps to elementary school students, that this is the bulk of what constitutes St. Patrick's Day celebration. Even they are probably wise to it. As you age, more and more holidays seem to devolve to excessive consumption. This excess, more often than not, is booze, or triggered by booze, or, okay, I'm just stretching this out without the desire to provide too much sound backing.

So here in this fine midwestern city, rather than reserving celebration for the 17th of March, as that can fall, rather inconveniently, on a weekday, here the Saturday preceding is the adopted day for observance, aka boozing from moment of waking. Tomorrow there will be a parade and whatnot, but the true grandiosity of green beer, green vomit, and the right of removal of inhibitions is reserved for this Saturday just past.

In spite of the social acceptability of drinking all day, I managed not to imbibe until around 5pm (unless you count the free samples of Vodka at the local liquor wholesaler of sorts, which I don't). Despite the recklessness associated with drinking, I by and large like to do it on my own terms — though I will never let a person drink alone if I can avoid it. In spite of my fondness for drink, I don't often find I need it to relate to people, though people seem to relate to me much better when they are drunk. I believe this is why people, historically, have pegged me for more drug and alcohol use than constitutes my reality.

Some will get angry when drunk, but some will get angry when sober, and so I enjoy what I focus on, the positive vibe that tends to permeate certain blottoness and results in those little moments of connection. Like when I needed nourishment at three in the morning and 24-hour Subway was my haven. Often my shitty haircut and mismatched sneakers can inspire ire and disgusted looks but here another patron pronounced I would be perfect for her friend, saying into the phone, "You would love this guy," then taking a picture to send for the sake of posterity. Of course, even mandated days of excess often result in further indulgence of cliquish group behavior. People travel in their packs, content not to stray from their existing group. When out, I like to meet new people, but to each his own.

Because I am often in tune with food pricing (which means I am surprised when things cost more now than they did in 1996), I've noted a strange rise in cost on what I consider many conventional items. Perhaps it is not so strange, but its seems to be on everything all at once. For instance my favorite local burrito place which announced a price hike due to rising cost of material. This can't all be the tomato crisis. Heck, Thomas' bagels are up 10 cents per six pack and I don't even eat Thomas' bagels. I also don't think there are any tomatoes in them. People are probably more in an uproar that Twitter is down at the moment.

And with the warm weather, a quick shout out to all the women looking fine as Hell today. I don't know how they get me every year with their crawling out of caves, but they do! Lest I be thought guilty of objectification, consider the cheap cop out of the beauty of art and that I think the human form is an art. And yes, one I appreciate it.

At any rate, this is sort of headed nowhere, so with the sad news that hip-hop legend Nate Dogg passed away, I leave you with what will probably (and I think should — I am not forgetting you Japan) be today's most watched video: Regulate. Pouring out some Hennesy seems apropos.

Midway March

2011-03-11T16:37:00.000-05:00

Snap-dilly, it's already March 11 and I've yet to blog a single damned day of this month. I really mussed it up with the whole February 28th thing as I have a vague pledge to myself to post four times a month, which I've addressed here before. That should correlate to once a week and you might think I'd go and pick a day of the week for it. Fridays tend to be that day and well I'm just thinking out loud here, or like typing or whatever. But right, Fridays bring the week to a launchpad of joyful closing so it's a good time when I've got good energy to go and lay down some words down on this mf, or in, depending on your concept of things.

Chicago has done it again with the warm[er] weather sneaking out. This time, I think it's trending (not a twitter reference) for good. Yes, 40 and sunny is all it takes to get excited when it's cold as monkeys and then a little dreary rain and the usual wind is thrown in. Of course, as excited for this as I am, it means I will soon begin sweating profusely at all hours of the day. Not much to complain about with the tsunami devastation in Japan. And as I always point out in the warm weather, I heard the sirens blaring a-plenty today. An interesting theory was posited by one of my roommates as to whether the warm weather gets the libido going and when sex cannot be attained, some good old-fashioned violence strikes fancy. I am sure there is some research on this somewhere. I will be looking out for it.

In my ongoing delight in pointing out song similarities I was noting how Voxtrot's "Introduction" has the classic riff from Blink-182's "What's My Age Again?" You can jump right to the 1:13 mark to capture it. Borrowing does not have to be copying, and either way I dig it because the two songs are so very different in tone and demeanor and that "What's My Age Again?" riff is a good one!

I read a hell of a lot of good articles this week, many courtesy of Slate.com, but rather than a link parade, here is one Hell of a twisted story, courtesy of the human internet, my boy Osbourne Hazel, about a porn-related murder sequence. Good way to head into the weekend, right?

Well, over here in Chicago, they celebrate St. Patrick's day the Saturday before the day itself, so tomorrow will be quite the shitshow. Things'll be going green, as is all the rage this days. So I hope things are staying straight Pillsbury for you guys (and gals) aka Poppin Fresh.

There's an Ad for That

2011-02-28T19:42:00.002-05:00

One of my routine gripes in here is advertising. It's a field I considered entering and to which perhaps I was or am suited, but for which I have been unable to escape a bad taste in my mouth. I hear that cry of if I think I can do better, then why don't I. Nevermind that many gatekeepers would have to greenlight my cockamamie ideas. But I'm not going to delve into that, this gripe is rather more focused and it has to do with facsimile musical tracks being created for use in commercials, in what I would assume is an effort to avoid paying the rightful composers of said music. That seems about right, right?

The latest one I noticed was an ad for Brigham Young University during their victory over San Diego St. You might recognize the instrumental in the background as a blatant rip-off of Snow Patrol's "Chocolate". There are, in fact, differences between the two, just as there are between Vanilla Ice's most well-known hit and a certain Queen collaboration with David Bowie. Who knows, perhaps the folks who created that BYU ad were granted permission from Snow Patrol to create a little jingle that sounded much like one of their songs.

Moving right along, February is about to draw to a close and it never ceases to amaze me how quickly the 28 days pass. Heck, even when it's 29 it seems much smaller than the old 30 and 31-dayers. So it goes, eh Kurt?

Before this month ends, I must say that I am firmly behind Charlie Sheen. This vid is the latest and while many think Charlie sounds nutty, there is an awfully intelligent and articulate individual there. In the clip they even discuss that he is anti-semitic. As a half-semite, or a semi-semite, that they would even find the alleged anti-semitic remark anti-semitic, is...well...Why do I have a feeling those who made that speculation are not even Jews themselves? Not that it would matter really, I just find that interesting...Shouldn't we let the supposed offended race or religion be the one to point out their offense? Charlie, my apologies on using your first name lest it give any implication that I might know you on any real personal level.

But what really stinks in the whole situation, to me, is something I feel I see so damn often in the media. I admit I don't follow the news nearly enough. I find myself grossly uninformed on many current (and even past) events. But I might prefer to be uninformed than misinformed. With all of the unrest in Northern Africa and the Middle East, why the Hell are we so up in arms about a guy who performs on a sitcom doing a lot of drugs? Perhaps he is damaging himself, perhaps he is setting himself up as an anti-role model, but is that more important than thousands of people being murdered and political unrest? I'm all for humor bringing levity to things and serving as a pleasant distraction, but when we get down to serious business, shouldn't we focus on actually serious business? Update: Sheen was on Piers Morgan last night and these very things were addressed, with the show itself coming before Anderson Cooper's discussion of the state of affairs in Libya. Kind of...meta...

At any rate media, I continue to be more afraid of trans fat than I am Charlie Sheen. Update: I ate a DiGiorno pizza at 2:30 in the morning, which contains my feared trans fat. I had hyper-realistic nightmares. I am sure it was the pizza and not any other substances. Beware the Ides of March, folks. Mazel Tov.

Mistakes

2011-02-18T18:30:00.005-05:00

We've all made them, like that girl I got pregnant (sorry) and not wearing a jacket when I went outside today. It would seem in both cases my mistake was in the lack of jacket. And while in the first case I didn't go through with it, in the latter I decided to stick it out (in the first case in would seem to be apt). Sure I could have gone back inside for a jacket, but that would make me a bitch! Or sensible. Also, the first scenario, so far as I know, has yet to occur for me. Ladies, if it has, and you're reading, you probably should have mentioned something much sooner. Furthermore it should have been abundantly clear through this blog alone that I am probably not the man you want raising your children.

Moving right along then, the weather is getting warmer and that means it's still not warm enough to not wear pants. The other day, had I been running, I would have opted for the pantsless approach but I was not so I did not. Often I am intrigued to make my old jeans into cut-offs for limited summer engagements, but golley gee it's the crotch that goes first! Shouldn't it be the crotch that comes first...But really, last night I was taking a deuce break at DSW Shoe Warehouse and I noted, for the first time in this particular pair of pantolons, two vampire-bite-like holes in the rear crotchal region. My concern wasn't so much that they were there at the moment so much as it was how long they had been there. Luckily my general assholistic fashion provides good enough cover that many may have assumed or presumed that it was purposeful. Or maybe, just maybe, people aren't looking at your ass you egotistical self-centered sonofabitch...

In musical news that isn't the Grammy's — at least not this years — I have been jamming to British sensation Adele, more specifically "Someone Like You." It is a sexy number if you want to use sexy improperly, but it is totally awesome. Anyway, if you haven't heard of Adele, and you probably have, then you should. Listening to her speak of heartache at 21 is, for me, a little easier to relate to than when I heard Commander Venus doing the same as a 13 year-old. I still can't believe she is only 21. Here's to talented people making me feel old and unaccomplished.

In musical news that is the Grammy's, people were in a pretty big uproar about Justin Bieber's lack of awards. I admit I was surprised and I am neither pro-Bieber nor overly knowledgeable about music. The uproar did spawn responses such as a"Who Is Arcade Fire" Blog. I looked at only a couple of posts before I had to turn away in horror before my brain exploded with pop references and the inevitable creation, evolution, and extinction by overuse of some meme in particular. Anyway, if I had to guess, the blog was created by people who like Arcade Fire and think it is funny the responses people have to there Grammy success. I think Arcade Fire is okay. I am glad I watched the Grammy's to see Cee-Lo and Gwyneth Paltrow sing "Forget You."

People have been loving slo-mo stuff since at least the Matrix ('97), so you'll probably like this too. It isn't even really new news that Border's is on the way out but it kind of depresses me like shit. And I didn't even really go to Border's all that much.

Since I want to end on an uplifting note, I suggest you go take a ride in an elevator...that joke has its ups and its downs. Stay fresh folks.

Winter Warmer Words and Whiskey

2011-02-11T14:04:00.000-05:00

If you live in a place that experiences winter you, like me, probably have your favorite winter albums. I enjoy music at all times of year, but when the temperatures dip and the days get short it activates parts of my brain — or, perhaps, deactivates others — and shifts my musical tastes to decidedly more mellow or even melancholy tunes. It's a good time for Bon Iver and Belle and Sebastian among others, and ever since I lived in Vermont for a time, I was draw into Camera Obscura. I will explain by saying I have no real explanation but sonically this stuff just works, and embedded below is the first track I heard from the band, one I instantly fell in love with:

It would seem as if winter is about to break as, though I did no follow-up, I heard strangers on the street mention that Punxsutawney Phil (PP for short, and yes, I have to verify the spelling of Punxsutawney every time I type it), did not see his shadow and winter should be receding. This would be cool or, rather, warm, but while I'll complain about winter, I kind of like it all the same, and I was settling in for a little of it. I think it's simply that, when it's over, it is another indication to me that a lot of time has passed and I stop to assess where the old life is headed.

In the name of alliteration I alluded to whiskey as well, and boy do I ever love me some of that. Winter has a way of improving the taste. And, thanks to a tip from a chum of mine (I resist the urge to draw in real names sometimes in here due to the internet and anonymity and stuff and things), I read about the following earlier this week or late last. It's a quick link, or concise summary rather of a man who survived near-nakedness in sub-zero temperatures due to an excessive blood-alcohol content (BAC, which might stand for bad-ass constant except that to drink that much is actually just stupid). Cool story though. I'm excited for the roaring 20s to be a historical epoch and not the weather forecast which isn't even accurate because it's been teens and single digits. It's not even that bad, since I kind of like the feeling of my beard and nose-hairs freezing.

I'm already a little bit excited for it to be 11:11 on 11/11/11. And it'll happen twice. But I'm also in no hurry for it to get here.

Anyway, my feet smell. Time for new insoles, new shoes, or perhaps new feet. Come on science, redeem this stinky-footed bastard...

Stupor Bowl

2011-02-06T15:21:00.001-05:00

I mean that's what they should call the culmination of the NFL season right, because there is one game for folks to gather round and get universally shit-faced? Or at least eat lots of delicious and snacky foods. Or both. Yeah, okay, I get it, my word play can be aggravating. Pepper in enough puns and you take out all the fun. Routinely I think that "Super Bowl" is one word, but it is in fact two, and trademarked rather extensively, so that many cannot use the word without paying big bucks or getting sued.

Though I do enjoy the sport of football, I remain an avid if not rabid fan of high school running as well. One of my big favorites to come up was Craig Forys. He broke all kinds of records for Jersey high schoolers I never thought would be subsequently broken, or at least, not so soon. And yet they were, just a couple years after he graduated. I like to think Forys blazed the trail. I hope that kid goes on to rock it in his last seasons of eligibility in college.

Also in the track world, this Mo Farah guy is great. I don't know if this managed to be the first interview of him I have seem — that would seem rather incongruous with my track love — but what a nice, solid dude. Throw in that I cling to my connection and periodic flaunting of my own British heritage and, right, further incongruous. Rooting for this dude too.

After posting about Groundhog Day, I didn't even bother to see if old Phil saw his shadow. Looking out the window right now though, I believe there is going to be six more weeks of winter. Call it a hunch. But at least there are good things to do indoors (traipsing through the snow is fun too), like, if you are in Chicago, to check out this exhibit of Vivian Maier's photography. This has been getting some press in big time news sources like the New York Times and was on the local news here. I've already pointed it out to a few folks. If you can't make it to that, at least check out the dude's blog with a bunch of photos posted. Truly awesome and emotive.

I don't know who I even want to win this Super Bowl, maybe the Packers? But, after saying I wasn't down with Wiz Khalifa's "Black and Yellow", I gotta say, I like it, especially for repping his home town. Pittsburgh just keeps getting on the map, a funny term, since I'm pretty sure it's always been on the map, nomsayin'?

Right then, have yourselves an excellent Sunday.

Preemptive Punxsutawney Phil Post

2011-01-31T23:59:00.000-05:00

February 2nd, aka Groundhog Day is just around the corner, and considering that spring officially doesn't begin until March 20th or 21st, I think six more weeks of winter might be a guarantee irregardless (love those nonsense words that sneak into the dictionary through overuse of their misuse. When will my beloved believance join the fray?) of Phil seeing his shadow. Stationed briefly on the east coast, I can see the effects of a harsh winter with the snow piled mountainously and another storm allegedly on the way in hours. Yesterday, that being Sunday, the climate did make for quite perfect snowball snow and I was able to explore my waning athleticism as I struggled with my brother to hit various street signs. Mercifully I am not sore today, as that would have been some true, though light-hearted, embarrassment.

And after that action-packed opening I believe I should transition to further diminishing vitality. In other words, I am tired, but feel good about cranking out at least four posts per month. Would I prefer they be well-constructed? Sure, but it's simply not a reality and it would limit these recurring instances of my analyzing my failure to spawn content as opposed to simply writing content. And without that, I just might not be content.

One thing I can do is to take a moment to appreciate that to be using the internet is a privilege as, at the moment, those in Egypt have no such luxury. They are, it would appear, feeling e-gipped. That's a repeat and slight modification of a joke I posted to Twitter, but assuming you don't follow me there (could they have chosen a creepier descriptor?) it will be new to you. Stay warm and get some supplies those of you in areas of alleged incoming storms, just in case. This entry has snowballed from bad to worse. Cheers.

People in Glass Apartments...

2011-01-25T22:25:00.003-05:00

Who also happen to live in my building, get down with some crazy shit apparently. I was walking out to get myself some groceries the other day when I noted a gaping hole in a window at the other end of my floor in my building. How many times can I say my building? The thing is, I am pretty sure this apartment is rented by a couple with two small children. Perhaps now they only have one...But honestly these are some heavy-duty windows and it would take quite serious force to break them. What I'm saying is, I want to know what happened, and how I could not have noticed.

Just days ago, a friend of mine introduced me to the viral sensation "I hope this gets to you." I think the song is pretty delightful, and it even had this little story behind it, complete with Katy Perry finding out about it and sending a lot of attention the way of the song. The video is nifty too, reminiscent of perhaps some Labyrinth-era David Bowie and by that I mean a scene in Labyrinth pretty unrelated to David Bowie.

So it's a feel-good story until the sleuth work of an anonymous friend (and no, that is not a reference to google, but I believe he used that along with other social networks, those in real and fake life) uncovered some damning details. The woman behind the man who created the song is a student at Duke's Fuqua School of Business, where she is pursuing her MBA. It turns out she has, allegedly, been pursuing some other mba's (male boner assessments) down in Durham. I am saying allegedly because I don't want to be liable for libel. It's really not very nice to be even raising the rumor here on this blog, but man, somehow I had to.

The "girlfriend" is a student at Duke's Fuqua School of Business where she is pursuing her MBA, and has received several of her classmates mba's (male boner assessments). It seems then, that there is some bull going on in Durham. Now, I can't say whether the frontman to the band was aware of his girlfriend's infidelity and I might feel bad about bringing it to light, but I don't have quite the dilemma of Vince Vaughn, seeing as I do not know this fellow. Also, so few people read this blog, that, unlike his song, news is unlikely to get to him. Either he knows and it was all a marketing sham, or he doesn't know and his relationship is a sham. Again, this is all on alleged information. I'd make a bad journalist at this rate.

In happier news, I saw Lissie in concert the other day and good googley moogley that girl rocks it. She can sing her ass off, and just has so much soul, character, and depth. I'm saying I like the chick. I'm saying I would date her, if she'd only have me. But I'll settle for her continuing to make awesome music and continuing to do wonderful covers. I linked to a couple of them before I believe, so clicking the old Lissie label should take you there.

I'm a stickler for grammar, but there isn't a chance in Hell I've proofread this. Cheers.

Check Out My Website...

2011-01-18T01:14:00.001-05:00

www.quitchabitchin.com. Yes, every now and then the level of complaining I see when I'm listening into a conversation or perusing social networks gets me a little down so that I end up complaining about people complaining. This is not to say I don't complain about other things, but really, if you complain about really silly shit, please take the opportunity at times to acknowledge you are complaining about some really silly shit. Shiiiiiiiiiiiit...

In this instance the complaint in particular that spawned my ire was the bevy of teachers wishing for a snow day. Yes, we all remember being kids and hoping for a snow day. Heck, I actually kind of liked school, just not the getting up early part, and I still was down with snow days. But once that is your job and it is the kind of job where you are supposed to be inspiring children, or at least helping them in some regard, shouldn't you want to be going in? Or maybe we have different ideas about what a snowday is #cocaine. That's a bad pun wrapped in a twitter joke. It's been a while since I've explained a joke on here. Explaining jokes is my favorite.

Anywho, speaking of shit, the other day one of my homies alerted me to this little piece in The Awl about a Chinese restaurant with a restroom theme. That is to say a restaurant in China with decor that ranges from toilet seating to urinals on the walls. The menu is loaded with ill-named dishes.

Here's a look, courtesy of the original article.

The most wonderful quote closes that article, so good in fact that I had to bring it here. The words of a female student:
"I originally went in because I thought it was a toilet but then discovered it was a restaurant and decided to give it a try," she said.

The place is pretty much right up my alley. I am well-known amongst friends for talking extensively about bowel movements, getting a good kick out of a loud or awful-smelling fart, and so on. The throne room is one of my favorite places to check morning email. I'm sorry if that means maybe you don't want to borrow my laptop, but then it's not like I'm using the thing to wipe. Even eating in the bathroom, it's not as if you're eating off of the surfaces there, just within the confines of the space.

With no real clever segue in mind, I advise y'all to check out Alex Ebert (of Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros) track Truth from his forthcoming solo album. It's got a very "Good Song" vibe in my estimation, and that's a good thing. I don't always like Blur, but when I do...And since I drop links to youtube in here with some frequency and I know how some of us out there might feel about the ads and whatnot, I'm throwing out this link for those who aren't in the know about quietube. I actually don't use it, but probably should. Instead I just mute my sound and do something else for 15 seconds.

I've been trying to stay on top of the news more in 2011, and it really seems like I'm not missing much in browsing the Google News that goes directly to my Safari toolbar. It did lead me to this Business Week article, however, on the stock implications of Steve Jobs' medical leave. It just seems incredibly sad to me that rather than a concern about Jobs' actual health, the focus is on how his absence will affect Apple shareholders. F#ckers.

Last but not least because I want to end on a high note, here's a choice read about good old Keanu Reeves. Journalistic bias be damned, if you don't like Keanu after that, you might not have a soul. Rock on Johnny Utah, Neo, Ted, and so much more...

New Year, Same Me?

2011-01-07T18:47:00.001-05:00

The classic question as the new year arrives is "do you feel any different?" This same question follows the birth of humans, not just the anniversary of the date when we started keeping track of the years following the death of a certain fellow (also noted as Anno Domini). The classic answer is "no." Why should you? Unless some very significant event happens to coincide, you're really just a second older, so a rather arbitrary designation means little, but is celebrated. I have nothing against people heavily into their birthday or the new year, it's just not really a big deal to me. Doesn't mean I don't enjoy the way the celebrations sometimes go.

And while I've found many New Year's celebrations to be a bust, 2010 becoming 2011 is perhaps the best I have on record. No reason to redundantly reference the end of my last post of 2010, even though I just did it by making that reference, but you know what I mean. My resolution might be to call people out for not only not enjoying themselves, but rather actively sapping the fun from others. No names or anything (and not just because I forgot this girl's), but I happened to encounter an individual just last night who seemed so hell-bent on not having fun. Perhaps her version of fun is to not have fun. That seems like a contradiction of sorts but I think you follow. As usual, this is not to say I am never guilty of this gripe, but I think it is rare and has probably been quite some time since I've done so.

My goal for as long as I can remember has always been to spread mirth and make things as joyful for as many people as I can. Not everyone can sense this. Me and Pink, so Missundaztood... I was verging on detailing the events of 12/30-1/3 as they were rather absurd, but while this may be a personal blog, I don't know, it seems a little silly to chronicle it. Those strange memories and interactions can stay amongst the group that witnessed and participated. One interaction that I will cite, however, took place at a bar on a Sunday evening. This bar is known to have live band karaoke, which is one of my favorite things to participate in. Lacking the ability to sing, write songs, or play an instrument, it's the closest I will get to being in a band. One thing of which I may have a surfeit, is energy. So much so that, after singing rather energetically and continuing to get down, two patrons asked me if I had any powder, their assumption here, if you are not familiar with that lingo, that I must be on coke in order to be doing what I was doing. Don't worry mom, I can report that I have been coke-free since '83.

Long story somewhat abridged, if you're being a sourpuss in 2011, I'm liable to call you on it (except probably not). In addition, I had occasion to attend my first ever Chicago Blackhawks game recently, prompting a friend and I to speculate as to how they switch the surface from basketball court to ice rink, and back. Said friend speculated that the ice lay beneath the b-ball boards and was correct, with the following video serving as proof. It really is a fascinating vid. How that relates to being a sourpuss you ask? Look, just don't.

And it might be very 2010 (since the article was written in 2010) but this review of Keith Richards's memoir "Life" in the form of a fabricated response by Rolling Stones frontman Mick Jagger is quite awesome. I am a fan of many Stones tracks but didn't know much about the behind-the-scenes bits beyond Keith doing a lot of drugs. The article gives a pretty excellent (and, I think, even) summary of events. Whatever, read it if you want. Whatever, according to a friend, was voted the most annoying word of 2010. It has actually been voted as such two years running. Can it win out in 2011? Let's do whatever we can to keep it up there.

Seems like enough hogwash and jibber-jabber for now. Later on folks.

Ring It In

2010-12-31T20:35:00.001-05:00

I'm sippin' on a Four Loko with my homies and I thought I should go ahead and crap out one more post before the New Year is upon us, even though it's upon many of you in other parts of the globe.

I went on my last run of 2010 today and it was a balmy 55 degrees so I decided to do said activity sans shirt. This always invites heckling and I'm down with that. The first line I got was a very sarcastic and morose "Happy New Year," from some schlub. But that's cool. As always I don't know why my goofy shirtless figure inspires ire and slightly more mild derogatory responses but it does. Anyway, I don't let that ruffle me, and I talk about that shit more than enough in here. And plenty of folks gave me horn honks and smiles, so I'll take it.

There were some other bits and pieces I meant to go about discussing here but man, I am getting rapidly lokoed and I've got other business to attend to. Shout outs to all of my WesTech homies who made it out to the Chi and shout out to all of my WesTech homies that could not and shiiiiiiiiiiit all my other homies and family folks as well.

So have a safe and happy New Year celebration all. Dress like an asshole (I will, and always do), get down, do your thing, this holiday is no big deal, but yeah, make it count. Dave Matthews it up, because it's not where but who you're with that really matters.

The House [in which] YouTube Was Built

2010-12-28T13:34:00.005-05:00

My time in California is about to draw to a close but I want to thank it for a jolly good Christmas. I thought it would be nice to get a post in while situated in the locale where much of YouTube was developed. I will not give this place a name (which I initially typed as name a place) because I like certain vagaries and anonymity to things, especially in this ever-expanding creepy universe of everyone knowing seemingly everything about everyone. Diminished privacy would be the Cliff's Notes way of putting it. What I like about this place, aside from being a vaguely charming independent coffee house with tasty coffee and treats, is that within its bounds very much of what is used on the internet these days was developed here. Yes, these people work, and have worked for, a broad range of companies, and it is an extraordinarily small community that completed the bulk of what the bulk of folks are using these days.

It's not that I'm trying to make this seem cool and exclusive, because this is just a regular shop that a crapton of people come into. The anonymity of the folks who are behind-the-scenes is what I would like to preserve. I am not sure the view that many people have of programmers/computer engineers, but for many of them the interest is in solving a problem, improving efficiency and the like. And all along the way there are bunch of really cool things created that most of us don't even realize are out there. I like to think of myself as moderately technically proficient; I am not whiz, but I can get by. One of the nifty little tools I came across just the other day is in Google Labs. This little thing lets you search the frequency of a word or words over a period of time (you can set these and other parameters). Google has uploaded at this time, I believe, roughly fifteen million texts (and by that I mean books) in several different languages. Your searches, then, are run through all of the words that have been uploaded. It's kind of a fun thing to play around with.

The other night I was viewing the roast of Frank Sinatra. It is pretty great if you have a chance to check it out, even if some of the jokes are dated. What I mean by that is only that they reference certain things relevant to that time period and the years prior which I did not witness and continue to be unaware of. One thing I did note, though, was what I deem an uncanny resemblance between comedian Milton Berle and strange ad/marketing production Noid from 80s Domino's pizza advertising. You will see both of them below.

Milton Berle

Noid

Without having said much of anything, I think this is a good place at which to call it. Hope you all had delightful holiday breaks there and have prepped your livers for some good living on New Year's Eve and beyond.

Santa Clause

2010-12-15T19:58:00.005-05:00

This one is written in the American Constitution, but not that old weathered document from 1787, the one that declares Christmas is a shopping holiday and not the celebration of the birth of the Jesus Christ character. Religion studies are not my strong point, but then neither is Santa Claus lore. Thanks to the internet, though, you can check out all of his evolution on the linkety-link back there. It's really rather fascinating stuff to poke around in. A lot of us take for granted a whole lot these days, like for instance this internet I am using right here. I believe it is proper grammatical technique to capitalize the word "internet" but I am not down with that because I don't think it's as properly proper as has been proffered by the Merriam's, Websters, and the like. But yeah, for granted, I don't know about you fools but I never really considered where in the heck Old St. Nick came from. I have my doubts as to whether he was a tubbledy man from the North Pole who dressed in red velvet with white trim. The idea of someone sitting down and concocting such a character then seems to line up pretty well with advertising. If I had to do my college thesis over, I might very well analyze the origins of Santa Claus.

This is how I best like to picture Santa.

Of course, there is the possibility that Santa was not always as rotund as he has become. After all he is consuming, milk, eggnog, and lots and lots of cookies. If you believe that he has a fantastic metabolism even at hundreds or thousands of years old, then he may very well be lactose intolerant and horrendously bloated as a result of these alleged dairy gifts. That, and he should be a diabetic. But with my half-Jew faith and half-celebration of Christmas, I never was one of the kids headed to the department store to take a stint on Santa's lap.

This year, though, I had the pleasure, and while Christmas has helped perpetuate, if not spawn, some terribly spoiled individuals, it has also helped foster some simple joys and cheer. Kids look happy as shit to meet Santa, and let's not forget the tree. I mean that and the snow, and the way department stores decorate shit, it looks pretty. And without doing any research as to why The Nutcracker has become a Christmas tradition, I will say that it is one I love. I guess a good reason for it to be performed at Christmas is that the play is set during Christmas. It's really all about the score from my boy Tchaikovsky. It's more than just good music to play Tetris to.

There really is a whole hell of a lot to go over when it comes to Christmas: the love/hate relationship with the music, the showing of Gone With the Wind (which I have still never seen), stockings...So what I'm getting at is that this post is far from complete, and there is surely more to come in inane Christmas commentary. But should I not get to it before the holiday comes upon us, consider this the Happy Christmas post. And there I've gone and forgotten all about Chanukah, my primary holiday, which has come and gone.

Anyway, I hear next year for Chanukah they will offer a Womenorah, in addition to the traditional Menorah, in the name of gender equality.

I'm Not a Blogger...

2010-12-07T19:52:00.002-05:00

I just post a lot. That's got to be one of my all-time favorite go-tos on the quick parody front. Sometimes my brain is so tuned into pop culture it frightens me but then I will read an excerpt of someone like Chuck Klosterman or any of the many accomplished blogger/journalists that write for popular sites these days and realize I keep it at a much safer distance than some. Whenever I read them I have to wonder how many people get all of the included references. Sometimes it makes me feel a little bit uninformed (a cover word for dumb) and others I could care less.

It's a pretty cold bastard lately and the shortening of days isn't helping. That and a bum foot have made me quite lazy indeed, the irony being that lack of activity seems to make my achey old man's body feel worse. Standard writing rules tell you not to use "being that." Moving a sentence back, I suppose this isn't as by the numbers as irony goes, but it's better than a lot of the things people seem to offer up for irony, where the only true irony is their suggesiont that it is irony at all. This is where I am supposed to provide an example.

Many say that to err is human, and I do not disagree, but to complain seems to be even more human. I wonder if this is an original component of the human condition or if it is resulting and somewhat predicated upon what our lives have become. I am not the first to entertain the idea, as I find it implicit in the concept that money cannot buy happiness as well as in the consistent theme that has emerged in much modern writing, fiction and non, that so many of us are so privileged and yet unsatisfied and ADD. This goes beyond simple cash flow.

I have to step back to Klosterman quickly because I think that if you read that sentence it comes across as a dig. It's not. I haven't read much of Klosterman, but some of the snippets I have are, well, really good. If there is something I don't like about Klosterman, it's mostly myself. See, he's clever and well-written (I'd say spoken, but I've never heard him speak), and on some level, though it's less now than it might have been at one time, I'm a little jealous of that. It's this little inherent rivalry thing that a lot of human beings feel that I wish I didn't. I've seen people do it to me and the reason I can recognize it is because I know I've entertained if not acted upon it myself. The good thing is that when other people attack others out of simple jealousy it reminds me not to do that. Of course, if they point out their knowledge of such jealousy and cite it as the reason for their dislike, it can end up endearing me to them. Because, I don't know about you, but I like when people have flaws. It makes them human. Remember that bit about to err? As a rule, you kind of wait for those perfect people to trip up. Maybe you are not in that universal you. If so, good for you. I have a tendency to say "maybe" a lot. The counter, to an extent, of those perfect folks you loathe are the ones who, for some other inexplicable reason, you completely love the shit out of and perhaps aspire to attain the sort of effortless perfection they project. Speaking of, I may be doing just that here, projecting, exhibiting a small segment of human condition that applies to me and a minority, rather than the human condition. Do you ever get it all in one?

So then it is that I like the analysis I have seen tiny parts of from Klosterman, and yet sad how much popular culture shapes us, and simultaneously intrigued by the way it unites us and uh, this is also simultaneous, separates us from those who do not have those same memories. It's inter-generational. And I envy the people who have led these pure, or what I consider pure, existences away from television and dumb shit (by some arbitrary definition for "dumb shit"). Sometimes I can see why David Foster Wallace had trouble sticking around, you know? And I'm not a quarter as smart. Anyway, if you read this far, congratulations? Next time, less seriousness, more jokes or joke attempts.

I am glad I am listening to music because, based on body language, I hate the people sitting near me. Thankfully two of them just got up and have been replaced by two girls eating macarons. And you know what they say, "two macarons make it right." I think this positions me well to go home and watch last night's Gossip Girl.

Cheers bitches.

The Blog Days Are Over

2010-12-01T17:54:00.000-05:00

Back-to-back bloggin' days is rather uncharted territory for my ass these days, but it's happening. And even though I can't be sure my titles ever make any semblance of sense, this one certainly doesn't as the blog days are continuing as I type along here. So why am I back? So I can shout out the east coast, my place of birth and much of my life development. It's been largely good to me but the more I think of it the more I think I'll be making a long-ish goodbye. Not permanent, but certainly for a lengthy period. I was happy to see folks in Jersey, New York, and in Mass (also en masse), but the bulk of the humanoids with whom I did not have a pre-existing relationship ended up leaving me largely cold. No, it was not just the temperatures, because it's nut-bitingly cold here back in the Chi which means I am speaking in one of those what you might call metaphors. It is not as if the temperature of my body actually dropped upon interacting with these folks.

In other metaphors, my legs and feet are motherfuckers. I reference this a little too frequently I feel, and the fact is I've no idea what the legs of others are like, so I am in many ways unqualified for commentary. I will just say that I hope this is not what other peoples' legs and feet feel like. While it's been a hell of a long time, I can still remember when my shit was normal, and by shit I mean feet and legs. I am clarifying as I have quite the penchant for discussion of poo. It used to be if those bastards hurt, not how much. I will direct the rest of this rant to my yet-to-be-purchased web domain: www.quitchabitchin.com.

In non-metaphors I just ate two really unsatisfying big cookies. I wish they had been soft, or I had had some milk for dunking. This, I am sure, would have taken care of much of the hardness issue. I am thinking I am going to engage in devoid-of-sweets-December. Yeah, I love the shit out of sweets, but I'd like to keep my type two diabetes jokes as jokes. Really though I just want a glass of milk. The rat-tail, much to the disappointment of my loved ones, is likely to remain.

And this right here, folks, is a perfect reminder of why I do not blog daily: it gets to getting an awful lot like a dear diary and, well, there are diaries for that. Between that and concluding this post, I did take in the Victoria's Secret Fashion show. It didn't quite have the magic of 2009, but it was still damn good. I want to say it will improve your life, man, woman, and child, but it may give all unrealistic expectations on what humans look like.

And lest I go an entire entry without including an outside link I exit on an exposé of the wonderfully corrupt world of higher education or, I should say hire education. L-ooooooooooh-feckin'-elle.

The 200

2010-11-30T19:42:00.000-05:00

Yes, it's just like that movie 300, only a hundred less. So 200, right, it is the number of entries I have reached in this here blog. I like to think it's been a good ride, but as I only got cranking here in the middle of 2007, it's hardly worth reminiscing about all of the good times we've had. I mean, I had to use "good" twice in that last sentence, so while I might like to think things have come a long way, that is not the case. Plus, it's my own damn blog so I will tend to be biased. There are things in here I think are absolute doo-doo, and things I think are sort of worth reading and viewing — so long as you have a lot of free time and nothing better to do.

As I write this I am taking a break from a fiendish writing spree that, hours earlier, resulted in something I was working on taking a calamitous turn for the inconsistent. This is how my brain goes when I try to adopt different voices. That's why having this blog is fun — for me — it's a catalog of how I did write, how I do write, how I might write. And we write differently (at least I do) depending on all manner of context I really won't get into right now. Part of the reason for that is that I cannot possibly hope to cover all of the variables and, it may prove fiendishly boring. It appears I have fiends on the mind.

Another thing I have on the mind is tonight's Victoria's Secret Fashion Show (yes, I am aware it received heavy billing in my last post). I'm not actually going to watch it tonight, but my DVR is really excited. If it is half as good as last year's, I expect about a dozen viewings.

To truly celebrate 200, I should probably go and include a little more of my classically annoying wordplay and non-sequitur references. Editor's note: I was never much of one for that comic strip but still I remember it being in the Sunday comics before I even knew what a non-sequitur was. I still wonder if I have a full understanding of it, right along with dialectic (the most over-used term in my Sophomore seminar that I took, fittingly, as Junior), and well I can't think of another word that I know the meaning of but still feel a little nervous using like someone will know I used it wrong. That's why I don't like to force words. I did once confuse prolific and profound, going so far as to caption a photo I judged profound as "prolific." A girl then asked me if I meant "profound," when she embarrassingly found the photo on my computer. I should change that sentence because the modifier makes it seem she was embarrassed to find it, when it was I who was embarrassed she found it. It's ironic of me to have made an error like that when pointing out a past error except that since I am aware and now noting it, I suppose the irony has been stripped. I still think that photo produced plenty of...whatever. But I'm glad I eff up like that, it keeps you humble. And by you, I of course mean me.

And on that relatively lackluster note, I would like to thank myself for continuing to write in this blog despite no readers and no real topics or subject matter. If loving and thanking yourself isn't the definition of humble well, I just don't know what is! Happy end of November you s-and-d-o-b's. In honor of a band I used to listen to and a neighborhood I used to live near, I welcome my December.

Cranksgiving

2010-11-21T17:40:00.000-05:00

Something wicked is afoot, and it might very well be my own, foot that is. If that darn thing decided to break again I would be rather bummed. But enough about me, I think I got a little ranty/preachy a post or two ago, and everything's really rather peachy. Okay, and now for some more about me. I was on the internet just now, seeing what all had happened at the state cross country meet in the state I grew up in because I'm nerdly like that, and gosh, those kids are awfully good at running. It has been a decade, but to say they would kick my ass seems an understatement. But nearly as intriguing to me, was one of the photos I noted in the sidebar to the newspaper article I was leafing through (technically, I was scrolling). Said photo is featured below:

Now, is that girl pinching the jaw of the other? Yes, it's like a minor skull-crusher, how absurd. Actually, the touch has a delicate look to it, as if she might be trying to get an eyelash off her cheek. I'm sure that was it. Her teammate on the left is carrying out a rather self-explanatory easily riffed upon mock sexual act. We're tough in Jersey. I'm not, but I threw my share of elbows and pushed and shoved when necessary. I sometimes forget the rage of competition. It's kind of raw and exciting.

What I really came here to do is rattle off a bit on my favorite holiday: Thanksgiving. Cranksgiving, not so much, as I'm anything but cranky this time of year. Actually, that is not entirely true, given the state of my foot. But I will be excited to visit the east coast and this region we call New England. Even though I grew up there it retains a sort of mystical quality. Perhaps it is because I grew up there. At any rate it will be good to return and briefly live the fantasy of my own quaint New England home, teaching writing to undergrads and such, sipping bourbon and whiskey when the weather gets the chill it has now. Maybe a fireplace or something. These are good as fantasies because, as much as I don't know whether I shall attain them, I am not sure either that I would really want to. The allure of a simple life is alluring many times until we have it.

But like, this holiday is about what we're thankful for right? Because we fabricated a story about how well some settlers got along with some natives as the weather turned brisk 380 or more years ago (I forget the date of the first Thanksgiving and am not going to look it up and let's face it, as I said, it's largely fabricated) and like, that relates to things to be thankful for right? Good thing we slaughtered those natives, there'd be no USA. I know I'm thankful for that. But in all seriousness, if the day is an excuse to bring my family together and eat some delicious food and just kick it and hang out, I can sort of deal with the facetious tales of origin. If it weren't for photos, I might not even believe Abe Lincoln had a beard. And I've never seen any photographic evidence of buckle-hatted rifle-toters dining avec some Native Americans, aka NAs, aka not applicable.

Tangents, I love 'em. I go off on them and I can't tell you why, but again, back to this holiday. I'm just gonna say go and have yourself a great one, whether you're reading or not. I can only wish that each and every one of you has a group of blood family or adoptive family, as friends really can become, to spend the holiday with. It's the hope to be with the humans you value the most on that day. As I get older and cheesier, this is driven home to me more and more. So I'm rambling, and sure it's my blog, but even I can get sick of my own shit, so happy holiday to you and yours, ya turkeys. Leave room for pie.

Strong Enough for a Man

2010-11-11T16:45:00.001-05:00

Ah Victoria's Secret (those are two separate links there guys, and gals, hehe). Yes, I just said hehe, but what the Hell? It's true that the image below is more like what I'm really getting at. With filming of the show completed (knowledge I have thanks to intel from my buddy Tom) I am pretty excited for the November 30th launch. Finally, something to look forward to after Thanksgiving, which is quite close to the highlight of my year. Food, family, and fecundity. I don't know why I picked that last word other than it makes for a third "f" and there is a rule of three. It could be vaguely relevant to the holiday. Anyway, back to Vicky's S.

Here's my favorite image from last year's show:

The thing is I'd never actually watched before last year and after reviewing past footage it appears I picked the right moment to decide to engage in viewership.

As the weather is nice I am about to embark on a run before daylight fades. Sometimes it's daylight savings, and sometimes it's daylight spendings. So I'll head out in my short-short shorts, comfortable in the knowledge that Henry Rollins wore shorter while performing. You perhaps get away with more when you have Henry's rep which, of course, is a mixed bag.

Speaking of mixed bags, or at least mixed nuts, I will relay the following. Back from a run and having forgot to hit "publish" I found this entry staring at me when I opened my computer. On my way I walked down the street shoveling bits of steak and lettuce into my mouth, the remnants of a delightful but structurally unsound carne asada torta. As I approached a crosswalk, I was asked by a woman of questionable chemical balance if I "would like to see Communism." Without waiting for a response, this woman directed me to the crosswalk lines which were not straight, but on an angle. I was tempted to respond that it depends what angle you're looking at them from, but I don't like to stir up too much trouble. Besides, she had a point, they'd repainted the line in an oddly-angled manner. Those reds...

Edit: taking this opportunity to drum up early excitement for it to be 11:11 on 11/11/11 in a year. It'll even happen twice. Save up those wishes fishes.

Cold November

2010-11-06T01:08:00.000-04:00

Not rain, though that is a supremely awesome song, just cold. And actually, it's not that cold. My memory never even seems to go back a year when it comes to weather, so I can't say whether this weather is cooler than last year at this time or not. But when it comes on suddenly like last night and today, it tends to be more of a shock.

There's a time and place for the chilly weather though, at least for me, and that place is the middle of nowhere. No, honestly, I like it to be chilly for a little while. Sweaters, winter jackets, sweatpants, seeing your breath when you step outside...These things are nice. There are also fires and hot cocoa. But add in the short days and it ends up lasting too long. When the clocks fall back this Sunday, good lord, it's going to be dark before 5pm.

I didn't really do any of those things aside from sitting in sweats (I suppose I was wearing a sweater earlier) and was a bit antithetical in eating ice cream, but did at least sit in front of the boob tube as I attempted to remedy the health of my body. Viewing the latest two episodes of Gossip Girl may not have been quite the proper prescription, but they really brought it home in the closing minutes. I wish I could embed this video for you, but trust me that it is worth the click. They may have gone over budget and, as a result, had to use a toddler to do the final editing. Now hey, I am not saying I could do a better job, but it really depends on whether or not you want to induce seizures.

Anyway, I think I shall retire for the moment. Welcome to November, a few days late. Where has the year gone?

Hallowmean

2010-10-31T20:59:00.008-04:00

I figured it was highly likely I named a post this very thing in the past, a suspicion confirmed after a minimalist effort of back searching. Of course, I didn't bother to read the content of said post, so this may be an experiment in redundancy. Knowing my own pun penchant, I am sure I either declared Halloween average or some other celebrators of the holiday unkind. This year, neither could be said, as the events surrounding this year's Halloween have been quite enjoyable.

Of course, today is the actual day, yet I found myself surprised to see trick-or-treaters out on the street as I headed out for a bit of a jaunt earlier. Because there is so much build-up, Halloween could have been any number of days ago. And while I considered last night to be the pinnacle of adult celebration of the holiday, not everyone has to work on Monday. In a bold and frightening move, a local bar is putting on one Hell of an event and offering free Four Loko. With all of the press there has been on the dangers of this beverage of late, somebody is bound to get pretty damaged tonight. In a rare intelligent decision, I will not be a potential victim.

One of these days they'll need to go ahead and make this party more than once a year. People love to get dressed up, but tend to feel as if they need an excuse. Why should that excuse be but once a year? I must say as well that the aftermath is quite enjoyable. As I walked the streets this morning half costumed, the responses, positive and negative, were highly enjoyable. One individual decided to apprise me of the fact that my legs are very hairy. These comments are always wonderful to me because, having lived my entire life with me, and other humans, I manage to be quite cognizant of my relative hairiness. This is not to mention this own man's hideous existence.

At this moment I feel as if I had much more to say but, if so, it's eluding me. Should these facts or stories which I wished to relay miraculously appear, I shall make mention. In the meantime, sleep sounds good.

I Got My Eye on You

2010-10-21T18:07:00.002-04:00

So I saw this sign the other day. Not that sign, this other one. Yes, it's signs like that that do make me miss Jersey just a little bit. And when cornball things like that and breaking wind stop being funny to me, I don't know that I want to hang around me anymore.

I'm not gonna lie, my brain is feeling a little warped and drained today but I felt this compulsion to jot a few things down in here. So I have been shouting it out on my meager social network efforts, but if you make it here and my friend's short film "Take Out" has eluded you, you should check it out at that link back there. That reminds me how I was going to investigate creating pop-out links for this here blog, but then realized that you can command/apple-click or right-click to get yourself a new tab. I have become tab reliant. I always have about fifty-thousand open as reminders of articles to read and all that and it generally leads to my browser crashing and some lament that I will, at that point, never read the articles I realistically wasn't going to read anyway.

One thing I did read, though, because it was mostly pictures, was this post on Jailbreak of emo and comic-inspired artwork from a guy named Christopher Uminga. I kind of dug it, although not as much as I did the discovery of tilt-shift photography. There are some really amazing shots in there. My initial interest in the style spawned from this shot of Usain Bolt's Olympic 100m Victory. As you will be able to observe yourself, it makes things appear as scale models. Nifty.

Also nifty, also courtesy of Jailbreak, and also related to comics is this post and associated photos of a chick who turned a Dodge Caravan into the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle van.

I think that's more than enough at the moment. This post is brought to you by the following song. It's fun to queue that up in iTunes while it plays on youtube, just out of sync, so it makes it sound like a skipping record. Fun if you like feeling slightly insane and inducing a terrible headache.

Traveling Through Time

2010-10-13T19:00:00.000-04:00

I am in a coffee shop that I will not give a name and I am eavesdropping as I am wont to do when I am not completely plugged into whatever it is I am working on. It's a welcome break from the editing I was doing in some ways and it's funny that I am going to pronounce these people vapid assholes as I am being an asshole of a sort by typing feet away from them and discussing them. Not sure that it makes me vapid though. I note, and this is not just in their conversation, that there is a very excessive use of the term literally. I use it on occasion myself, and we pretty much all use it incorrectly. After a time, incorrect word usage becomes acceptable and just sort of glossed over, but once I become aware of such things, I try to remedy them in myself. This is not merely to avoid hypocrisy, though I am certain it plays some role. For a good comic representation of misuse you can literally go there or get the longer read on it from Slate.

So dingus in his hat and black hoodie, with a jean jacket on top and his legs crossed is scrolling through his iPhone (which might actually be just an iPod touch) and complaining about how stupid a specific band line-up sounds. What's excellent is it comes on the heels of him complaining about the cost of a hot chocolate in this establishment. There are many other establishments that bear some similarity to this one, so he has other options. And you know, part of the reason their costs are high is because you are paying to be in this space and, in part, they need to recoup some cost for people like this guy and his female friend, who occupy space and do not purchase products. They both really like Jamison. First positive thing they have said after each complained about their roommates, former and current. I wonder how their roommates might feel about them? He doesn't mix his whiskey. I generally do not either, but is it wrong of me to say it sounds more pretentious coming from him? For her it depends.

I do find it amusing as well that they are both consulting their phones rather than actually interacting with one another. Of course, they do interact with one another, in conversations that are based around what is happening on their phones. Honestly, I wouldn't have even begun judging if the one girl had not swiped my seat when I rose temporarily (I think were I to rise permanently, my legs — or some other appendage — might get rather tired) to refill my beverage. I mean, my stuff was largely in the vicinity, but hey when you are so concerned and focused on being negative about everything, it's easy not to take note of other humans who might be sitting in places. It's really okay though, as it gave my buttocks a different surface to use, and gave me what I see as justification for judging their judging. People even pass judgement on the spelling of judgment. Can't we all just get along?

As it happens, beauty isn't even skin deep for these two. And though this borders on being negative, I'm smiling, because it reminds me how much I like certain other humans, and how lucky I am to know them. Contrast has its benefits, and it's not just boosting the effectiveness of MRI's. Later on folks.

How I Want To Apply to Jobs

2010-10-06T02:14:00.003-04:00

Recently I was going through a shit-ton of my old emails in order to consolidate things as I have used an astonishing amount of the free space gmail provides to you, and I discovered something completely inane saved in a draft, as I am wont to do. This particular draft contained a job posting for a Freelance Copy Editor for an unnamed book publisher. I've only included a segment of it for the sake of space, with my favorite bit in bold.

In addition to reviewing text for typos and grammatical errors, the copy editor is responsible for:

+Making sure that all text follows house style.
+Checking that images align.
+Assuring that formatting is consistent.
+Making sure that the text wraps do not look awkward and are applied consistently.
+Eliminating orphans and widows.

I like when an otherwise serious job post has a sense of humor. The shitty thing is, half the time I might read this thinking, "what a great little joke they stuck in," and the other half of the time I'm thinking, "really?" It's all in how you read it...

But that job posting and description has nothing on the letter of interest the late Hunter S. Thompson presented to Jack Scott, editor of the Vancouver Sun. The man may have been somewhat insane, but you gotta admire his no bullshit attitude. At least when you're someone who smiles and takes a lot of shit.

The other night I also had the pleasure of interacting with a large volume of individuals from South Bend, Indiana. Now I had been there all of once, and stayed in something akin to a Motel 6. This was in that year 2005. But I really didn't see much of the town or interact with any of its inhabitants and was content to go on my way. Well this past Saturday I met a good number of folks from that area and they were all remarkably solid. They may not all have hailed from there initially, but they settled there and had a good vibe permeating them. So many people I run into are such absolute dingleberries that it makes it refreshing to kick it with chill folk.

The vibe continued when I headed to an establishment one might commonly refer to as a club. I will not give this club a name but will describe it as a warehouse type setting. Inside were not the individuals I expected. I don't go to clubs as a general rule, but I've wandered in here and there, and what I found could fit most stereotypical representations of clubs. The clientele here, instead, ran the gamut, and again everyone was just there to have a good time; no one was being a total dickhead. Now, in a mean-spirited vein, I could have done without a few of the creatures who had flung themselves into the throngs on the dance floor, but hey, hideous people have to party too.

You know what's way worse than a couple of creatures in a bar? When people talk shit about you and don't think you know it. It's not just that they don't think you're clever enough to realize, it's that they think you honestly could give a damn what their opinion of you is. Newsflash: I think you're a piece of shit, so that you don't like me is rather commensurate with my own opinion of you. Again, sometimes it might not hurt to be a little more Hunter S. Thompson. I feel as if this is not the first time I have raised this very thing in this here blog. And of course, by addressing that as I just did, it does imply that I give a bit of a damn what they think, but it's really the associated sentiment drawn from the actions. Semantics, posturing. Anyway, it's rather early in the morning and I have to be up rather early in the morning so I'm taking this opportunity to expire.

Pursuit of Cleanliness

2010-09-29T18:31:00.005-04:00

Well aw shit, I nearly didn't make it to a fourth entry this month. September came and went so quickly it appears and I find myself less than content with the volume of content I have created, on and off this blog.

One thing I did finally do is kick off a podcast with a chum of mine. We're found under the moniker RyeBread Radio, and you can listen to it here if you've got some time to kill. Co-host (he's really more the host) Akeem does all the editing, so as he sifts through the content, episodes should pop up. Edit: you can also listen/follow the show on ryebreadradio.tumblr.com

Something really on my mind is how dope this Lissie cover of Kid Cudi's Pursuit of Happiness. The remix of that was already high on my like list, but man, Lissie just crushes it. Timing for each is dependent on mood. Steve Aoki gets you amped, Lissie's is just rife with emotion.

Anyway, while we're on the topic of kick-ass female artists, y'all should stroll on over to bandcamp and get your hands on Kelly McFarling's album. It's all good and stuff. See you 'round the internet and stuff mothertruckers...

Edit: right as I was publishing this I heard of a sad loss for the comic community (and probably the world), comedian Greg Giraldo. The celebrity OD thing appears to be epidemic these days...RIP Mr. Giraldo...

From the Hip to the Knee

2010-09-13T14:37:00.001-04:00

When I began this here blog I was never to be found in coffee shops. This had much to do with the fact that I did not drink coffee, but there were additional influences that included a cynicism with the clientele that went beyond healthy and fell into the category of disdain. As much fun as it is to write off huge chunks of the population without getting to know any of them, even that can get old. And since I am quite certain my physical appearance invites the ire of many onlookers sometimes you've got to judge not lest ye be judged.

For this past year the coffee house really has become my good friend. I have a special place in my heart for The Noble Tree. As it describes, it is a three-story old brownstone, and the folks that work there are all excellent humans. Or they were the last time I checked, as now that I have shifted neighborhoods I cannot make it out there with the frequency I would prefer. If I ever become a published author I will go back and leave them better tips. The other establishments I shall make mention of are houses, but only The Noble Tree was my home.

What I dug, and dig, about The Noble Tree was its very unpretentious nature. Sometimes I think it is pretentious of me to call things pretentious because I can't possibly know about all whether their talents be real or illusory. Affecting greater knowledge than one has, you know? This goes back to ideas of cynicism and jadedness and I had better stop. But certainly both Filter and The Wormhole fit the bill if you are someone that uses that p-word. The latter features a Delorean inside as well as a working original NES. The verbiage of their blog might be a bit much to take as well. But oh shit, if you don't like it, you don't have to go. I do like it, both of them, and Alliance Bakery as well. And the people that work at all of them? Jolly and delightful.

See I have this little dream to one day have a coffee house of my own. In the evenings it will be a bar and it will host all sorts of events because that is the shit that really matters. So I keep that little dream around and even if I can't live it I kind of put part of it into some writing that may never see the light of day but if you don't think it can happen, what's the gosh darn point?

This post got a little more fruit-tastic than I was expecting, but I didn't really have specific intentions when I began writing, it just seemed as if the time was write. You know what's not right? That I think I have to point out that last typo was intentional. It's a bit of assholery I can't escape from. Will they know? Will they get the joke? Maybe my joke is the problem.

But shoot, my dream of having a normally functioning knee once again is slowly becoming a reality so fingers and toes are crossed and wood is being knocked upon, which makes typing a challenge of sorts but it is worth it. What I can't seem to cross is paths with Jenny Lewis. I think we'd get along great, so long as I don't run into Lindsay first.

And now I know this is my blog, but really that's quite enough about me. Keep [r]eating, I'll see you 'round...

It's the Thrill of the Chase

2010-09-06T16:53:00.000-04:00

I happened to log into my Chase bank account on the internet today to find that two charges of $159.99 had been made to a website I had never heard of. This website turned out only to do billing and credit card processing. When I called to inquire they said that the charges were for a pornographic website I had not heard of. I didn't know that people still paid for porn these days, but I have to say that $319.98 is a lot of porn.

Chase proved to me once again they are an absolute dogshit worthless bank based on the interaction I had with them. Not only would I have to dispute these charges myself which, to be honest, isn't that big of a deal, but I would have to transfer funds manually to avoid a minimum balance. Really? Yes, if they did it for me it would be, I believe, $40 or whatever it is they charge for overdrafts. Yes, overdrafts because of charges I did not make. In fact they had already begun some bogus transaction for me. The billing company on the other hand had, by the time I called, already refunded my account. They likely realized based on my last name that I was a Jew and would never pay for something I could get for free.

Other than that, I have to pee. Tea really does that to me. Hope y'all had a wonderful labor day weekend.

Septimber

2010-09-01T14:57:00.001-04:00

Septimber is the sound of fall around the corner, the sound of moving in, and well timber is just falling too. Sep for right now.

I was going to be writing this yesterday evening but then my right flip-flop broke and my priorities shifted. I was de-thonged — ladies I now know how you feel — and met little sympathy as I walked the streets of downtown Chicago one flip-flop in hand. I don't know which one it was, but I am tempted to say it was the flop of the duo. As Walgreen's served me so well after my last pair of shit-flops was busted, I sought out another of these chains only to come up empty-handed and leave completely barefooted. With my asshole haircut and general Eurotrash appearance I believe many thought my barefoot status was purposefully imposed. So it goes.

Because I am often curious about trends and the pulse of this America and world that I, that we live in, I directed my web browser to youtube to see what the most viewed videos of all-time would be. Number one disgusted me slightly, which is a sign that, no matter my efforts, I hold on to some pretentiousness. I could save my fingers some trouble if they would go and make "pretention" a word.

Right, so number one, with in excess of 300 million views, was the Bieber. Sometimes he might get hit in the head with a water bottle but the kid is doing alright so I'm not really shedding a tear there. I have to say though, that when it comes to "Baby" I prefer this cover by the Neon Trees.

Honestly it wasn't that big of a shock to me that Bieber was number one, although 300 million views is a lot of views. No, the shock was seeing Vanessa Hudgens crack the top twenty with this vid. I didn't even know she made music and that has over 80 million views. Good gracious. But the string uniting them, besides both having sent nude photos on their phones to Zac Efron, is both of their videos prominently feature bowling alleys. Yes, bowling alleys. Is this some viral effort by a bowling consortium to attract over-sexed teens? I thought that was Chuck E. Cheese's job...

Anyway internet, it's been fun as sometimes. I need to write up a song parody and short story for my other blogs but the old "I am giving this shit away for free" gets me every now and then. So I'm saying you might have to settle for my mediocrity. And isn't that what America's all about?

When Life Gives You Lemons...

2010-08-23T23:52:00.003-04:00

You'd better hope you don't have a bizarre citrus allergy. Otherwise, it's probably a good way to stave off scurvy. Do you Vitamin C what I'm talking about?

So devoted reader — and by that I mean that one person that reads this blog, namely me, not google reader, which I don't really use because I don't check enough news sites and blogs; I should, I really should, but man there is a ton of shit out there. As always I rely on the human internet (which I have made mention of in this very blog on probably more than one occasion) for the bulk of my news. Thank the potential dude upstairs for that — I'm seated in my skivvies watching Shaq Vs and he is having a showdown with Rachael Ray. That aside was pretty lengthy, even by my standards. So in a sense, things have come full circle then, as when I first started up this blog, a decent quantity of the fuel came from a dislike of Ray. But then I softened as I tend to, especially, as I noted way back in said day, upon realizing the degree to which so many disliked her. Watching Rachael cook up burgers with Shaq I judged that she is looking as if life has been hard on her these last three years, and the bubbly effervescence (redundant, but how I love that) seems to be more forced and wearing than ever. It can be hard being up all the time. So though it can be boring being nice, I hope life isn't giving you lemons Rachael or, if it is, that you have a deep-rooted love of citrus.

As usual there were some things and also stuff that I intended to cover in here but I don't remember what most of them are and I'm pretty sleepy. Before I expire I will take note of what I think is a somewhat creepy aspect of Blackberry's messenger app aka BBM (which I would priorly have deemed an abbreviation for big bowel movement) and that is confirmation a sent message has been read. It seems great knowing whether a message you have sent has been delivered and read, but do we really need complete transparency in everything in life? How about people are just honest and we trust them instead? Except that there will always be sociopaths. Whatever, not really that big a deal.

A deal I consider perhaps larger is the presence of typographical errors in this CBS news report on Obama's vacationing. I wish I never made any such errors because it comes across a tad hypocritical to judge the very errors one makes. Still, the folks who do this are paid. Bogus.

Exhibit A:
Critics say all his should be on the dire economy and the plight of average Americans. I assume the word "attention" was meant to be inserted betwixt "his" and "should." Yes, I said "betwixt."

Exhibit B:
Presidents, thought, are never truly on vacation. Here we see another small error of "thought" in place of "though." If it was Bush, it might be possible they meant "President's thoughts are never truly on vacation," were they, for instance, trying to attest that Bush was not aloofly out-to-lunch on many topics. It would be weird to refer to the president as simply "president," but it would alter the voice of the piece to that of shorthand, that kind of staccato pacing a la a telegram. That was a lot of qualifications and vagaries. I shall cease typing on this topic now.

So these simple typos and omissions are relatively commonplace but we all have our pet peeves right? I ain't even no editor. Anyway, sleep is in order. Cheerio bitches.

8-9-10

2010-08-09T23:57:00.000-04:00

As in today is August 9, 2010. That won't happen for another century folks. Of course, you can say the same thing about 8/8/10, 8/10/10 and, well, you get the idea.

There were definitely some things and also some stuff that I meant to talk about but my brain is operating slowly. For me, diminished physical activity leads to a good degree of decreased mental activity.

I was lucky enough to attend Lollapalooza this weekend with roughly 239,999 other people. That is not meant as sarcasm, because the crowd is part of the quality of the experience. I always find that sort of outdoor festival deal pretty exhausting, all the more this time round as I continue to hobble about like a dipshit. I don't really know that dipshits hobble, but this one does.

In general it just reminded me of the good that results from saying yes to things. Like a young couple complimenting me on my mismatched shoes. Like the teenage kid with the water bottle full of cheap vodka trying to stay standing. Like the droves of folks dodging traffic, hopping an eight-foot fence, then sprinting through a VIP section to hop one more eight-foot fence. Shit's always more fun when you sneak in.

I was surprised at the crowd for Mumford and Sons, not because they don't kick ass (because they do) but because I had no idea they were, well, so popular. That was mildly redundant, to put it mildly, but that's kind of my thing. Hard not to like "Little Lion Man."

But because nobody likes it when people are overly positive (let's face it, it's annoying because no one should ever be that happy right?) I can briefly reference my completely unfounded dislike for actor Jesse Eisenberg, reminders stemming from a sighting of said person outside Second City the other day.

But since I could really give a shit about that guy, for a true negative (but also not a negative because it's a digital photo) here's a shot of the retarded bruise on the back of my leg. For a week or more there I couldn't figure out how it was that a bike ran into me at top speed and I had no mark to show for it. Well no more. Thanks delayed bruising.

Next year we can all look forward to 9/10/11.

Cuanto Cuesta?

2010-08-04T15:29:00.001-04:00

Last night I had the strangest dream and it involved a bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats. There was never any mystery about what percent milk I would need...It really wasn't that strange, but the only detail I remember was the bowl sitting there on my kitchen counter, on an inexorable march toward sogginess.

This entry's going to be rather link-heavy, so apologies if that bothers you, and your welcome if that's your sort of thing. Now the following apparently took place some time ago, but since it was pointed out to me only a couple of days ago, I will share it with you all. It is an incident of what I consider to be clear cheating an episode of Price is Right. I used to watch this show pretty religiously in the summer, in middle school in particular. It was my reason to awake by 11am. Drew Carey as a host is tough to take. I really think they should have handed the job off to me. I could use the money a little more than dear old Drew, but then so could a lot of people.

The next links are kind of my favorite and are all courtesy of my buddy Tom. In the late 1970s, there was no Nintendo Wii, and there was no internet for porn, so those things had to be combined. There was the Atari 2600 and, thanks to the folks at Mystique, a perfect trifecta of outrageous pornographic concept games:

Bachelor Party

Beat 'Em and Eat 'Em

Custer's Revenge

I won't bother to summarize those or anything since wikipedia covers it in quite excellent fashion. "Custer's Revenge" is definitely my favorite, as it is closest to the absurdity and hilarity dating back to when a buddy of mine was sent an Oregon Trail -inspired pornographic story. Inspiration doesn't do it justice, as the format was adopted pretty accurately. There I was thinking the girl who had written it was a pioneer...

To close out I just have to remark on a couple of song similarities that my ear has picked up on in the last day or two. Feel free to agree or disagree. The first is the clear influence of Hall and Oates's "You Make My Dreams Come True" on the Ducktales theme. Though Hall and Oates came first from what I know, I still give the point to Ducktales.

After that, take a moment to observe the common riffs between Morrissey's "First of the Gang to Die" and Yellowcard's "Inside Out." Point
Morrissey.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming...

RABBI

2010-07-28T17:46:00.003-04:00

I'm not talking about the teachers of half of my unobserved faith. No, I'm talking about my newly founded organization: Runners Against Bad Biking Individuals (RABBI). That could probably use a little work. Edit: I changed "idiots" to individuals. Also, bad-biking might connote that they are bad-ass, but really it's a grammatical shortcoming implying that these bikers do not excel at biking. I really wanted it to be abbreviated RABBI as you can tell, but perhaps RAPBI is not bad either, though potentially confused with bisexual or bipolar rappers.

That's a little non-sequitury, even by my standards so allow me to explain. See sometimes I like to focus on really positive stuff that I enjoy, like taking a bum shower outside a bar in a thunderstorm but the fact is, for the time being, the most prominent thing on my mind is getting rear-ended by a biker last night while running. Not a motorcycle, a bike-bikes-bikecycle. Who gets hit by a bicycle? I know, I've repeated this very phrase many times since last night when this occurred.

The story is less homosexual than a lead in like "getting rear-ended by a biker" may originally have insinuated. So there I was, doing my thing on the Lake Shore pedestrian and bike path, my thing being running, when I thought I'd go around a couple of women walking in front of me rather than maintaining my full speed and slamming into their backs. Seemed like common courtesy, and I do this quite frequently, every day while walking and running in fact, amounting to tens of thousands of times even. The guy on the Specialized road bike behind me apparently has a different concept of etiquette, deciding instead to slam straight into my back. Oh those points of contention. Now even though I was simply navigating around a couple of walkers, I did look behind me because asshole bikers are always riding much too fast and much too close to myself and others. Didn't matter as I didn't see the guy and I guess he didn't see me. I get wanting to move quickly, I do it myself occasionally, but this is a shared path, and not really the place for it. Those damned shared free spaces and their idea of rules. I was probably in the wrong.

Lucky for the guy on the bike I am a total pussy and completely broke his fall, leaving he and his bike unscathed. I asked if he was okay, and he me, seeming awfully concerned that I was training for something. I said no, as if it would make a difference either way. I suppose he might have felt a little worse if I had said yes, but that won't heal my body any faster and I don't think he'll be covering my medical bills. I just found a snapshot of the path where it went down (I was going in the other direction, not that it matters).

So I took it left knee first and since it's a paved path it took a lot of my skin off, including a delightful chunk out of my inner right arm. I like to say it looks like Jared Leto in Requiem. It's an exaggeration, but when it was still bleeding I think it was pretty spot on. The thing is, as pissed as I was from having road rash, oozing wounds, and a really swollen knee, the guy who hit me wasn't a bad guy or anything. I just don't know why he was biking so fast and, more importantly, into my back.

So, to keep this an entry you don't want to read and view during a meal, here are a couple of dinky photos from photobooth.

What up ribs?

The crowning achievement.

Photos of my knees just came out blurry and my left knee is so swollen it looks like a fake shadow. No matter.

After the collision I limped around for a little while at which point, since I was still two miles from my apartment, I decided I ought to just jog it home. My left knee got a little stiff, but otherwise it was all good. As blood dripped down my legs and from my right forearm and sand-covered road rash adorned my ribs, I took pride in being met with periodic cries of "Jesus Christ" and "What the fuck?" as I cruised home. Perhaps pride is the wrong word. So with my future as a forearm model in serious jeopardy, I'm off to go investigate some other career options.

AC Drip

2010-07-23T17:39:00.000-04:00

The title is not in reference to the intellect of one Mario Lopez, no, it is in reference to the condensation that forms and drops from window air conditioning units, often onto unsuspecting humanoids below. In my case I am a suspecting humanoid, but they still get ya. There is really nothing particularly gross about it, but it tends to weird me out just the same. Where I am seated currently I am victim of an indoor AC drip, but it's preferable to the out of doors where I would be sitting in a puddle of my own vile cooling system.

The other night I stepped out of class and there were cop cars and fire department vehicles and that telltale yellow tape blocking off the streets of Old Town and onlookers seemed excited thinking it was the filming of the upcoming Transformers film. Instead it was a good old-fashioned bomb threat. What is the difference between a bomb threat and a bomb scare? I suppose the latter indicates the confirmed presence, or maybe it's when you just take the threat seriously. Reminded me what a lousy bomb diffuser I would be likely to make as a colorblinder. I believe certain other contributing factors would also make me a less-than-ideal selection for this position.

I love looking at lists like the "100 Best Places to Live." Not quite as ironic as calling something a "best kept secret," but I would think putting these places on the radar more might lead to their decline. Then again, maybe not, since I won't be moving to any of them. There's something fun about seeing lists of places I'll never live, great places to raise my imaginary family, and also marveling at how much money some people really have. I had some other stuff, and even things, to discuss, but they are eluding me for the time being.

Don't melt this weekend folks. Cheers.

Pooparoni

2010-07-21T17:38:00.000-04:00

Some people say they would give you the shirt off their back. I like to think I am one of them, one reason being that I have done it before, but also because I am so damned sweaty that a shirt is a waste of time for me. By token of this very same virtue, you may not want the shirt I am offering. This has always been abundantly clear to me and I'm sure I've stated it before, but I never said I wasn't redundant.

In line with redundancy, one might say I made the same calculated error on back-to-back evenings in consuming pepperoni pizza. Rarely in my lifetime have I consumed this Jew-forbidden meat, but I admit to its salted deliciousness. In discovering this, I also discovered its propensity for giving me heartburn, especially the day after. Though I successfully dodged this bullet after Sunday evening consumption, a repeat performance Monday was not to be had. This is not entirely accurate, as I did not suffer heartburn, merely burn in another arena. And no, I did not mean area. Inaccuracy abounds as it may not have been the pepperoni but, in fact, the undercooked cheese, of which there was a great quantity, and the undercooked dough. Mmmmmm...

While I seem to pay quite often for the substances I choose to ingest, the opposite appears true regarding one of my old high school teammates. Probably standing 5'5" and weighing in at something like a buck-twenty-five, this monstrosity manages to consume frightening quantities of booze and gut-rending munchies. When people discuss eating and drinking prowess, it is easy to remain skeptical without proof, but I would say his newly launched blog is reasonable proof. I'd use his name, but I like the mystery of things like eyes blocked out with photoshop paint that is a theme on said blog.

In other news, it wouldn't hurt for it to get a little less hot and humid up in this mother. I must choose my days for wearing khaki shorts very carefully as swamp-ass is a foregone conclusion. Admitting this may seem a bit gross, but when the telltale miniature heart-shape of damp becomes visible on the lower ass of my shorts to anonymous real-life humans, why not share it with anonymous internet ones as well.

Anyway, the face of the girl sitting at around 10 o'clock from me is really starting to piss me off so I've got to shuttle out of here. I can only fight the urge to laugh like a maniac or pour coffee onto her computer/face for so long. I think I watched too much negative stand-up last night! I need to study up on Einstein's Theory of Negativity...Plus I'm really hungry. Happy Wednesday!

Charles Barkley on the American Flag

2010-07-15T18:31:00.001-04:00

I was going to say and now that I'm typing it I guess I am saying that it is hotter than monkey tits out. I don't even know that monkey tits get that hot. Probably not, since those dude[tte]s live in some pretty tropical climates and have all that fur and yet don't combust or anything. It's also muy humid, which is my homage to Spain on winning the World Cup. I have to get around to learning some Spanish. Muy caliente, not to be confused with muy caliendo, which is synonymous with not being funny but then getting your own TV show called Frank TV but then dropping off the face of the Earth soon after. I take that back, nothing against Frank, he just wasn't for me. I hope he got paid a lot of money and is retired nicely somewhere. I would like to do that too.

My brain is addled from excessive writing attempts, but I needed a mid-month update in here to keep pace so here it be. Some props to Charles Barkley because every time I wear his Phoenix Suns jersey I get props galore from humans on the street. Thanks Chuck. Similarly, American flag stuff goes over huge. I was rocking my American flags shorts as referenced in the last entry here, strolling down the Lake Shore path (is that a proper noun, I don't know) this time when I was stopped by a bikini-clad twelve year-old. By strolling I mean running and I should also probably point out I was wearing mismatched shoes, another frequent occurrence for myself. She was with several other children of her approximated age and she asked if I would take a picture with them. Normally I hate to stop during runs, but since I'm not good at running anymore, I said yes. I mean, that's a tenet of improv anyway, say yes. So there I am, drenched in sweat, arms around two giggling twelve year-old girls in bikinis while a couple of dudes and I believe one more girl get into frame to have a photo taken by yet another child of similar age. What these kids were doing out there by themselves who knows. "Yeah, 'cause this isn't weird," is all I could muster. I wish I'd given them my email so I could post the photo, I really do. Good thing I never plan to run for public office.

The very next day, I yesterday learned, one of my Second City classmates witnessed me running down this path. He then proceeded to do an impression of my running. I have long known I run like a total goof, but seeing impressions of it never gets old. I hope I do not look like he made it out that I do, and yet it would explain the insane looks I get from most everyone I pass on the path. That, my short length (and by this I mean the length of my shorts), and my propensity for dancing to the tunes flowing through the old noggin.

But I've got to go outside and soak through my t-shirt again and then go for one of these runs I was talking about. Stay tuned for more unexciting adventures.

Fourth of Jew-Lie

2010-07-08T12:55:00.001-04:00

Scheisser! I like totally meant to get down to business in here like before this but then I went out to Maine for the holiday and the internet was not in the cards. Yeah internet, sorry, I had better things to do. It seems the internet had better things to do too. Maine really is a magical land and a whole other world. They do call it "Vacationland" (it even says it on the license plate), and maybe it's the state motto. I could easily look it up, but I try to rely on my actual brain and it's every dwindling efficiencies and knowledge. I would call it the lobster state if I were in charge. This is not the reason I am not in charge, but it's certainly a reason.

But Maine is also really weird and it gives you an idea why Stephen King writes those stories of his. I haven't actually read any of his stories, but I know enough about them for it to make sense. Like the pick-up parked at my motel that had recyclables in the bed and trash stacked, and stuck, to the ceiling in the passenger seat. I never saw the owner, and I don't know that I'd want to. As anyone on the East coast knows, it was also hot as monkeys this weekend past. They should shave off the fur.

The 4th I nearly melted in the heat and was dressed as a complete asshat, but because my shorts had the American flag on them, the great town of Kennebunkport supported me. Thanks America.

Approximation from 2005. These days I am less fit and invite dislike with a fauxhawk-mohawk. I was also wearing red and white soccer socks. I delight in dressing like an ass. The hat is optional.

In other oddity, as I was out for a joggle (which is a jog that boggles your mind due to excessive heat and you're all wondering why you are running and stuff) my last morning I saw a man in a wheelchair moving ever-so-slowly down a rural-ass road. That is most roads in Maine, but believe me, it was rural. And it was hot. I passed him and, when I turned around, I noted him stopped there.

Turns out he had slid off the cambered road and couldn't get going on the smooth asphalt (or whatever substance it was paved with) so he asked me to pull him up. I even asked if he wanted to be wheeled somewhere in particular. I have no idea where that guy would have come from or where he was headed, but I sure hope he made it there. Maybe he was just stir crazy as I was once post-surgery when I decided to crutch a neighborhood loop (which made me sore as shit for a couple of days there). These occurrences are meant to have inspired a short story from me, which will be a nice break from longer stuff I've been trying to write and edit through.

Also, I think there needs to be an official Independence Day dance, or a separate day called Independance Day, where they just play Billy Idol's Dancing With Myself. There can also be an Indepenance Day, unless you see something wrong with that...

I hope you've all been watching the World Cup because it's been pretty awesome. I have to say I dig Spain's style and I won't be disappointed if they or the Dutch win it, although the Dutch struck me as a bit floppy last match. Germany's exit was tough because I liked their energy and yelling "Schweinsteiger". I will continue yelling it though, because I'm an idiot.

Remember to use the fake German accent. I promise, it's fun...SCHWEINSTEIGER!!!!!!!!

Whirled Cup

2010-06-30T23:57:00.001-04:00

I was sitting around watching the The World Cup the other day, and by the other day I could mean any number of days since I have been doing my darndest to watch as many matches as possible.

When I had my first intentions to write this post, England was still in the damned thing and I was all jazzed to post their current World Cup support song Shout by Shout England. Well I've posted it anyway because I rather fancy it. Just by thinking about England my writing takes on a decidedly more British tone. With the boys adorned with Three Lions gone home I've transferred my allegiance to Spain and the Netherlands.

Another team out is Portugal, with Ronaldo taking a lot of flack. I'm sure some of it is deserved, but Spain was the better team yesterday. I also find it amusing that he wears smaller shorts than the rest of the Portuguese team. Also, if anyone happens to have the Brazil v. Portugal match on DVR/TiVo, I recommend skipping to ~65:20 to catch slow-motion action of Raul Meireles and some other dude on the Portuguese squad (yeah, I didn't recognize him) making obscene gestures. There is also a complete break in the commentary at that point. I found it very likable. Uh, it'll make more sense if you see it, I promise.

I'll just be looking forward to some good soccer/football and I have to say, I enjoy the vuvuzelas. When I turn on the TV or stroll into a bar, that distinctive humming reminiscent of a swarm of bees is a comforting sign that I am watching the World Cup.

Speaking of out, Roger Federer out of Wimbledon? Say it ain't so (and if you read back, you'd know I was not always his number one fan). Oh, and the pride parade. I missed most of it but there was plenty of spectacle in the aftermath and it led to the good cheer that had me say yes to the unusual mixed drink offered me by four soccer moms I met on the El.

Right, so then I all forgot what else I meant to talk about in this entry but I felt like dropping it while it was still June. One thing, and this is not the first time I've noticed, is how easy it is to hate people purely through the internet and interpreting/sensing what they were thinking by sharing (and not sharing) certain things.

But that is dumb, and won't advance you anywhere, so instead, let's embrace how you can love people through the internet, like when it's clips of Ron Artest on Jimmy Kimmel Live. If you want that eight minutes back, send me a message and I'll see what I can do.

If I don't make it back here by then, happy 4th of July folks.

Summer Salt-Sticks

2010-06-22T00:10:00.001-04:00

I do have to wonder, at times, if the mind works slower in the heat. I think excessive temperatures in either direction might slow it down a tick. The thing is, it hasn't even gotten all that hot yet, so I could be skirting a dangerous line of unproductivity. This is sometimes referred to as laziness. It is true that certain factors, environmental and otherwise, can influence such a broad term as productivity, but that is where that thing called adaptability is meant to step in.

Speaking of stepping in, another potential distractor could be my potentially broken foot. We're talking all kinds of potential here. That thing is always acting up, I swear. Not that I give it the greatest of care perhaps, but really the thing can be re-goddamned-diculous. I am going to be one crippled-ass old man if they don't step it up on bionic limbs.

But I didn't mean to hate on the heat, I do like it to be hot, it's just that I am one of the sweatiest humans alive. I probably wouldn't like it anyway but there is sort of a social stigma against sweating. I try to own it, but it can be tough. I try to determine whether it makes it seem as if I am a) a crackhead, b) someone hurrying everywhere, c) just plain gross, or d) a combination of some of those three preceding letters. Those aren't much in the way of choices, but remember what I said about productivity struggles?

But rather than productivity, we should be worrying about the quality of life. Having lived in and around big cities most of my life, there's this Danish fellow Jan Gehl who really helps get at getting it right. He's all about pedestrian and cyclist friendly cities and dope public spaces. I am not sure how he feels about public dope spaces, that's more of an Amsterdam thing, and Gehl tends to get down more in Copenhagen. And another bright spot out of Copenhagen or at the least Denmark, is singer-songwriter Sys Bjerre. All I've heard, courtesy of the sis, is embedded below. And in case you're wondering, yes, there are some f-bombs and other English sprinkled in with the Danish. So I leave you with this delightful video and, if I could, a tasty danish just as my boys at Entenmann's have managed for years.

There's No Such Thing as Free Advertising?

2010-06-18T13:14:00.001-04:00

Product placement cracks me up, always has. The other night I was watching the late late show with Fallon and he's got a Macbook on his desk in clear view at the edge of the frame. Why? Is Jimmy checking his email during the show? I don't think he actually used it or anything it was just...there. So, right, why?

On perhaps the very same evening, or at least a similar one, I was tucked into bed, laptop screen creepily illuminating face as I caught up on Gossip Girl. At the end of episode 20 of this season (spoiler alert), Jenny uses Bing! to do a search on cancer. Bing! That's the sound of producers cashing in on ad dollars. Not to be outdone, in the very next episode Blair is seen sleuthing on her Macbook. But Apple doesn't even really do search, so Microsoft should be looking to make Bing! a Mac thing too. And here I am talking about Bing! on blogger, owned by search giant google. What's a boy to do?

Now I'm fairly certain I've raised this issue before, but stepping back to Gossip Girl, why don’t they actually drink from coffee mugs on the show? Anything in a mug, I promise you, empty. It’s a minor detail, but it just looks silly so why not make it minor and realistic. I don't get it. One more reason I will never make it to Hollywood.

As I was sitting sipping coffee just two days ago, I reached into my pocket to answer a phone call, only to discover what seemed to be sand all up in my phone. Know what I'm sayin? But really, there was. A bit baffled, I investigated said pocket in said shorts (as yet unsaid it seems) to find a sand-like substance in there. This, I admit, was the first wearing of now said shorts and I do not wash my clothes before wearing. I don't even wash them after wearing if I can avoid it. A Marshall's purchase, they were probably stripped from a man who died on the beach. Hey, whatever they have do to keep my designer clothes (including designers I've never heard of) cheap...Oh and, like, TJ Maxx owns them, right? That was rhetorical. So why is there little crossover? That's rhetorical too. It's so it's so much damned fun every time you walk in.

In fact, I might head there after this England match on my way to work. I hear they've got discounted NBA, MLB, and World Cup officials. There are some irregularities, sure, but you can't beat the price!

Where Do The Days Go

2010-06-08T23:43:00.000-04:00

Hot shit, maybe it's the rain, and maybe it's how good this M. Ward song is, and maybe it's a little bit of both but I have been rocking out to "Poison Cup" a good dozen times in a row here. Rocking may not been the proper terminology to describe this particular track but it will work well enough. Listen to this song and tell me you don't like it. But then at least tell me why.

Two days late, I gotta give it up for Sunday as a solid sports day. Nadal winning the French Open (I have shirked my largely unfounded dislike for Federer after learning he is not a robot, but man I do like this Nadal character), the Celts evening their series with the Lakers, and the 'Hawks grabbing a 3-2 lead over the Flyers. Tonight not so much as the Lakers downed the Celts this time. I'll hope for a 'Hawks close-out tomorrow.

How is it possible for a watch to cost ~$525,000?

After long delay I dropped another short story today, and should be putting a 30-minute parody together in the next day or two. Suggestions on a daily tweet theme for July are very welcome.

Next order of business before I forget is to plug the return of Balke to the blogosphere. He's dropping fresh new concept songs pretty much once a day. They are, honestly, awesome. On the subject of songs, I must also plug Kelly McFarling and Tim Johnson's duet performance of the MGMT hit "Kids" that I thought I would have posted back in my homage to WesTech, but apparently did not. They're both supremely talented and you can catch more of Kelly's folky excellence here.

And, well, I was going to discuss that story about the chick who says she was fired from a bank for being "too sexy." I guess I am discussing it, but since I think the whole thing is more of a publicity stunt than a valid case, I didn't want to lend much credence to it. I mean, I don't doubt she was harassed, but upon listening to her interview, her intelligence and ability to perform her job is drawn into question. Also, though mentioned in at least one article, they largely gloss over the fact that her looks may have helped her get hired in the first place. Ah balls, that's more than enough for the moment. Cheers folks.

Weather or Not, Here They Come

2010-05-31T19:07:00.001-04:00

Back in the day, and by back in the day I mean a little over two years ago, I wrote a post pertaining to warm weather spawning crazy behavior. I'd link to it, but it's nothing too profound. I've got to say that whether or not the specific mechanism of the heat that causes people to react absurdly might not have been identified, it is always a key player in fact and fiction.

Evidence includes the increased number of shootings here in Chicago over Memorial Day weekend, when temperatures reached into the 90s. One simple factor could be people step out of their homes once it gets warm. Another could be that being overly hot irritates people. Here is where I plug the fictional reference of Albert Camus's The Stranger in. Specifically, when Meursault decides to shoot a man on the beach, largely on account of the excessive heat. Granted part of that is meant to be absurdist but I, for one, find it steeped in reality.

In me, hot weather doesn't inspire the desire to do physical harm to others, it inspires the desire to wear very little clothing, drink cold beer, and eat ice cream. That's as crazy as I get I guess.

On the topic of hot [sauce] I briefly contemplated, at the behest of a couple of chums, the Taco Bell equivalent of Super Size Me. I do eat there once or twice a week, but once or twice a day for month, though I think I could survive it, probably isn't the smartest idea. Not to say I haven't done many [more] stupid things in the past. Of course, if Taco Bell sponsored me to do it I might reconsider. Likewise if Keystone Light, Colt 45, or Jim Beam (I'd happily settle for Seagram's) offered sponsorship.

Anyway, shit, I'm real tired. Happy Memorial Day folks...

Los Suns

2010-05-25T23:13:00.000-04:00

I am watching this Suns-Lakers game right now, and boy are these Suns likable. Sure I don't like the Lakers anyway, but seriously, hard not to love Steve Nash and the gang.

I should say was watching because I was paying close attention to the game and now it's pretty much resolved.

As I aim to hit my self-imposed quota on entries, I gotta say there's not a lot to say except to reaffirm my love for my alma mater, Wesleyan University. I certainly enjoyed my years there, but an action-packed seventy-two hours with the people I love really goes beyond compare. There's always the sense amongst older generations that things were better in their day, and while I might still try to contend that, there is still plenty of the wonderful energy of the Tech intact.

From tallying another deuce on the stall wall of beloved Olin Library to saying goodbye to MoCon, memories managed not to be tinged with sadness. Miller's Pond I love you, Wadsworth I love you. The only sadness was in realizing I don't get to see these amazing people more often. So this is basically another sincere thank you to Wesleyan for bringing together so many amazing people into one place. It's a privilege I wish I could bestow upon everyone.

I couldn't stop smiling the whole weekend and despite my extremely tired and depleted body, I'm still smiling now.

F-word

2010-05-14T00:34:00.001-04:00

I got an email the other day saying that sometimes the titles of my entries don't seem relevant to the content of my posts. I am tempted to say that, like the content of the entries themselves, they are largely irrelevant. I operate heavily on free association, so it can be confusing to follow how I get from A to B because I may frequently be going straight to C. It makes sense in my mind. Sometimes. For instance, last entry I titled "You Came in With the Breeze," and then proceeded to talk about Sunday morning. Those are, in fact, the lyrics, to a No Doubt song. Sometimes when I will look back at something I've written though, I do wonder where in the heckamadoodle it came from. So "F-word" is relevant in the sense that it's what I was listening to when I started writing this entry.

When you live a place, I think there can be a tendency to neglect a lot of the interesting places, judging them to be the touristy things to do. I hesitate to speak for all. I'm also pretty sure I've mentioned it before in this very blog. So it is that it's good when folks come to town to send you towards them. This past Saturday, that place was the Lincoln Park Zoo. Now, granted the weather hadn't been exactly tip-top, but nor was it this day and it did not matter. First stop, though, was the Lincoln Park Conservatory. Nature is a good thing, and the swampy atmosphere of the entryroom made this patron long for a little stint of jungle living. It works especially well when you move onto the flower room where the air is much cooler and less humid and imbued with the tasty scent of, well, flowers.

Having started strong, things really came together at the zoo. First of all, both of these venues are free of charge. Next you've got yourself lions, tigers, and...no bears that I saw. To see a seven year-old (estimate) girl and her five year-old (also estimate) brother giggle at seeing the male lion's testicles is the kind of thing that can make you feel good about life. For me, it really came together in the primate wing. I seem to like that phrase "came together." I was more sure than ever of my brotherhod with the monkey masses, where the first group of little fellows were huddled together and had mohawk hairstyles, just as I do at the moment. They're cooler than me. Not all of evolution is a step forward. Some acrobatic apes and the imposing silverback gorilla add that much more. Often I am quite anal about getting in a run first thing to start my booze-recovered weekend mornings, but to step away from that structure and embrace the simplest and most satisfying of things was the right move.

In the vein of the amazing acrobatic motion of the apes whose name escapes me, I found myself watching a bunch of breakdancing videos for not-the-first time the other night. Some of these talented individuals have been brought into the mainstream as in this Ikea commercial. Likewise, this digital alteration of Fred Astaire with David Elsewhere's legs is quite enjoyable.

Also enjoyable is the Starz series about actor-waiters in the catering business entitled "Party Down." It should induce laughter.

That appears to have gotten long in a hurry. Such is my nature. I apologize. I'll end it, then, on a somber note, about the man who once photographed many of my high school cross country meets. You are entitled to think all of life is kittens, but don't forget that they may scratch.

You Came in With the Breeze

2010-05-04T17:13:00.001-04:00

Sunday morning as I was about to get on the train I was greeted by a trio of Cubs's fans with the following jingle, "Faux-hawk, sunglasses, we're good to go." I'm rather certain there was a quip about my vest too, but I forget what it was. Then another chimed in in a mock whiny voice, "Hoooooooo, I'm a writer..." That's a "who" sound, just to clarify. Now I was unaware that that's how writers usually dress but I don't mind that they were mocking me because it's the first time I was referred to as a writer. It is likely to be the last. And I did look like an asshole.

Today I saw multiple individuals drinking boxed water. Is this some new hip trend I am unaware of? I could solve this quickly with a google, but eff that. Also, I have grown increasingly self-conscious of my overuse of adverbs. Take for instance this paragraph. The two sentences preceding that last one each contain one, even the one noting my overuse of adverbs. The incidental irony was too good to go back and edit. That was nice and clear, right? Adverb overuse is bad writing I have read time and again, and yet it is so ingrained in me it hurts. Now that I am hyper aware, I hope to stray from it, but I believe it will be a long and arduous process. More direct, terse, and concise language and diction is the way to go. It's all active and whatnot. That's, like, my lesson, of the day.

I just noticed sitting here that my fly is down. I have to wonder who else noticed. I have to wonder why I should be all that concerned. I have successfully put my fly to half-mast. I believe that signifies wartime.

I have decided that I will start trying to pay attention to current events. I am horrendous at this and I am rather certain this was on my resolution list for the year. An adverb was lurking in that sentence. I beat it down. It hurt though. And "rather" is getting rather close. In an effort to do the current even thing I went to the CNN frontpage. Scrolling down I saw an article entitled "World's Oldest Person Dies. Isn't this in some ways an impossibility, as the moment they are deceased they cease to be the world's oldest person? It is probable that I am trying too hard. Lurking in the background is a current event pun surrounding Nashville flooding, but things aren't funny when they are natural disasters that destroy people's lives and homes.

And while it's not quite destroying peoples's lives in the same way, here's a good write-up on why to beware of Facebook. I wonder when its usefulness will outweigh these concerns because it's all flat-out pretty not cool. It has to be more than coincidence that you only have to change one letter to call him Mark Suckerberg, only I'm the sucker because I'm still a member. Remind me to transpose a short story onto my other blog tonight if I have time. And write a song parody. Thanks.

Quotent Quotables

2010-04-29T22:23:00.002-04:00

Even though this knocks me past four entries for the month, at least one if not all were not up to my exacting standards — aka they were garbage. Extra points for consistency. Speaking of consistency, the consistency of my bowels could use some work. Perhaps it is the preponderance of Mexican and not-quite-Mexican (Taco Bell) I have consumed of late. In homage to the latter, after a long long evening I offered to make, quite literally, a Taco Bell run at just past 4am Sunday morning. Literal in that I am writing about it. It happened to pour rain for only the four-to-five minutes it took me to run the three-quarters of a mile or so to The Bell and yes, I was running. But it made for an excellent scene as I was wearing a dress shirt and loosened tie from an improv performance. I had that Hollywood epic rain-run look, except instead of a wedding or some heart-rending moment, I was...not. I did manage to have awesome interactions with the clientele, as per usual. The only mistake I made was not ordering even more food.

A look back halfway through the month and all the way through my life should suggest I should know better concerning my own bowels, but I doubt that'll stop me. How will I use my griping double-entendre then? Artists must make sacrifices.

Speaking of things I like that don't give me diarrhea (although I am not certain of this yet), old people. Sometimes they are all ornery and I just want to drop eff bombs on them, but sometimes these folks are just so damn sweet it hurts. Take some lady today who asked if I worked in the building, the building I happen to live in. "No," I told her. "Oh, you look familiar," she said. What I should have said was, "Have you seen Heroes, or the new Star Trek movie?" Instead I said, "Well I do live here." She then proceeded to complement me on my haircut and to ask if she were overdressed for the weather — she was, but old people get cold easily. I have no idea what I will be like when I'm an old man, but I know that a) I'd like to be a grandfather and b) I'd like to have a porch. These things seem essential. I'd like to dispense lots of knowledge to my grandchildren, which will prove woefully outdated, but that perhaps they will accept as wisdom on account of me being old and all. I will drink a lot of whiskey and beer. And sarsparilla. Leave off the "sars" for a Spanish-sounding last name. Whether I will kick the Mexican habit remains to be seen.

I just killed a big-ass fly (not to be confused with a big assfly) in my kitchen with a paper towel. I am real proud of myself.

Does anyone else think that "April Showers brings May Flowers" is begging to be made into a porno? I mean, you wouldn't even have to change the title if you didn't want. And that seems like more than enough at the moment.

Slipped a Mickey

2010-04-23T18:21:00.001-04:00

Today it came out that yet another track athlete is a drug cheat or, I should say, apparent drug cheat. Lashawn Merritt, 2008 Olympic Gold Medalist in the 400m, tested positive for some steroid I've never heard of. Athletes always claim they were sabotaged or that it was the ingredient in something they were innocently using. In the article I read in the Washington Post, Merritt claims the steroid was an ingredient in OTC male-enhancement pillExtenze. It'll be a long hard road to redemption for Merritt.

Some say we are in the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression. In homage to that era, back in the day I think it was refreshing and realistic that even Mickey contemplated offing himself. Credit to Tom Meagher for the link, some time ago now.

With over six million views I guess this Asian kid singing Whitney Houston is a pretty known quantity, but in case you've missed it, hella tight. Speaking of Asia, I feel like I posted/uploaded this image before, but just in case here it is again:

Oh, and while I use either Firefox or Safari, my buddy Osbourne alerted me to all of these alternate web browser choices.

So basically I posted some links. I also had a celebrity sighting of Lebron James in a bar/club last night. He was wearing sunglasses indoors, which I sometimes do. Do I think this connects us, no, but it is a statement of fact. And as a matter of fact, I've got to go.

Great Googley Moogley

2010-04-17T18:56:00.002-04:00

Lately people have been scaling the side of my building like ninjas. It's less cool than it sounds.

I was at Chipotle the other night, which I sometimes talk shit about but really it's perfectly fine you can just usually get local Mexican that is tastier, for cheaper, especially in this city. As for cheaper, this is especially the case when it is $1.80 for guacamole to be added to my burrito, considering I can buy about two avocados for that. But hey, supply and demand. The one thing I didn't demand from my burrito was diarrhea, but the next morning it was delivered anyway, free of charge. Things have a way of balancing out.

I actually thought I'd grown immune to Mexican-induced diarrhea because I eat Mexican so frequently, but how wrong I was. Taco Bell done got me real good last night. In my haste to return home, I neglected to get fire sauce, but it would appear this may have been for the best. I have also decided I am the most popular person in the Wrigleyville Taco Bell after 3am on weekends. I'd say if you're reading, feel free to come talk to me next time you see me there, but a) you wouldn't be reading, and b) if you're the kind of person who would be talking to me in the wee hours at Taco Bell, you'll do it regardless of goading here. It's a great scene, I think, despite being a chain, it really brings the community together. That that community is a hodgepodge of under-aged and/or overly intoxicated individuals is an asterisk not really a scarlet letter.

Before I forget, and because I like to promote awesome shit my friends do when I know about it, here's a link to a video my friend Bridget shot for the Future Islands track "Tin Man". I like it very much, I hope you will too.

Further promotion for my new buddy Jeff Ringgenberg, whose story and whatnot you can follow here. I like Jeff because his priorities fall heavily in line with a lot of my own and he has that thing there seems to be a pretty fair amount of out here in the midwest: genuinicity. Yeah, throw that in the to-be-released dictionary. Also, I think he's going to really be doing some funny stuff and laughter is goddamned medicine. He has and will have shows, so you can find that all there and follow him on Twitter if that is your thing. I also exist on Twitter, over here, if you don't already get too much of me. I don't really use Twitter as it is meant to I don't think, but nonetheless.

Trying to bring this verbosity to a close, pretty soon I have a feeling Google will run my life autonomously for me. It's started with google saying I'm online when I'm not via the old gmail. Also, I noted when I did a google search the other day it included results related specifically to people in my contact list (something I don't actually have, I just rely on the memory dealio where once you get or write a few emails to someone it remembers the contact automatically). That and the moron check I noted maybe a month ago where, when I typed the word "attach" in my email, it noted that I had not actually attached anything, and wanted to know if I would like to. Om-effin-g.

Oh, and watch Three Times, at least the first two vignettes. I didn't watch the third yet myself, but the first two, especially the first, is really, really, awesome. I might need a new adjective of appreciation. Still, Shu Qi is one of the biggest babes of all time, and Chang Chen is just tight. Count it...

Lose Your Mind

2010-04-12T11:29:00.002-04:00

This is just a message to myself really because I wonder how coherent I am after over 25 hours waking having consumed excesses of several substances, some of them stimulants, some depressants. I think the MSG in Doritos qualifies it in the latter category. My hands are still orange and I need to make quota for this month of four posts. Should have posted the link earlier, and always, but check out Red Bar Radio. I have grown to really like the show and it's [mostly] good-natured offensiveness. Chicago comics are so tight and down-to-earth. I hope to make cameos in the future. Once the marathon show gets posted from today, you can probably hear me speaking in the late late hours (19-21) shouting gibberish and especially laughing uncontrollably for the last hour as listeners/viewers typed in fat jokes. Completely shameless self-promotion I suppose, but I'm not even really on there and man, if listening is half as fun as being there, I hope you enjoy. My god, I feel zany.

Scenes from a 7-11

2010-04-09T11:38:00.003-04:00

Now I was just about to conjure up some new thoughts, or attempts at new ones, when I realized I had this draft sitting in the folder from August 15, 2009. So instead, let's make like an adopted dog and expound...right...

I'd outlined a few details and, using the powers of research and memory, here is the setting: it was a Friday evening becoming Saturday morning or, rather more likely, already become Saturday morning at that point. My buddy and I stopped in at the 7-11 and it was awfully warm so we may have been opting for slurpies, even though they tend to give me temporary bronchitis, where my lungs feel frozen and irritated, resulting in an unusual cough that I've never otherwise experienced. All it's really leading up to is this unusual fellow (I seem to like the word unusual today) that was ahead of us at the register. He was sharing tidbits with the cashier and though the cashier was nonresponsive, that did little to discontinue his commentary. I might not have remembered them all distinctly, but I wrote them down. The following lines were delivered in order:

"It's humid outside." About three seconds pause, awaiting response but then, maybe also not.

"It's air-conditioned in here." Another pause, slightly longer.

"I'm buying ice cream," followed by nervous awkward laughter from speaker. He was, in fact, buying ice cream. Similar length pause.

"I just saw G.I. Joe." I am inclined to believe him. This was the end of the exchange, and then he exited, stage center.

While trying not to look at my buddy and erupt into laughter I noted a chocolate calculator among the items at the register to entice last second purchase. It's tagline: "smells like real chocolate!". Yes, this was not actually an edible calculator, merely a functional one, that was chocolate-scented. And they say kids say the darndest things...

And all the while, all the while there were these two creepy dudes chillin' by the magazine section which is at the front of this particular store — front as in doors and entryway, not front as in register location. And all the while, from before we even entered the store they are simply staring at us and otherwise loitering. I wish I caught a glimpse of what they were reading, or remembered their outfits, because I really think it'd add to the tale.

Flash-forward to the last couple of dozen times I've been in a Sev — I tend to go at least every Saturday night to mix coffee (usually Brazilian Bold) with hot chocolate (and sometimes that chocolate cupcake flavor), and then pour in five or six shots of whiskey. And the cashiers I get are always hella tight. And in the one Sev, the one I almost never go into but walk by the most frequently, in that one I frequently see the same 1-3 cops, and outside a homeless man shaking a cup. I don't know if it's the same guy because I always try not to really look. But the cup, the cup is always different.

Passunder

2010-03-30T03:18:00.001-04:00

Seeing as how tonight was the first night of Passover, I was all set to title up my entry "Matzoh Do About Nothing," when I got this eerie feeling of déjà vu. So I looked back to around this time last year to see what I would have titled a Passover entry (because I knew I'd have a Passover entry) and bam, that was the title. Things to take away include: being original is difficult, and I probably haven't changed all that much in a year.

One thing I've long thought of but perhaps not mentioned in this specific blog is the mystery of matzoh. Now the story behind matzoh is that, in their haste to leave Egypt, the Jews could not wait for the bread to rise. The only flaw in this cute little tale is that, if you actually make bread dough and do not allow it to rise fully and put it in the oven, matzoh is not the result. From the wiki it states:

Matza dough is quickly mixed and rolled out without an autolyse step such as might be used in leavened breads. Most forms are docked with a fork or a similar tool to keep the finished product from puffing in the same manner as a tortilla or pita bread, and the resulting flat piece of dough is cooked at high heat until it develops dark spots, then set aside to cool (and, if sufficiently thin, to harden to crispness).

In there you will note the specific actions taken to create matzoh's distinctive "shitty cracker" consistency. I mean, honestly, eating some matzoh for a week is hardly a chore in comparison to the suffering and oppression of the tale of Passover, but it doesn't change the fact that the production of matzoh is oddly devised — contrived if you will — and commercialized.

This year matzoh is the object of my Passover cracks.

Anyway, I'm actually a bit out of steam and riding a low after discovering who Justin Bieber is. As usual I am only more of the problem by continuing to mention such individuals. Give the people what they want. And if the choice is matzoh or Bieber, I will take matzoh every time. But as always, don't forget the most important part of Passover: Borei Pre Hagafen. Pour some out for your homie Elijah.

Spring Into Action

2010-03-19T19:40:00.002-04:00

When you live in a place like Chicago or any place that has Winter, but also other seasons, I really think an amendment needs to be created that allows people to take days off of work, let kids out of school, etc, on the first beautiful day of the year. That day was probably Wednesday here, but by golly Thursday was nice as well, and today ain't too shabby either. I've always considered Spring the time the trolls come out of their caves, sometimes wearing awesomely alluring things like white skirts. While it isn't quite warm enough for all that (although I could have gotten down with shorts today), it was still in the 60s and it's nice to want to venture out into the open and interact with a whole lot of humans. The sun will do that. I get why Sheryl wants to soak it up .

But it really does foster all sorts of pleasant behavior. Still, I made the original stipulations of places that have winter because you need that frame of reference right? Appreciate the Summer because of Winter. Or would we all be a Hell of a lot happier with the constant sun? Guess it depends. My excursions to very sunny places suggest that perhaps always sunny is not a bad thing.

Anyway, I took advantage of the nice weather to do something I have largely neglected to do not only in this city but in general: take some damn pictures. So I hit up Millenium Park for not the first time and basked in the reflections of the cloudgate aka the bean and took pictures of tourist groups. Actually for tourist groups. Pictures of tourist groups sounds creepy. The degree to which all of these people appreciated this — what I consider a rather simple act —was maybe not surprising, but certainly refreshing. Warms the damn cactus of my heart.

And since I feel like this needs an injection of humor I should mention how, a couple of weeks ago I was hurrying to the train and, stepping on a piece of ice to bypass an old lady, slipped and fell. I mean, I didn't step on the piece of ice on purpose, but there is certainly some correlation if not downright causation going on here. I thought only my ego was damaged, especially when this woman asked me if I was alright and she was like ninety-thousand years old, but I managed to rip the crotch of my pants in the whole ordeal. Not noticing this for the better part of two hours was awesome, but luckily I was wearing some slick boxer-briefs. And then I got drunk and largely forgot about my pants, but the pants, the pants never forgot...

Don't Feel Compelled to Drink That Second Cup

2010-03-18T03:31:00.001-04:00

Maybe it's a mug of coffee, maybe it's a beer or something a little stronger. Moral: don't ever feel compelled to drink that next beverage. Caffeination, inebriation, make sure not to go past satiation. Caffeination, apparently not a word, so another to be added to my suggested word dictionary. Also, I would advise against nail clippers as a surgical tool.

So I was going through my sticky notes on my Mac Dashboard earlier today, which I have to do periodically because I write about a million inane notes to myself on there. They're never really organized by any sort of logical connection, and rarely is there reference to where some of the information comes from. This is an excellent sign of my organization skills. The thing is, I like having to sort through it in a lot of ways because it allows me to wonder what I might have been thinking. I will end up searching my email and google and microsoft word for these phrases and sometimes much lengthier bits to determine where exactly they came from. Almost always they are unique creations of my own mind that don't exist anywhere else that I can find. This is neither a good nor a bad thing, but that I often don't recognize the tone and the words in there is a pretty fascinating thing to me.

Sometimes these little notes are not completely inane and they will in fact be things like links to articles I want to get around to reading or mildly amusing and interesting other things on the internet. In my recent clean-up, I came upon this old list of the worst captchas of all time that someone sent to me godknowswhen. In case you are not familiar, the captcha is that little ditty that appears when you are leaving a note or logging into a webpage that appears distorted and is a random amalgam of letters and sometimes numbers, whose intention is to avoid having automatons leave notes that get filed under the spam category. This very thing will occur when you attempt to leave a note on this very blog (that's very very isn't it?), but I still manage to get notes with Asian characters (because I am not learned enough to determine if they are Chinese or Japanese) all the time that are absolute gibberish.

Moving on to pop culture, I am a pretty good student of it, maybe like a B+, but I don't actually watch that much TV, I just have a high retention and extrapolation rate. So there is this show Glee that you have probably heard of and maybe seen. I have done the former but not the latter, but I know the gist and that is there is a lot of singing involved. I think of it as a 30 to 60 TV minute (21-42 actual minutes) version of the wildly successful High School Musical, another thing I've never seen. Hell I haven't seen Avatar or even Titanic for that matter. My point is, as always, that many media-related bastards play off the successes of others and incorporate them into their own matrices. One of the few shows I watch religiously, How I Met Your Mother, has recently had not one, but two song scenes, the most recent featuring Ted singing about the concept of the superdate and, earlier, Barney extolling the virtues of suits, or at least saying how much he loves them. This is pretty closely related to my last post, where I might have blamed Glee as well for Neil Patrick Harris's opening number at the Oscars. I'm sad that I have noticed this, and perhaps a little more that I am pointing it out, but insomnia can do that to a man.

Another thing that fascinates me is the suggestions of the most popular searches google will give you just from typing simple prompts, in this instance "how can i." This list is dated, but I had it pasted down on one of the aforementioned stickies and it looks as such:

how can i make my hair grow faster
how can i keep from singing lyrics
how can i get pregnant
how can i lose weight fast
how can i keep from singing
how can i lose 10 pounds in a week
how can i get taller
how can i tell if i am pregnant
how can i watch free movies online
how can i make money

People are, or were, apparently very concerned with losing weight, keeping from singing, and pregnancy. I think there is a correlation here involving pregnancy hormones causing one to sing and we all know a good way to lose weight is to give birth, for some definition of birth.

Finally, I was discussing shoes with a chum and he showed me a link to a Vans shoe called the prison issue. Why in the world would you ever name anything as such? Prison is often on the minds of folks though, clearly, as it is a very popular improv audience suggestion. And because I don't ever want that link to die, here is an uploaded image of said Vans shoe.

Note the velcro, which I can only conclude is for easy fastening to avoid excessive time bent over tying laces.

I am behind pace to fulfill my weekly post quota, so I'll aim to play catch-up shortly. New song parody and short story forthcoming as I do not want to recycle material, but I am somewhat busy with editing a longer bit of stuff and life and stuff. More pictures perhaps in the future, since they're worth like a thousand words and people don't really like reading as much anymore these days or something.

Mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm

2010-03-08T19:28:00.001-05:00

Once there was this kid who got into an accident and couldn't go to school. That really was me, even if the Crash Test Dummies happened to reference it years before. Maybe they were just prognosticating my life because clearly I'm the only person who those vague circumstances befell. But then my hair didn't turn from black into bright white. My voice did manage to deepen in those six plus weeks though.

Moving on, in my last post I alluded to launching a couple of new blogs. I knew this was ambitious since I don't (mercifully) write in this one all that much even, but they have been launched. You can read my song parodies over at The Parody Pariah. Remember how Pop-Tarts were so cool they were hot?(I didn't embed that because I don't know, I didn't, and that was back before they frosted the Pop-Tarts; the dark ages if you will, of only traditional diabetes). You'll also note that I put a parenthetical after punctuation, and then punctuated it. This is grammatically incorrect but man, it looked weird without that period. The point was that that blog right there will shoot to be so bad it's good. I didn't place time constraints on my production to cover my ass either. If left longer to compose those things they'd only be worse. I basically just get a feeling and ride it out, hence the gross inconsistency in consistency of my posting here.

The short story blog has been named and vaguely described as well, titled Fetor Hepaticus. I just thought it had a nice sound to it there. I've yet to actually produce a short story for it. I might put up a rejected submission to a website or something, but I'd rather spontaneously concoct something. So stay tuned for posting at an indeterminate or, to be determined, time.

The only other thing I'll give some brief face time because I've got some other pressing matters to get to is the Academy Awards. I never really used to watch, but since 2007, I have seen at least fifty-percent of them. So with not a ton of frame of reference, major props to Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin. As far as I'm concerned, best hosting ever, well-played on the heels of a horrendous opening number from Neil Patrick Harris. I love the shit out of that guy, and I am far from alone in this, hence his choice for the opening number, but man was it bad. As someone who can't sing I can say we can smell our own, so having him sing was rough. See also the gaudy tuxedo jacket (was that what it was?) and lyrically the song was trite, not tight. Again, as a lyrical non-genius, I can smell out crap lyrics as well.

The other difficulty in critiquing anything about the oscars is that I hadn't seen most of the films. This is generally a problem as I am not the moviegoer I once was and, in fact, halfway through I watched Inglourious Basterds for the first time. On the strength of not seeing any of the other movies, I still am tempted to say it deserved more than just the best supporting actor nod. No matter, awards ceremonies are inherently contentious, so my only real gripe was Sandra Bullock. I know, I didn't see the movie, but I did read the book. On the strength of that and having seen The Net, Speed, parts of While You Were Sleeping, and parts of Miss Congeniality, not to mention the clips they show at the oscars, I can safely say that I have no idea how she won. Not having seen any of the other movies that featured nominated actresses, Helen Mirren or that girl from Precious probably should have won. I'd say who cares, but I just wrote a paragraph about it so I guess at the least I must care a little bit. No need for sour grapes, makes for bad w[h]ine. I will never be on the academy.

I'd say that's more than enough for the time being. Anyone else getting tired of Morgan Freeman? I never thought I would say that. Ted Robbins anecdotal intro was awesome though. Yup.