Resurrection, Part I of More than I

In regards to my blog, I have been recently surprised by two things: 1. I haven't posted since October; 2. Some friends have expressed concern about this lack of activity. The second point is probably most striking, because the amount of people who derided my comatose blog were greater in number than what I had originally perceived to be my entire readership. I suppose it's possible my entire readership partook in point two, but I'm going to interpret this as a healthy indication that more than five people are aware of my blog. Furthermore, at least half of them are aware the blog has lain dormant for some time.

Thus, oh blogosphere so vast and unregulated, I make my return, as much to appease my angry throngs of starved readers as to kill time while I digest a turkey sandwich before biking down Lakeshore.That's right. Biking. The sun is out, and rumors of its supposed warmth have not been exaggerated. I am now able to get outside and participate in one of my favorite sports: me on my Diamondback vs. Nigerian cabbies on Blue-tooth headsets, jockeying for position on Chicago's congested streets. Spectators may conclude that this is a game with no rules, a life-and-death version of Calvinball in an urban setting. I don't think that's necessarily the case, but I have yet to come across definitive proof to the contrary. If there are rules, they are surely broken with staggering frequency.Despite the specter of death-by-Crown-Vic lurking at every intersection whose colored lights I ignore, biking is definitely one of the most active things I do these days. And it's important to stay active, because this winter has produced a profoundly more out of shape facade than I'm used to seeing in the mirror. I will attribute much of this to an insane travel schedule which had me eating out for practically every meal for about two months straight. Oh, and the heavy amounts of drinking with similarly depressed coworkers probably played a role.

Fortunately, most of us who imbibed and grew fat together are now working to reverse the damage together. And I need to do some hardcore reversal if I want to be seen anywhere near a pool when I hit Vegas Memorial Day weekend. And, yeah, that shit's happening.This will be my first time in Sin City, and I hope to do it right. My return flight is a red eye which puts me back in Chicago Tuesday morning around 6am. You know, just in time for work.

tbc...

Birthday, Embryonic, Zombieland, Halloween... Damn, what a month!

It turns out I did things on my birthday I don't remember all too clearly. Luckily, a workie was at hand with a camera documenting the entire event for my later perusal. Watching my evening unfold through photos was definitely reminiscent of the ending of The Hangover when the guys piece their wild night together in a similarly pseudo-voyeuristic fashion. I know there's an unwritten 3-year-rule in effect for spoilers that I'm supposed to honor here, but the movie was garbage and I don't really think there's much to spoil. Well, unless you count how I called the movie garbage and maybe you were operating under the assumption that it could be good. Oops!

Moving on, here are some selections from my evening in question.

In other news, the Flaming Fucking Motherfucking Lips released a new LP last week, entitled Embryonic. FYI, it's absofuckinglutely amazing. I'm as big a fan of their older, overdriven, guitar-heavy psychedelic acid rock as I am their more recent orchestral, bombastic, electro-pop records. Embryonic is a damn near perfect combination of the two, resulting in the darkest, tightest, most cinematic record they've ever done.

It's a bit long, but exquisitely paced, with fantastic melodies laced throughout both softer numbers and straight up barn burners. And when I say barn burners I goddamn mean it. Songs like "See the Leaves", "Worm Mountain", and "Watching the Planets" will tear the fucking walls down in concert halls around the world for years to come. I know it's early, but Embryonic could end up being my favorite FLips album ever. Of course, my opinion may be skewed a tad by the fact they put out one of their worst albums in At War with the Mystics their last time out. Please buy now.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

So I took in Zombieland with some friends this weekend. It was one of the more wondrous group movie going experiences I've ever had. Some thoughts: it is basically hysterical from front to back; Woody Harrelson is a total BAMF; it features one of the greatest and most unexpected cameos ever; and, yeah, zombie movies will NEVER get old. Oh, and the one quasi-romantic moment in the film was ruined/enriched by a workie next to me pretending to orgasm. He swore he was pretending. I mean, he had to be pretending.

Finally, Halloween is coming up. There's bound to be craziness happening all over the city, just like every year since Satan took over. I've got my costume pretty much lined up, with only an accoutrement or two remaining to complete the ensemble. This is what I'm going for.

What are YOU going to be?!

Birthdays and Fever Rays

I did a bit of birthday binging Friday. I'll be sure and put all embarrassing photos and videos on here when I get them. I was clearly in no shape to run equipment of any kind, so I left camera duties to others.

Drinking started for me at 3pm and apparently ended around 11. I say "apparently," because my strict adherence to the Don't Turn Down Free Shots policy directly contributed to a lengthy black-out period. Yes, much of my night remains shrouded in personal mystery, beginning with my last true memory of being escorted out of Bar Louie by the staff (undeserved I say) and ending with my coming-to on a couch at 6:45 AM with what felt like a rabid ferret trying to break out of my skull. I killed him with half a bottle of ibuprofen and some apple juice.

I also somehow found myself with a giant mug of Blue Moon in my hand at noon on Saturday. Basically, my birthday was full of win.

Saturday night was possibly more amazing, however. That Fever Ray show I was geeking out over a post ago? Yeah, expectations were way fucking exceeded. From that first otherworldly, throbbing loop from "If I Had a Heart" that kicked off the show to the final beat of "Coconut" which closed it, I was completely riveted. This was pure performance art. One long piece, meticulously structured, and expertly performed. Everything about the spectacle was meant to displace the audience from the comfort of reality. The place was engulfed in fog for most of the show. The band members on stage were all spectres and silhouettes; costumed golems swaying and incanting, draped over instruments and electronics. Sickly yellow, antique lampshades pulsed with the ebbs and flows of every creepy measure.

And the laser lighting... oh god, the laser lighting. I didn't know light could do the things I saw that night. Points and beams turned into sheets and waves criss-crossing the entire auditorium. Seeing the fog rolling through the artificial ceiling of light made you feel at one instant like you were submerged in water, and the next as if you could reach out and touch the clouds. There were several moments in which I was inclined to attempt to capture what I was seeing on camera, but there was just something so perfect about being a real part of the experience that a shitty iPhone camera could only misrepresent. It would be like trying to recreate Michelangelo's La Pieta with a handful of Legos. However, her excellent music video for "Triangle Walks" showcases a lot of the stage theatrics quite well: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5mFPI2urbw.

What almost gets overshadowed a bit is the music, but that's only due to the utter uniqueness of the performance itself. The music was dark and brooding and massive and claustrophobic and cavernous and oppressive. It translated beautifully from the record to the stage, and I could imagine no better visual accompaniment than what was performed. The whole thing was just perfect. And I risk no hyperbole in making that statement.

I'm spent. G'night.

Light 26 Candles for The Squish

Yeah, I'll be twentyfreakingsix Friday. I don't really think it bothers me, and I'm not going to pretend it does. Well, I'll milk it a bit for sympathetic eyes and free drinks or whatever, but I promise not to overdo it.

Birthday plans include post-work drinks at Ye Olde Towne Tap(e) here in the 'burbs, greasy pizza from next door, a group outing to The Invention of Lying, followed by... well, more drinking I imagine.

The movie was written by and stars Ricky Gervais, of the UK's The Office... "Or as we call it in the UK, The Office (Ricky on Conan)." I've also just recently completely lost my shit over his array of brilliant podcasts, starring himself, his often-times cowriter and gangly looking weirdo Stephen Merchant, and... Karl Pilkington - "A man with no education, no qualifications, and a head like a fahkin orange!" I'll put it like this: if you're unfamiliar with "Monkey News" your life up to this point has been an utter waste.

Saturday's night-cap will be held at The Metro for my most anticipated show since, jesus, Tom Waits? Jesus... Tom Waits. Jesus: Tom Waits. Jesus = Tom Waits. Jesus (is less than) Tom Waits. Okay I'll stop.

Yes, Fever Ray brings its dark, cavernous brand of haunting dancetronica to Chicago for the first time EVAR and I get to be there. Fever Ray is the solo project of this girl, Karin... something or other. She's 1/2 of Swedish electronic bro/sis group The Knife. Well, I think they're Swedish. I'm not going to research it for you. That's what google is for when I'm too "busy" at work to back up my claims. Incidentally, the reason the group split was so the brother could either spread or cure swine flu.

Here's a music video. I guess some people still make them. Actually, I'm just going to put a cool fan-made vid here. But there are interesting live and official ones floating about if you're really interested.

Blogging from the Balcony

I'm all settled in my new pad, and having just acquired some free balcony furniture from a fine workie friend, I'm chillaxing on that badboy right now. For the last 45 minutes or so I've been chatting on the interweb by candle light with Lindstrom & Prins Thomas's II on the stereo.

I think this moment may also represent the proverbial calm before the storm. I've decided to warm my new digs with a party Saturday night, and I think my guest list is getting a bit more bloated than I'd originally anticipated. The burbs and the city collide in the south loop this weekend. This should be interesting.

I just hope we all play nice when it's time to take turns hurling in the one toilet I have.

I'm also looking forward to getting some good old fashioned foosball going. My old partner in foos from the high school/college days will be here, so this house warming party may feature the return to prominence of the Foozball Freakz. The last time this team participated competitively in tournament play, we went undefeated. Of course, we set up, hosted, seeded, and purchased prizes for the thing with university funds. That all may or may not have been fair.

"Elvis didn't expectorate on his fans!"

"Yeah, but he died on the toilet..."

Last week I happened into a large amount of store credit for Fry's electronics. This was actually the result of connected events, beginning with my purchase of flat, adhesive-backed speaker wire last month, the failure of that speaker wire to work in any sense of the word, which led to my decision to return the crap, letting it sit in my trunk for several weeks, and, finally, returning it 32 days after the date of purchase. No cash refund for me. The silver lining here is that with $80 in store credit, was able to splurge on something I've wanted for a long time: Freaks and Geeks: The Complete Series.

So, needless to say, this relatively lazy weekend was spent primarily watching the aforementioned brilliant and tragically, prematurely ended series with some Madmen and Flight of the Concords thrown in there for good measure. The reason my weekend was lazy was definitely a personal choice. I didn't get home from the burbs (volleyball and drinking) until the after dawn Saturday morning, due to two flat tires and a ride in a tow truck, making me pissy and $320 dollars poorer. I did manage to score free tickets to watch the Sox lose Sunday. Yay.

I also wilfully skipped all Lollapalooza related fanfare, but managed to stay updated on all the awesomeness I was missing thanks to bastard friends texting me and Diplo's incessant but awesome Twitter updates.

My two favorite Diplotweets: "Coheed n cambria need 2 lighten up" and "Festivals are always tuff but that breez I jus felt while peein behind production tent was kinda makin it all worth it."

Oh, and the quoted convo at the top of the post is from F&G Episode 2, as the Weir children argue with their father over the artistic merit of the Sex Pistols spitting on fans from the stage.

She Had Them Apple Bottom Jeans...

So how bored was I at work yesterday? On the most fleeting of thoughts, I immediately went to a firewall-friendly music download service and got me some Flo Rida, Usher, and Lil Jon. That's right, daddy wanted him some club-hop, so daddy got him some club-hop.

And, speaking of getting low, low, low, low a couple 'burban friends came down town a bit ago and stopped by for some cigars and margaritas, aaaaaand I somehow ended up on the dance floor at Lalo's. I will say I was on point with my entire arsenal of killer moves, and capped off a particularly furious combo with the hands-on-the-knees, descending booty roll, which I'm confident went over like gangbusters. Then some little Latina thing with a slinky blue dress and a giant man-friend rocked the same freaking move, got way freaking lower, and potentially looked 3 times hotter than me.

I was fully prepared to pass off the copy-cat act as pure coincidence. That mindset was difficult to maintain after she immediately pointed at me and laughed. FML.

Weekend Warriors and an OK Invasion

So, I just moved into my new place, and I've still got boxes and clothes everywhere. I have a giant painting to hang, surround speakers to mount, and still need to construct a shelving unit, a lamp, and a foosball table. I am also still rocking an air mattress, have no bedroom furniture to speak of, and my dining area is severely lacking... well... a dining table. You'd think the weekend would be a perfect time to take care of most of this stuff.

Not this weekend. Enter the twin bill madness of the Warrior Dash and the Pitchfork Music Festival.

Most of the three of you who will read this know I'm a music geek. And most of the three of you who will read this are also music geeks, so P4K Music Fest is a known event which requires no introduction. This year's festival was so fucking great, which was actually a surprise to me. I think it was particularly great because though there were fewer amazing bands, it allowed for a more casual viewing experience, and I didn't have to stress about which awesome band I was missing to watch some other awesome band. I had exactly one regret about the three day deal, and that was being a bit late to the will call line Friday evening. I heard Yo La Tengo start to tear it up on the A stage, and, before I had my tickets in hand? The sweet opening chords to my freaking fave YLT track, "Autumn Sweater."

Shit happens.

Saturday morning I found myself in Joliet partaking in the Warrior Dash, a 3.75 mile race featuring obstacles such as Junkyard Jam, Leg Breaker Leaps, Muddy Mayhem, and the Warrior Roast. I sustained few injuries, but did end up completely covered in mud and shoeless in a suburban Wendy's for breakfast circa 10:30 AM.

The Warrior Roast

The victorious few. We honor the dead with our medals... and bananas.

The rest of the weekend belonged to Pitchfork. I saw Yo La Tengo, Built to Spill, Fucked Up, The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, DOOM, Lindstrom, Matt & Kim, The National, The Mae Shi, Blitzen Trapper, The Thermals, M83, and The Flaming Fucking Lips from Oklafuckinghoma. The two best performances probably belonged to The National and the FLips, with my vote for most fun/energetic show going to Matt & Kim.

Also, side props to Fucked Up's guitarists for stage diving whilst continuing to rock the power chords, Lindstrom and M83 for clubbing up their atmospheric electro for the festival crowds, The Thermals for covering Sonic Youth's "100%" and Green Day's "Basket Case," and Goose Island for making a fantastic IPA.

Fucked Up

The National

Wayne Coyne, frontman for the Flaming Lips rolling around the crowd in a giant ball

The Flaming Lips closing with "Do You Realize?"

Some Fourth of July Madness

My 4th wasn't too exciting, really. I spent the vast majority of it moving into a new apartment near the University of Illinois-Chicago (UIC). It's about a mile southwest of the loop, but it's quieter, trains don't wage war on my fragile eardrums every five minutes, and, most importantly, I have a parking spot to call my own. There's really no way to accurately express how much that means to me.

Anyway, I did manage to have a bit of fun in the 'burbs with some workies. I'm talking Naperville Ribfest 2009, y'all. Surprisingly, it kicked the living crap out of the Taste of Chicago, which was simulcasting in the Chi's Grant Park. Highlights included beer, ribs, and some country artist covering Dolly Parton's "Jolene," which was good enough for me to say "That's not bad," but not good enough to keep me from saying "Man, I want to hear the White Stripes version" or to keep me from bailing halfway through to pwn a portalav.

I should note for potential copyright purposes that the vast majority of these photos were taken by a collegue of mine, whose credentials are available upon request.

Behold the tent of the festival's top purveyor of pork meat.

I had issues spilling my vital fluids, so I had to take matters into my own hands.

Hey ladies!

I thwarted this cadre of 12 year olds looking for donations. Chief was not so lucky.

I think this is going to be my pose. Like Zoolander's Blue Steel, but much less versatile.

Sucking it in after dominance of all things greasy and delicious.

I vaguely remember doing this, but have no recollection why...

Yeah, so... found these on the ground...

Having fun at the after party!

I don't remember if that's beer or water in the cup. But I do know that's a Great Dane on my lap. The End.

Kinzie Street Gaggle Crossing

So I was walking back to my place from the River North Sports Authority when I came across a strange traffic jam. The Kinzie St. bridge was backed up in both directions. Upon closer inspection, I observed a couple of dudes standing in the middle of the road coaxing two geese and their ridiculous amount of chicks out of harms way.

These brave men were unsuccessful for a solid minute or two, but the retarded birds did eventually decide to head for the water.

I didn't have my camera, unfortunately, and the above image is an approximation of what the chicks would have looked like if half of them were hanging out in a sunny pond area somewhere. I'm blogging about this crap because this was the first traffic jam in the city I've ever witnessed that did not feature a single honked horn.

Traffic backs up because of pedestrians in the crosswalk? *HOOOOOOOOOONK!!!!1!*

Traffic backs up because of cute little goose chiclets? "Aww...."

The Death of a Blog...

It happens every day. I fear it's happening here. Buuuuuuuuut I'm just going to chalk up my recent lack of blogging to traveling and being busier at work and having my brother visit this weekened and blah blah blah.

I'm going to Europe on Friday for 16 days. Upon my return, this blog will experience a deluge of activity... and will most likely die properly shortly thereafter.

Oh, additionally, I'm considering putting together a mix CD for my travel crew. You know, sort of traveling music or something. So far I'm thinking...

Iggy Pop - The Passenger
Kraftwerk - Trans Europe Express
Radiohead - Airbag or The Tourist
Neutral Milk Hotel - In the Aeroplane Over the Sea
MxPx - Southbound (oh yes, I went there)
Tom Waits - Downtown Train maybe? I don't know
Bob Dylan - It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry

Anyway, that's basically just of the top of me ole noggin. Suggestions are quite welcome. Until next time...

Karaoke Night Videos

For some reason, I can't upload these to Facebook. Screw you, Facebook! I will display my videos here! No, you had your chance, sorry. So stop the calling, the long voicemails, the late night texting, the notes beneath my windshield wipers, the sappy JumboTron messages. It's over.

So, this was a birthday party populated by many of my non-old-ass coworkers. Like many of my favorite such parties, I was not required to buy presents or drinks for the birthday girl.

And the obligatory Queen sing-along, or, as I like to call it, BP's Finest Destroying Queen's Finest.

It was a fun way to spend a Friday night in the 'burbs. I was promised that the next such shindig will take place in Chicago proper. Hopefully I'll be able to grab more embarrassing situations on digital media.

In these times of economic uncertainty, it's a good strategy to have as much dirt on your coworkers as possible.

Blogging on the Weekend

I never blog weekends. Here's a picture I took with my new camera.

Here you see Paul and my bikes and helmets in front of my living room window. I just noticed this morning that the helmets appear to be locking horns, like if cyclists went head-to-head in the Monday Night Football intro video.

Here's a pic I took with my old camera of my new watch.

I got it from TokyoFlash.com. I oftentimes enjoy scrolling through the new watches and play a little game wherein I attempt to figure out how to tell the time without looking through the user manuals.

It's the hardest game ever.

These watches are really more conversation pieces than time pieces. I've had this thing for more than a month, and I think I've accessed it for the purpose of telling time approximately thrice. I just like the fact that between 6pm and 1am the whole face lights up in a spiral pattern every two minutes. Kind of annoying in a movie theater, but pretty cool at parties.

Oh, I just beat Braid this weekend.

It's a short little downloadable arcade game on XBL. It's like Super Mario Bros. meets Donkey Kong meets Prince of Persia: Sands of Time meets assorted hallucinogenic substances. It's not often I finish a game and feel the need to read a plot analysis in an attempt to come to terms with what the hell just happened.

Luckily for non-Xbox types there's a PC version coming out soon for $15. It's incredibly worth it. Braid is the most rewarding and enjoyable puzzle game / platformer I've played since Portal.

The Memory Assassin

Don't drink this. Ever.

I woke up Sunday morning warmly enveloped in that haze. My eyes were closed, and, initially, I felt quite comfortable. There seemed to be a soft, natural light warmly decending upon my eyelids, and I had a blanket and a soft place to lay my head. But something was wrong. It started to come to me, slowly at first: pain which led to mystery; mystery replaced by recognition; recognition fading into a general state of confusion, and all finally blending into an unholy cesspool of everything at once.

The headache and stomach pain were my first clues. Then I forced my eyelids apart and gazed down my right arm to an orange colored paper wristband. "Oh yeah, I went bowling last night..." I then looked to my left to see my glasses on the cushion of my friend's couch. "Wait, why am I on my friend's couch? Who covered me with this blanket? What time is it?"

I felt like Jason Bourne, except instead of inexplicably recalling bits and pieces of how to whup somebody's ass I recounted slurring my way through a transaction at the University Village 7-11. Visions of chocolate-covered strawberries, a table full of shot glasses, a dropped case of 312 Lager in the middle of Halstead Street, and MIA's "Paper Planes" on repeat flirted with legitimate remembrance, though all brutally divorced from chronology and context.

"And why the hell is there blood on my knuckles?!"

I blame the rice wine. It tastes terrible, it smells terrible, and the only Western language characters printed on the bottle are as follows: 67% ABV. I hold this ninja assassin of the grey matter completely responsible for my patchwork memory and the last hour or so before I passed out... of which I remember nothing. We're talking zero Kelvin, folks. As absolute as scientifically possible.

Apperently people went home and cops came knocking, all after I exited stage left. I am told I didn't do anything stupid. My Sunday spent in recovery begs to differ.

Here's to the greatest friends, comfy couches, and never truly growing up.

God, I Love This City...

Parking in Chicago sucks.

A couple of years back, when I was interested in buying a condo here, downtown Chicago introduced me to the wonderful world of the $35,000 parking spot. These babies typically require a separate freaking mortgage on top of the already borderline extortionate dough you put down for the condo itself. I mean, just to park in an attended parking lot, you'll pay anywhere from $165 - $200 minimum. And we're not talking multi-story, valet serviced garages here. We're talking Old Man Jackson packing your car into a sardine can of an open-air gravel lot a few feet from the railroad.

Screw. That.

As an epic cheapass, I find it's more worth my time and effort to park five blocks away on a side-street buttressed by a grocer and a chocolate factory than to actually, you know, pay to park. This outlook has been tested in the past: two slashed tires; an unfortunate incident involving sheet metal and four stories' worth of gravity; a myriad of parking "violations" including what I regard as a monthly, $25 Illegally Tinted Windows recurring charge.

However, nothing compares to this act of douchebaggery:

That's right, I have been robbed. It's actually sort of my fault, if I honestly want to play the "what if" game. I left town for a couple of days on business, and decided against taking my car to the airport. In an effort to save my fiscally concerned employer some Benjamins, I rode the train like any self-respecting Al Gore enthusiast would, leaving my poor little Mazda3 to the mercy of Kinzie Street hooligans.

On top of that, I happened to leave the bracket for my GPS hooked up to my windshield. I suppose that's sort of a dead giveaway that I've got one. You'd think being clever and hiding the device in the last place anyone would look, my center console, would have foiled any actual robbery attempt.

So my GPS is gone, my passenger-side rear window is gone, and they even took my little iPod RF transmitter that lets me listen to static-laced mp3s through the radio! Luckily, a few of my possessions were deemed unworthy of theft. My Dragon frisbee golf disc (it floats!), some Wu-Tang Clan CDs, a basketball, a snow shovel, and my I-Pass all remain.

I guess I have to look at it this way: even if it costs me $200 to replace my defiantly tinted window, and I'm out a $300 GPS device, I would have spent that much on less than 3 months of semi-protected parking.

Chicago, I love you, but you're bringing me down. You know I want your lovin', but honey why are you so hard?