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.
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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.

I Blame Twitter

I mean, seriously, it's just so much easier to micro-blog than to formulate something requiring actual thought. This post may contain nothing worthwhile, but I feel like I have to meet a one-blog-a-month quota or something. Like how Jay-Z puts out an album a year even if he has nothing interesting to say.

Speaking of which, have you heard The Blueprint 3? I've heard the vast majority of it. And I've listened to the first 4 or 5 tracks many many times. The reason for that is, after about 15-20 minutes, I develop this unbearable desire to listen to Hova's good shit. Enter Reasonable Doubt, The Blueprint (1), and/or The Black Album.

It's unfortunate that BP3 doesn't get it done, because it is pretty sonically badass. I mean, Jay is rapping over some pretty strange beats. It reminds me of Clipse's second record, where they reportedly told the Neptunes to just bring in the weirdest shit they had on their Macbooks or whatever. Some may argue that Clipse has little to say apart from how gangsta Virginia is or how much weight they push, but at least they sound interest-ing/ed over the Neptune's more left-field beats. Jay-Z sounds like he forgot what he's supposed to be doing with a mic.

Danger Mouse should just mash up Jay's classic rhymes with BP3. That thing would eclipse The Gray Album for album-length mash-up nirvana. But one thing I can thank BP3 for is bringing my appreciation of classic Jay-Z up to appropriate levels of adulation. I've had a pretty love/hate relationship with his back catalog, most specifically with The Black Album. I have downloaded and deleted this record at least three times in recent memory. I'd dig the production and a lot of the songs, but I'd slowly tire of all the self-love. The crowds chanting 'HOVA! HOVA!' near the end of "What More Can I Say" or sound bites of his mom expounding on how the 10 lbs. wunderkind exited her birth canal like angel breath on "December 4th." It was enough to make me sick to the point where I'd lose my shit after about a month or so and get rid of the whole thing.

But, invariably, I'd get that itch to hear "Dirt Off Your Shoulder" and "99 Problems" again, and I'd come crawling back. I'm such a bitch, i.e. not one of Jay-Z's problems.

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.

Procrastination Station

I'm supposed to be writing a technical specification for my boss. He told me I needed to have it in draft form by Monday. He told me this last Friday. I have spent a grand total of five minutes staring at the file over the last week. The rest of the time, I've been listening to the Japandroids.

Except for yesterday. Yesterday I wasted on crunk and The Hype Machine. I think this is possibly my new favorite website. I guess it logs all new tracks (originals, mashups, remixes, etc.) posted on blogs around the interweb, and sort of has them listed by popularity and genre and how many times they've been tweeted and whatever the hell else. It's how I went from Florence and the Machine's "Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up) (P.E.S.T. Remix)" to "Jay-Z vs. Jimi Hendrix - Voodoo Problems (TimG Mash)" in just three moves.

It's also where I found Daft Punk's "Tron Legacy Theme," which reminded me of three things: 1. Daft Punk fucking rules 2. Tr2n is currently in production 3. Daft Punk is doing the soundtrack and will possibly tour behind it.

I am the fool that missed Daft Punk's Lollapalooza performance a few years back on the Alive tour and has never forgiven himself. Daft Punk tracks/shows just feel like Tron. But it'll be hard to top the pyramid...

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?"

Why Am I Still Awake?

I'M an asshole?! Fuck YOU!!

So that's my latest idea for a mixtape. All time, great breakup songs of the jilted love, screwed over, threatened repurcussions variety. Believe it or not, this has not in any way been influenced by a specific event in my past, but by a mind adrift during hour 7 of my Tulsa to Chicago drive today. I was just yelping along with the 13th Floor Elevators' "You're Gonna Miss Me" and a wave came over me.

Like I said, it's not personal... yet. But I do feel it's always good to plan for the future. You never know when some chick is really gonna give you the business. Other candidates for probable inclusion thus far are "Kiss Off" by the Violent Femmes and Bob Dylan's "Don't Think Twice (It's Alright)" or maybe "Just Like a Woman." I'm too tired to mine iTunes or my frizzled memory right now, so I'll leave it there til tomorrow. Or forever.

Oh, and all great suggestions are welcome. I think the probability of my mixtapes coming to fruition are directly proportional to the feedback I receive. Mostly in person, but bloggy comments couldn't hurt.

Sooooo, Tulsa was good and crazy. Again. I swear, that town has turned into my sanity's worst enemy. Something about the combination of old friends, a brother who's a giant, partying, tank of a man, having to stay at my mom's house, and a lack of public transportation make T-Town bar crawling an almost terrifying experience. In a good way. If that's possible.

Oh, and here's some unbelievably adorable pics of my niece, courtesy of my iPhone.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Tonight, I boldly go where I've never gone before. My relatively flexible itinerary for the next two weeks? London, Paris, Berlin, Prague, Venice, Florence, Rome, London, Chicago.

And here's the final tracklist for my Eurotrip Mix:

1. M.I.A. - Paper Planes
2. The Clash - London Calling
3. Kraftwerk - Trans Europe Express
4. Iggy Pop - The Passenger
5. The Meat Puppets - Plateau
6. The Kinks - This Time Tomorrow
7. Harry Nilsson - Jump Into the Fire
8. Thievery Corporation - Lebanese Blonde
9. Daft Punk - Around the World
10. LCD Soundsystem - Losing My Edge
11. The Modern Lovers - Pablo Picasso
12. Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band - Zig Zag Wanderer
13. The Liars - Plaster Casts of Everything
14. The Hot Snakes - LAX
15. Bonnie 'Prince' Billy - Madeleine-Mary
16. Nick Drake - Road
17. Tom Waits - Diamonds & Gold
18. The Magnetic Fields - World Love
19. Neutral Milk Hotel - In the Aeroplane Over the Sea
20. Radiohead - Pyramid Song

Lastly, I feel compelled to post a link to the greatest accessory a working professional could ever hope to carry: the business card made from meat.

My favorite quote: "THESE business cards have two ingredients: MEAT AND LASERS."

Cheers! Adieu! Tschus! Sbohem! Ciao! Bu-bye!

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...

Nordaggio's on a Friday Morning

I'm back in Tulsa for a few days. My new boss told me if I worked on Friday I shouldn't take a vacation day. So, here I am, at a yuppie coffee shop, drinking the last of the African Storm blend from the now empty pot, listening to the Go-Go's, and, yes, blogging.

And what should I be doing? Calculating storage tank bottom corrosion rates, reviewing robotic in-service ultrasonic inspection validation papers, closing a plethora of completed facility integrity projects, finishing up a hydrotest procedure, and moving forward with some other crap involving the Texas Rail Road Commission.

If I had any intention of making actual progress on ANY of the aforementioned, I probably shouldn't have gone drinking with my recently 21'd little brother and some old friends from the university last night.

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.

I Read a Book!!

I just read a mostly brilliant book by Jeff Chang entitled Can't Stop Won't Stop: A History of the Hip-Hop Generation. It came out a few years ago with a decent level of fanfare, but I only decided to read it quite recently. Luckily, after a camera retrieval mission brought me back to the Steppenwolf Theatre in Lincoln Park, I deigned to enter the nearby Borders Bookstore on North Ave in search of my book. It was at least the 8th bookstore at which I attempted to purchase the damn thing, and, wut-wut, they had a single copy on the shelf.

Yoink!

Although I'm a relatively recent convert (maybe within the last five or six years), I love hip-hop. I can, and do, enjoy old school to crunk, backpacker to gangster, indie to multiplat, and most everything in between. Unless it sucks. I do have a low tolerance for suck. And a high tolerance for this.

Anyway, this book does a fantastic job at chronicling hip-hop's true beginnings in Jamaica (really?) and Brooklyn, its troubled rise to mainstream acceptance, and subsequent exploitation. The music is obviously a big part of it, but I really consider this to be An Urban People's History of the United States. Chang goes relatively in-depth on governmental abandonment of the inner city, racism, gangs, drugs, and the three primary ingredients to the culture: music, art, and dance.

I've already been needlessly verbose. If any of the above interests you in the least, check out the book. Anyone who likes things that are unassailably badass should check out this video.

Jon Steward vs. CNBC Part... I dunno, this is turning into a war.

I'm just going to post a link here. The premise: Jim Cramer of CNBC's "Mad Money" guests on Jon Stewart's "Daily Show." The interview went well over the allotted time, so Comedy Central posted the entire, unedited segment in three parts. As I said a couple of posts ago, Stewart has taken down "news" programs before. Could an entire network be next?

The Interview

I'm not really going to go into specifics here, but there's something genuinely awe inspiring about a relatively quiet talk show host humbling guys like this in front of a national audience. The neo-righties get the vein/pill popping Rush Limbaugh, and the rest of get spoken to like adults.

I don't think this is an attempt on Stewart's part to garner more exposure for himself, but to actually affect change in the most visible of areas. I don't doubt his sincerity. Given some time, I'm interested to see if this gets any real traction.

If Bob Dylan was the voice of his generation, and we somehow got assigned Kanye West, where can I vote for Jon Stewart?

Official Oklahoma Rock Song

In times of world economic meltdown it's nice to hear that Oklahoma's legislature devoted part of its 2008 session to approve House Concurrent Resolution 1047: a selection process for the official state rock song. And the winner is... The Flaming Lips' "Do You Realize?"!!!

Since I'm basically a native Oklahoman, I'm required to like, nay, LOVE the Flaming Lips. They could make uniformly unlistenable albums and trippy, holiday-themed, Martian rock-operas for the next ten years and I'd still stand in a teeming crowd of tweens for two hours, squeeling with glee at every giant, glitter stuffed ball Wayne Coyne pops with his ridiculous guitar. They are that awesome.

This is an Oklahoma band who absolutely love playing in Oklahoma, adored by huge hometown, Oklahoma crowds. I can think of no better musical representative for the state.

I'm also hugely impressed/surprised by the fact that over half the Oklahomans who voted on the 10 finalists went with the Lips' "Do You Realize?" when All-American Rejects' "Move Along" had somehow made the cut. Victory!!

The Pitchfork 500

Ah, Pitchfork. The indie-music site every hipster (myself included) loves to hate. I mean, say what you want about how pretentious or self-aware the writing is, how they tend to use reviews primarily as a platform upon which to display their obscure knowledge of all things underground/pop-culture, or how ass backwards it seems to assign numeric values to one's enjoyment of an art form. Hell, I say that shit all the time.

But we still go back for more, day after day, right? It is the best place I've found for all things indie. I'm also a lot lazier about this stuff than I was in college. Oh man, I used to LOVE Stylus before they went the way of the buffalo a couple years back. And I still remember hitting up about 2 shows every week Freshman year...

Anyway, P4K recently released a monstrosity of a book entitled The Pitchfork 500: Our Guide to the Greatest Songs from Punk to the Present.

Holy crap.

I'm not going to debate the inclusion/exclusion of songs on this list for several reasons (not the least of which being I can't begin to compete with a collective of music aficionados who do this stuff for a living), but, seriously, Kelly Clarkson? I know Bob Dylan's '80s stuff is, err, questionable, but "Since U Been Gone" over "Love Sick" or "Cold Irons Bound" or "Thunder on the Mountain" or... I don't know, ANYTHING, strikes me as a bit disingenuous.

Anyway, I have little interest in reading the book, but I did manage to get my hands on all 500 mp3s (don't ask: I'm being watched). Divorced from having to read why someone thinks the tracks are great is actually pretty awesome, providing moments of "whoa, nice" and "WTF?!" in equal measure.

Here's the song list from a random blog.

I'm a little over halfway through the 1977-1979 portion right now.

As a curiosity, how many of these songs have you heard? How many of the bands do you know? I'll tell if you do.

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?

5:18 AM...

...and I've been watching Nadal v. Federer in the Australian Open since about 4 this morning. A couple of things:

1. These guys are good.

2. I wish I could wear shorts and a tee right now.

I'm honestly not certain how I managed to do so in retrospect, but I fell asleep last night with Lil' Wayne's Tha Carter III on my iPod. That man is just... jesus, he's just batshit crazy. I just can't help watching this video without thinking to myself "I hope Weezy doesn't stab Katie Couric off camera."