Crunchy peanut butter will forever and always reign supreme over smooth peanut butter. I cannot fathom why someone would ever choose the latter. Skippy now has an "extra crunchy" choice, which is both genius and fantastic. I don't know about you, but I prefer dynamic over stasis any day of the week. It's like pussing out and going to the second-rate after-prom party. Sure, you know everyone and it's an okay time. Maybe a couple of people even get a little drunk. But you're missing the Can't Hardly Wait party where Jennifer Love Hewitt's strutting around looking for you and people are vomiting in the swimming pool and fucking in the bathroom.
What was I thinking buying a bunch of size small t-shirts and other random forms of cotton from American Apparel when I worked there? It seemed like a good idea at the time because I was a slim lad, but now I prefer the comfort of a medium. So I have all this discarded cotton in my closet that I can't imagine wearing again. Time for another trip to Buffalo Exchange. Also, I may slightly regret my past fixation with v-necks. Not yet, but maybe soon.
There are those that say they'd work even if they had money coming out of their assholes. I'm sorry, but if I were rich I wouldn't be working. If there's one thing I learned from my recent two week vacation it's this: Sure, you can get bored from time to time without a job or profession, but it's still a lot better than working.
In essence, there's really nothing on TV but sports, re-runs of Seinfeld, and solid Eddie Murphy flicks, such as Trading Places and Coming to America. What else is there to watch? Please don't recommend any HBO programs, rich shitbags.
Brett Favre will return to football because he is the Antichrist, and he wants to steal the public's collective attention so that he can piss all over it and hand it back to them. I used to just think he was the Devil, but I feel like the Antichrist would be a little bit more cunning and sneaky in the process of making you miserable. He makes you feel like he's your friend and pal until he pulls down your bathing suit trunks in the middle of the after-prom Can't Hardly Wait party with Jennifer Love Hewitt looking on. What a bastard.
I'll be in Cincinnati for the 4th of July. This is a recent development but is making me more and more excited as the time nears. My weekend will consist of the Northside Festival and watching Billy's brother and family shoot off $3,000 worth of fireworks. I did both of these activities last year, and I have to say that I would try again and again. For the next blog post, I'm actually hoping to photo document my 4th of July journey to Cincinnati. We'll see if that happens. Stay tuned.
I didn't ride my bike for four days straight. It was totally pissed at me. I played tourist for the weekend to my mom and stepdad (a fun yet exhausting and draining endeavor), and therefore spent way too much time on the train. My bike missed me, and I missed it. We made up.
Who the fuck is this Jon and Kate, and why is everyone all of the sudden so interested in their well-being or lack thereof? I'm sorry, but if you have eight kids, you deserve to be a little miserable. Are they getting divorced? What do you think put a strain on the marriage? Give me two boys, born two years apart. I can teach them how to play sports, give them pointers on the opposite sex (or not at all), and watch movies with explosions and decapitations.
I recently moved from a rather large office to a cubicle. My job is reorganizing its floor plan, so I really had no choice in the matter. Aside from missing my window that looked out onto a parking garage, the move isn't really bothering me because I generally prefer feeling cozy and secure in my immediate environment.
I hate the word "cozy" but it often seems like the most appropriate choice.
Working for an alt-weekly is peppered with perks, and the best one is the holy, blessed press pass. I just went to a $20 beer tasting for free and was able to sample new beers from Great Lakes, Flying Dog, Breckenridge (damn, I love you vanilla stout), and several others. Plus, you feel important and shit.
What's up with the wonky weather this "summer?" I'm wearing a flannel and jeans on July 1st. Listen here, Weather, I suffered through your winter and dealt with another year without a spring. Now, give me the fucking summer or I'm going to be forced to slaughter a goat as a sacrifice to the almighty weather deities.
Speaking of slaughtering goats (which I often do), Drag Me to Hell was a fantastically campy and wildly entertaining movie. I saw it by myself at Logan Square Theater ($4 movies) on a Tuesday afternoon during my recent vacation. I used to be a puss about going to shit by myself, but thankfully I'm getting over it. That's right, I'm 28.
That's good enough . . .
And here's my patented semi-sporadic, semi-regular list of shit I'm currently listening to:
Future of the Left - Travels With Myself and Another
Tortoise - Beacons of Ancestorship
Deer Tick - Born on Flag Day
Chain & the Gang - Down With Liberty . . . Up With Chains!
Japandroids - Post-Nothing
Monday, June 29, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
Trips.
It's been far too long since my last post, but I have a good excuse. I was in cars and planes for what seemed to be an eternity. Let's map this shit out. On Saturday morning (6/6), I found out my grandfather had passed away on my mom's side. He had extremely advanced Alzheimer's, and we were expecting this, but it still blows balls. Anyway, I had scheduled a vacation to visit Russell the Love Muscle in D.C. on Thursday (6/11). So, I went into work on Sunday for like nine hours (I don't know if there's a more helpless feeling then getting to work on a Sunday at 9:30 AM, sitting down in your office, and realizing you have to work) because my work deadlines changed due to the funeral.
After working for nine hours Sunday and then seeing my lover St. Vincent play at the Metro, I went into work at 9 AM Monday and worked until 8 PM. I then drove home, shoved food into my mouth, packed, and headed to Cincinnati. I got in at about 3 AM and promptly went to bed. The next morning, I hopped in the car with my stepdad at 8 AM and began the trek to Harlan, KY, which is about four and a half hours away. After the funeral, which ended around 8 PM, I ate Pizza Hut and basically went to bed (I'm obviously avoiding any sort of funeral details. Simply put - it fucking sucked). The next morning, I woke up at 9 AM for the burial, ate more Pizza Hut (Harlan doesn't have a heavily diverse food selection), and headed back to Cincinnati. I got in at 4:30 PM or so, fed my mom's dog, and drove back to Chicago, arriving around 9:30 PM on Wednesday night. On Thursday at 10:30 AM, I flew my tight ass out to DC.
So, that was the wildness of last week before I made my trip to visit Russ. It felt like a week crammed into two and a half days, and it wore me the fuck down. Luckily, I remained spry and virile enough to vacation in the nation's capital. When I arrived at the National airport in D.C., I became afraid that the plane had accidentally landed in Cincinnati. See, Chicago's weather has been a heaping pile of diarrhea lately, chocked full of rain, wind, crappy temperatures, and other bullshit that made it feel like the beginning of fall, as opposed to the beginning of summer. When I walked out of the airport, the stifling humidity of D.C. kicked me in the assdick. Not as bad as Cincinnati, but still tough shit. I was actually wearing a flannel at the time and had packed a jacket, amongst other sweatshirt-type materials. Needless to say, I'm an awful packer, and I suspect I always will be because I tend to overcompensate for everything all the time.
The trip was a damn solid time. I've driven through the capital on tour but never actually visited. Here are my lasting impressions and other highlights:
-D.C. traffic is just fucking terrible. Magda put it best when she said that the city never really decided whether it wanted to be considered a public transit city or a car city. It's caught in some sort of transportation identity limbo, and everyone is suffering because of it.
-The city as a whole is much more racially integrated than any Midwest city I've been to or lived in. This is a good thing, and I enjoyed the characteristic.
-The Nationals ballpark is less than exciting and really just not too fucking impressive. It was about as impressive as the Reds deciding to lose to the Nationals on my first day in town. Good job, shitbags.
-Russ should get a job as a professional smoker. He's fucking good at it and has taken it up a couple of notches in his quest for perfection. That boy knows how to smoke, and he does it a whole fucking lot. More than I've ever seen before.
-The Capitol Building and the White House are imposing buildings where important people do important work.
-There's a strange sense of southern hospitality about D.C. (I know, I know. The city's not in the "South," but that's my way of describing people who aren't rude shitbags, so suck it). Everyone I met was super fucking nice and hospitable beyond belief. I don't think I really saw too much of the scenester scene of the city, and maybe that's a good thing. I commiserated with late 20/early 30-something groups, and I appreciated them greatly. Being judgmental is for the birds.
-Shit's expensive.
-This may seem obvious to others, but I was way in to the multiple dialects being spoken on random street corners throughout the city. Must be all those damn embassies.
-Russ and I succeeded this weekend in stringing together as many obscenities and objectionable words as we could to make new exciting amalgamations. Examples include assdick (see above), slitcunt, fuckbitch, pussytwat, and so on.
-The Mexican restaurant we went to didn't have black beans. I question their authenticity, or just their intelligence in general. The weekend's food in general was pretty okay, and the city has a lack of brunch options. This is no good.
-I'm a big fan of hearing drug dealing stories and other crackhead themed tales.
-Dance parties that break out at 1 AM with twelve people on a tiny-ass patio will always rule.
-I didn't see Ian MacKaye or any other iconic D.C. musicians. Bummed.
-It felt poignant to be leaving the nation's capitol on the country's most heralded day. You guessed it, Flag Day.
All in all, I would try again. Recommended.
After working for nine hours Sunday and then seeing my lover St. Vincent play at the Metro, I went into work at 9 AM Monday and worked until 8 PM. I then drove home, shoved food into my mouth, packed, and headed to Cincinnati. I got in at about 3 AM and promptly went to bed. The next morning, I hopped in the car with my stepdad at 8 AM and began the trek to Harlan, KY, which is about four and a half hours away. After the funeral, which ended around 8 PM, I ate Pizza Hut and basically went to bed (I'm obviously avoiding any sort of funeral details. Simply put - it fucking sucked). The next morning, I woke up at 9 AM for the burial, ate more Pizza Hut (Harlan doesn't have a heavily diverse food selection), and headed back to Cincinnati. I got in at 4:30 PM or so, fed my mom's dog, and drove back to Chicago, arriving around 9:30 PM on Wednesday night. On Thursday at 10:30 AM, I flew my tight ass out to DC.
So, that was the wildness of last week before I made my trip to visit Russ. It felt like a week crammed into two and a half days, and it wore me the fuck down. Luckily, I remained spry and virile enough to vacation in the nation's capital. When I arrived at the National airport in D.C., I became afraid that the plane had accidentally landed in Cincinnati. See, Chicago's weather has been a heaping pile of diarrhea lately, chocked full of rain, wind, crappy temperatures, and other bullshit that made it feel like the beginning of fall, as opposed to the beginning of summer. When I walked out of the airport, the stifling humidity of D.C. kicked me in the assdick. Not as bad as Cincinnati, but still tough shit. I was actually wearing a flannel at the time and had packed a jacket, amongst other sweatshirt-type materials. Needless to say, I'm an awful packer, and I suspect I always will be because I tend to overcompensate for everything all the time.
The trip was a damn solid time. I've driven through the capital on tour but never actually visited. Here are my lasting impressions and other highlights:
-D.C. traffic is just fucking terrible. Magda put it best when she said that the city never really decided whether it wanted to be considered a public transit city or a car city. It's caught in some sort of transportation identity limbo, and everyone is suffering because of it.
-The city as a whole is much more racially integrated than any Midwest city I've been to or lived in. This is a good thing, and I enjoyed the characteristic.
-The Nationals ballpark is less than exciting and really just not too fucking impressive. It was about as impressive as the Reds deciding to lose to the Nationals on my first day in town. Good job, shitbags.
-Russ should get a job as a professional smoker. He's fucking good at it and has taken it up a couple of notches in his quest for perfection. That boy knows how to smoke, and he does it a whole fucking lot. More than I've ever seen before.
-The Capitol Building and the White House are imposing buildings where important people do important work.
-There's a strange sense of southern hospitality about D.C. (I know, I know. The city's not in the "South," but that's my way of describing people who aren't rude shitbags, so suck it). Everyone I met was super fucking nice and hospitable beyond belief. I don't think I really saw too much of the scenester scene of the city, and maybe that's a good thing. I commiserated with late 20/early 30-something groups, and I appreciated them greatly. Being judgmental is for the birds.
-Shit's expensive.
-This may seem obvious to others, but I was way in to the multiple dialects being spoken on random street corners throughout the city. Must be all those damn embassies.
-Russ and I succeeded this weekend in stringing together as many obscenities and objectionable words as we could to make new exciting amalgamations. Examples include assdick (see above), slitcunt, fuckbitch, pussytwat, and so on.
-The Mexican restaurant we went to didn't have black beans. I question their authenticity, or just their intelligence in general. The weekend's food in general was pretty okay, and the city has a lack of brunch options. This is no good.
-I'm a big fan of hearing drug dealing stories and other crackhead themed tales.
-Dance parties that break out at 1 AM with twelve people on a tiny-ass patio will always rule.
-I didn't see Ian MacKaye or any other iconic D.C. musicians. Bummed.
-It felt poignant to be leaving the nation's capitol on the country's most heralded day. You guessed it, Flag Day.
All in all, I would try again. Recommended.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Just a Little More Industrious.
My stepdad once told me that to become more industrious and handy, one must just throw himself or herself into a project. It's often a learned process and not some ingrained, instinctual trait.
Admittedly, I am by no means a handy person. I've always wanted to be. I like the feeling of accomplishment, especially one that involves tools and greasy hands. A couple of weeks ago, I set out to hang up several frames and posters in my room. Seems like a simple task, right? Wrong. See, I constantly second guess myself, which I'm trying to get better about. So, I ended up with one, two, and three misguided holes in the wall and crooked frames. Maybe it's all because I like using my cordless drill (a highly recommended and practical purchase), but it's really just because I'm not that adept at certain calculations. The whole project took me the better part of a day (hey, it was a lot of shit), and I did eventually get everything hanged correctly. But it made me take a step back and realize that I need to throw myself into a project, for the sake of confidence, if nothing else.
This is somewhat paralleling Justin's post from a few months back about installing a clutch in his truck (and we're all still very proud of you, Justin). However, Justin is inherently handier than I am because he grew up in the wilderness of northern California where he had to cut down trees, ford rivers, and hunt to survive. You know, just like in Oregon Trail. Anyway, I've never really been tested, and I grew up on the westside of Cincinnati with a silver spoon in my mouth (not really). So as one of my summer goals, I've set out to get this bastard of a moped running.
Some of you may remember me purchasing this thing back in '07, and I admit that it was probably not the wisest purchase I've ever made. First off, I bought it broken and not running, which is a big no no for someone who really had no knowledge of transportation and the steps needed to get it moving. Mopeds are relatively simple machines, so I should have initially just dove in myself (I had much more time in '07 and much less to do with my life) and started tinkering away with it. Of course, I relied on others to help me get the thing sputtering, which it did for a short time last year, however sad and pathetic it was. Well, it's back in an idle state again. So now, I'm determined to upgrade this thing to operational. Thus far, I'm actually somewhat pleased with my progress.
Basically the thing's got some wicked rust in the tank, and I'm taking the necessary steps to rid it of all the evil that lives inside. I've taken the carburetor off and apart and cleaned the fuck out of it. I've stripped the gas line and drained the ancient premix out of the tank. The next step is to de-rust. Obviously, that's the biggest step because the rust is what's clogging up the carb and causing it to run like garbage or just not run at all. Regardless, and I know this seems sad, I'm impressed and happy with myself for getting this far. I'm cautiously optimistic that I'm going to get the thing running by mid-June, and then I can go on to upgrade it cosmetically to the point where it looks like a semi-decent two-wheeled mode of transportation.
Hobbies are the best, and I do feel like I have my fair share already. But I wouldn't mind becoming some sort of an adolescent grease monkey because, as was stated before, who doesn't love the feeling of accomplishment that a couple of greasy, dirty hands brings? Since moving to Chicago, I've already gained a little bit of this feeling from what I've learned about bicycles themselves. I'm by no means as knowledgeable as Zach Thomas, nor do I think I ever will be. Cycling is more than a hobby to Zach, which I greatly respect. On the other hand, it is nice for me to know how to change a flat if need be.
Basically, I just want to feel like I don't need to refer to an "expert" with certain shit (cars, motorcycles, mopeds, bicycles). It'd be nice to have a facility that doesn't involve sports or Seinfeld trivia. It's obviously a practical skill to be able to maintain your particular modes of transportation, but for me, it'd feel a little more worthwhile. This is mainly because I would have taught myself through the painful (and I'm sure it'll be painful) process of trial and error. Here goes nothing.
It's been tough to listen to music recently because I've pretty much devoted my free time to working on this fucking moped and catching up on old Lost episodes in extreme anticipation of the sixth season (get into it, Justin). However, I have managed to fall in love with St. Vincent (yes, in that way) and gain a new found respect for ambient black metal.
St. Vincent - Actor
Wolves in the Throne Room - Black Cascade
Julie Doiron - I Can Wonder What You Did With Your Day
Transistor Transistor - Ruined Lives
Deer Tick - War Elephant
Admittedly, I am by no means a handy person. I've always wanted to be. I like the feeling of accomplishment, especially one that involves tools and greasy hands. A couple of weeks ago, I set out to hang up several frames and posters in my room. Seems like a simple task, right? Wrong. See, I constantly second guess myself, which I'm trying to get better about. So, I ended up with one, two, and three misguided holes in the wall and crooked frames. Maybe it's all because I like using my cordless drill (a highly recommended and practical purchase), but it's really just because I'm not that adept at certain calculations. The whole project took me the better part of a day (hey, it was a lot of shit), and I did eventually get everything hanged correctly. But it made me take a step back and realize that I need to throw myself into a project, for the sake of confidence, if nothing else.
This is somewhat paralleling Justin's post from a few months back about installing a clutch in his truck (and we're all still very proud of you, Justin). However, Justin is inherently handier than I am because he grew up in the wilderness of northern California where he had to cut down trees, ford rivers, and hunt to survive. You know, just like in Oregon Trail. Anyway, I've never really been tested, and I grew up on the westside of Cincinnati with a silver spoon in my mouth (not really). So as one of my summer goals, I've set out to get this bastard of a moped running.
Some of you may remember me purchasing this thing back in '07, and I admit that it was probably not the wisest purchase I've ever made. First off, I bought it broken and not running, which is a big no no for someone who really had no knowledge of transportation and the steps needed to get it moving. Mopeds are relatively simple machines, so I should have initially just dove in myself (I had much more time in '07 and much less to do with my life) and started tinkering away with it. Of course, I relied on others to help me get the thing sputtering, which it did for a short time last year, however sad and pathetic it was. Well, it's back in an idle state again. So now, I'm determined to upgrade this thing to operational. Thus far, I'm actually somewhat pleased with my progress.
Basically the thing's got some wicked rust in the tank, and I'm taking the necessary steps to rid it of all the evil that lives inside. I've taken the carburetor off and apart and cleaned the fuck out of it. I've stripped the gas line and drained the ancient premix out of the tank. The next step is to de-rust. Obviously, that's the biggest step because the rust is what's clogging up the carb and causing it to run like garbage or just not run at all. Regardless, and I know this seems sad, I'm impressed and happy with myself for getting this far. I'm cautiously optimistic that I'm going to get the thing running by mid-June, and then I can go on to upgrade it cosmetically to the point where it looks like a semi-decent two-wheeled mode of transportation.
Hobbies are the best, and I do feel like I have my fair share already. But I wouldn't mind becoming some sort of an adolescent grease monkey because, as was stated before, who doesn't love the feeling of accomplishment that a couple of greasy, dirty hands brings? Since moving to Chicago, I've already gained a little bit of this feeling from what I've learned about bicycles themselves. I'm by no means as knowledgeable as Zach Thomas, nor do I think I ever will be. Cycling is more than a hobby to Zach, which I greatly respect. On the other hand, it is nice for me to know how to change a flat if need be.
Basically, I just want to feel like I don't need to refer to an "expert" with certain shit (cars, motorcycles, mopeds, bicycles). It'd be nice to have a facility that doesn't involve sports or Seinfeld trivia. It's obviously a practical skill to be able to maintain your particular modes of transportation, but for me, it'd feel a little more worthwhile. This is mainly because I would have taught myself through the painful (and I'm sure it'll be painful) process of trial and error. Here goes nothing.
It's been tough to listen to music recently because I've pretty much devoted my free time to working on this fucking moped and catching up on old Lost episodes in extreme anticipation of the sixth season (get into it, Justin). However, I have managed to fall in love with St. Vincent (yes, in that way) and gain a new found respect for ambient black metal.
St. Vincent - Actor
Wolves in the Throne Room - Black Cascade
Julie Doiron - I Can Wonder What You Did With Your Day
Transistor Transistor - Ruined Lives
Deer Tick - War Elephant
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Upcoming.
Believe it or not, I've got a few things on tap for the Summer aside from drinking Mexican beers and showing off my pasty white legs in cut-off jean shorts.
At the end of the month (May 30th), I'm heading to the city of Milwaukee to catch a Reds vs. Brewers game. To many of you, this probably seems like a meaningless, ho-hum trip. However, I get excited with each subsequent ballpark I visit. During a ridiculously tumultuous trip to San Francisco in 2006, I went to AT&T Ballpark and caught a Giants vs. Braves (I think) game. Even though it was a game between two teams I could care less about and Bonds wasn't even playing (this was the year he was chasing the homerun record), it was an awesome ballpark and a damn good time. The garlic fries didn't hurt either. It actually almost made up for the overall terrible trip.
So, Milwaukee it is. I've only heard good things about the ballpark. Plus, I'm just interested to check out the city. Mid-major cities intrigue me for many reasons I can't explain, but I'm sure most of it has to do with the fact that I was born and raised in a mid-major city. Every city has its charm and interesting characteristics (yes, even you Detroit) if you're willing to search it out. Chicago's easy because there's a ton of shows, events, and shit to do here all the time. Not to say that's a bad thing. I initially had a negative view of Cleveland until I visited it on a regular basis back in '05. Great city if you're patient and optimistic enough to enjoy it.
On June 11th, I'm taking my first well deserved and lengthy vacation from the Reader. I'd feel like I was cheating myself if I didn't take some sort of trip, so I'm flying to visit Russell the Love Muscle in Washington, D.C. I've been through D.C. on tour but never actually stopped to give a shit about it. As if scheduled by God himself, I land at 1:05 PM and the Reds are playing the Nationals at 4:35 PM. How fucking great is that? Another ballpark down, even it is the Nationals. Hey, at least I can throw my voice out yelling at Dunn and all of the other discarded Reds rotting away on the Nationals bench. Man, I can't wait to yell at Dunn. I miss that so much.
I plan on being a wreck most of the trip and embarrassing Russ in the city that he lives. Actually, Russ was here not too long ago for work and we went to a bar I tend to frequent. Unsurprisingly (but not in a bad way), Russ took upon himself to get smashed on a Tuesday night, and I spent the rest of the night pleading with him to not to become the belligerently drunk Russ we all know and love. Believe it or not, I enjoy this process. It's a worthwhile nostalgic experience. Aside from all of the ballyhoo (nice word!) that is sure to ensue once I arrive, I'm also excited to shoot the shit with Obama and see how he's been doing since leaving Chicago.
The last weekend of June marks the arrival of my mom and stepdad. I mean, it's only taken them over a year to come on up. That's cool, though. I like my mom because I know she'll be excited even if we just piddle around the lobby of the Sears Tower and eat Pizza Hut buffet the entire trip. She's great like that. Unfortunately, I wanted to take my stpedad, who's a huge baseball fan, to Wrigley to watch the shitbag Cubs play a game, but they'll be out of town trying to act like they're not a fraud of a baseball club. So, I need some ideas of what to do with them. I've got a few already (architectural tour, Signature Room in the Hancock Tower, Shedd Aquarium), but one or two more wouldn't hurt. Plus, I don't know where to take them to eat because there just isn't a LaRosa's in Chicago. Regardless, I'm confident this'll be a good time because my mom and stepdad don't go on enough vacations, so I know they'll have a solid time one way or another. Plus, they'll be toast by like 9:30 PM, so I won't be kept away from my scandalous and outrageous weekend escapades (pfffftt).
The weekend of July 10th-12th will mark the annual camping trip with those I hold most dear, or just those that have yet to be utterly sick of me. Massive amounts of shitty food and awful beer will be consumed, and I will more than likely end up with some sort of wrenching stomach ache. I love the posse camping trips where everyone converges on a designated spot for a weekend of "Hey, we may not live near each other anymore, but we can and will still pull out the same humiliating jokes we've been badgering each other with for years." This is a great weekend and has become a much deserved tradition. Now, if we can just find a solid spot to do it this year. Last year, Indiana once again proved how much it sucks.
Pitchfork begins on July 17th and has a decent amount to live up to from last year. I was a decent wreck most of the time (thank you job perks) and actually couldn't hang on Sunday to see Spiritualized. If you are at all aware of my love for Jason Pierce and Spiritualized, then you can probably understand how much of a disaster I was. Regardless, festivals usually disappoint. I've come to accept this. However, last year was my first Pitchfork experience, and it was a delight for the most part because the afterparties and aftershows push it into a whole different realm of festival. I anticipate even more antics this year.
I have no doubt other occurrences will be peppered in, but truth be told, I can't plan past mid-July, so I'll just have to leave it at that. Chicago Summers dominate. That's what tends to happen when you have a three month window in which to cram all warm weather activities.
I didn't do this last post, but here is what I've been listening to lately:
Thee Oh Sees - Help
Trap Them - Seizures in Barren Praise
Papercuts - You Can Have What You Want
Black Flag - My War
Passion Pit - Manners
At the end of the month (May 30th), I'm heading to the city of Milwaukee to catch a Reds vs. Brewers game. To many of you, this probably seems like a meaningless, ho-hum trip. However, I get excited with each subsequent ballpark I visit. During a ridiculously tumultuous trip to San Francisco in 2006, I went to AT&T Ballpark and caught a Giants vs. Braves (I think) game. Even though it was a game between two teams I could care less about and Bonds wasn't even playing (this was the year he was chasing the homerun record), it was an awesome ballpark and a damn good time. The garlic fries didn't hurt either. It actually almost made up for the overall terrible trip.
So, Milwaukee it is. I've only heard good things about the ballpark. Plus, I'm just interested to check out the city. Mid-major cities intrigue me for many reasons I can't explain, but I'm sure most of it has to do with the fact that I was born and raised in a mid-major city. Every city has its charm and interesting characteristics (yes, even you Detroit) if you're willing to search it out. Chicago's easy because there's a ton of shows, events, and shit to do here all the time. Not to say that's a bad thing. I initially had a negative view of Cleveland until I visited it on a regular basis back in '05. Great city if you're patient and optimistic enough to enjoy it.
On June 11th, I'm taking my first well deserved and lengthy vacation from the Reader. I'd feel like I was cheating myself if I didn't take some sort of trip, so I'm flying to visit Russell the Love Muscle in Washington, D.C. I've been through D.C. on tour but never actually stopped to give a shit about it. As if scheduled by God himself, I land at 1:05 PM and the Reds are playing the Nationals at 4:35 PM. How fucking great is that? Another ballpark down, even it is the Nationals. Hey, at least I can throw my voice out yelling at Dunn and all of the other discarded Reds rotting away on the Nationals bench. Man, I can't wait to yell at Dunn. I miss that so much.
I plan on being a wreck most of the trip and embarrassing Russ in the city that he lives. Actually, Russ was here not too long ago for work and we went to a bar I tend to frequent. Unsurprisingly (but not in a bad way), Russ took upon himself to get smashed on a Tuesday night, and I spent the rest of the night pleading with him to not to become the belligerently drunk Russ we all know and love. Believe it or not, I enjoy this process. It's a worthwhile nostalgic experience. Aside from all of the ballyhoo (nice word!) that is sure to ensue once I arrive, I'm also excited to shoot the shit with Obama and see how he's been doing since leaving Chicago.
The last weekend of June marks the arrival of my mom and stepdad. I mean, it's only taken them over a year to come on up. That's cool, though. I like my mom because I know she'll be excited even if we just piddle around the lobby of the Sears Tower and eat Pizza Hut buffet the entire trip. She's great like that. Unfortunately, I wanted to take my stpedad, who's a huge baseball fan, to Wrigley to watch the shitbag Cubs play a game, but they'll be out of town trying to act like they're not a fraud of a baseball club. So, I need some ideas of what to do with them. I've got a few already (architectural tour, Signature Room in the Hancock Tower, Shedd Aquarium), but one or two more wouldn't hurt. Plus, I don't know where to take them to eat because there just isn't a LaRosa's in Chicago. Regardless, I'm confident this'll be a good time because my mom and stepdad don't go on enough vacations, so I know they'll have a solid time one way or another. Plus, they'll be toast by like 9:30 PM, so I won't be kept away from my scandalous and outrageous weekend escapades (pfffftt).
The weekend of July 10th-12th will mark the annual camping trip with those I hold most dear, or just those that have yet to be utterly sick of me. Massive amounts of shitty food and awful beer will be consumed, and I will more than likely end up with some sort of wrenching stomach ache. I love the posse camping trips where everyone converges on a designated spot for a weekend of "Hey, we may not live near each other anymore, but we can and will still pull out the same humiliating jokes we've been badgering each other with for years." This is a great weekend and has become a much deserved tradition. Now, if we can just find a solid spot to do it this year. Last year, Indiana once again proved how much it sucks.
Pitchfork begins on July 17th and has a decent amount to live up to from last year. I was a decent wreck most of the time (thank you job perks) and actually couldn't hang on Sunday to see Spiritualized. If you are at all aware of my love for Jason Pierce and Spiritualized, then you can probably understand how much of a disaster I was. Regardless, festivals usually disappoint. I've come to accept this. However, last year was my first Pitchfork experience, and it was a delight for the most part because the afterparties and aftershows push it into a whole different realm of festival. I anticipate even more antics this year.
I have no doubt other occurrences will be peppered in, but truth be told, I can't plan past mid-July, so I'll just have to leave it at that. Chicago Summers dominate. That's what tends to happen when you have a three month window in which to cram all warm weather activities.
I didn't do this last post, but here is what I've been listening to lately:
Thee Oh Sees - Help
Trap Them - Seizures in Barren Praise
Papercuts - You Can Have What You Want
Black Flag - My War
Passion Pit - Manners
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Decks, Jean Shorts, Tans, and the Devil.
The Chicago Winter drags. No doubt about it. I refused to complain, though, because everyone I know up here kept telling me, "You're going to hate the winter. It's the worst. Constant layers of clothes and blah, blah, blah." So, solely out of spite, I didn't complain about the cold. I just sucked it up and dealt with it.
About a month ago, however, I started getting antsy. It wasn't freezing, but the weather kept teasing me with a warm 65 degree day followed by a 40 degree day. It's like the 100 calorie packs of chips and cookies that some devilish marketing genius conjured up. Sure, the seventeen Baked Cheetos I just ate tasted good, and I enjoyed them, but just give me the whole fucking bag to gorge myself on. I was ready to gorge myself on warm weather because I was getting sick of this single serving shit.
Well, the warm weather is finally creeping up, and I'm beginning to get spoiled with its consistency, so I figured I'd construct a long overdue list of great warm weather occurrences, food, pleasures, etc (I probably did one of these last year too, but I just don't give a fuck, and my tastes may have changed):
-Decks, patios, porches, gazebos, or anything else I can stand on outside with my friends as I drink alcohol and smoke cigarettes.
-Mexican beer with lime and Bells Oberon.
-Bike riding all the time everyday.
-Sweat stains created from my messenger bag while riding my bike.
-Sweat and sweat stains all together.
-Rolled up jeans and flip-flops.
-Cut-off jean shorts and t-shirts.
-Motorcycle (and hopefully moped) riding.
-The baseball season and going to baseball games. If all goes well, I should be able to add Miller Park in Milwaukee and Nationals Park in Washington to my growing list of attended ballparks.
-Seven dollar nachos at ballgames.
-My annual late and failed attempt at any sort of tan.
-Occasionally not taking a shower after I go running in 90 degree heat and feeling the sweat dry.
-Music festival season and the perks from my job that go along with it.
-Tank-tops and sunglasses.
-Milkshakes, ice cream, and Italian ice.
-Walking to El Cid for veggie burritos.
-The sound of fireworks in the distance.
-Having that extra bounce in my step when I go running.
-Milwaukee Avenue getting sexy.
-Reading a book indoors with all the windows open.
-Consuming more fruit, particularly oranges and strawberries.
-Annual camping trip with the posse.
-Eating outside practically everywhere in Chicago.
-Logan Boulevard and the farmer's market.
-Listening to all forms of thrash while riding my bike.
-Sweatbands and no socks.
-Dirty, sweaty basement shows.
-Closing my bedroom door so that it's an icebox from the trapped air conditioning coolness.
-The smell (not the oily, shit feel) of sun tan lotion.
-Sunroofs and all windows down.
-Flag Day.
Finally, although summer is the best, it brings what has become an annual NFL offseason circus. Needless to say, I have to address my and Justin's most hated subject while the pot is still simmering. You guessed it, Brett Favre - the evils of all evils - is inundating ESPN right now. There are rumors of his possible return to the Vikings, the same team you may remember the Packers went to great lengths to keep him away from last year. Anyway, the team doesn't matter, or the fact that he's 39 with an arm that's falling off and really can only make bad decisions and throw interceptions when it does work just the slightest bit. It's Favre as a person. What are you doing to everyone Brett? Justin and I are pretty much fucking psychic geniuses because we cursed you years ago, before anyone else saw the absolute toil you were going to wrap the sports world and collective public in as you threatened retirement, retired, wanted to come back, came back, switched teams, failed, retired, and just didn't go the fuck away.
One thing I can root for is the sullying of any sort of good ole' Mississippi country persona that Favre has painstakingly built over his 18 years in the league. Brett, your ego has been shitting on your public persona for a couple of years, and now it just clogged the damn toilet. Congratulations fuckface, you've screwed your legacy (just like Manny Ramirez . . . but that's a whole other topic).
Reports from Favre's agent have very recently surfaced to quell any sort of Vikings talk, but I'll believe that when I don't see Brett Favre on a sideline in the fall. For now, I'm not buying it. Favre continues to be the amazingly beautiful girl at the party that no one's talking to. Confounded, you go talk to her, hit it off, and consequently wake up with genital warts. Sometimes it's best to just stay away.
Just stay away.
About a month ago, however, I started getting antsy. It wasn't freezing, but the weather kept teasing me with a warm 65 degree day followed by a 40 degree day. It's like the 100 calorie packs of chips and cookies that some devilish marketing genius conjured up. Sure, the seventeen Baked Cheetos I just ate tasted good, and I enjoyed them, but just give me the whole fucking bag to gorge myself on. I was ready to gorge myself on warm weather because I was getting sick of this single serving shit.
Well, the warm weather is finally creeping up, and I'm beginning to get spoiled with its consistency, so I figured I'd construct a long overdue list of great warm weather occurrences, food, pleasures, etc (I probably did one of these last year too, but I just don't give a fuck, and my tastes may have changed):
-Decks, patios, porches, gazebos, or anything else I can stand on outside with my friends as I drink alcohol and smoke cigarettes.
-Mexican beer with lime and Bells Oberon.
-Bike riding all the time everyday.
-Sweat stains created from my messenger bag while riding my bike.
-Sweat and sweat stains all together.
-Rolled up jeans and flip-flops.
-Cut-off jean shorts and t-shirts.
-Motorcycle (and hopefully moped) riding.
-The baseball season and going to baseball games. If all goes well, I should be able to add Miller Park in Milwaukee and Nationals Park in Washington to my growing list of attended ballparks.
-Seven dollar nachos at ballgames.
-My annual late and failed attempt at any sort of tan.
-Occasionally not taking a shower after I go running in 90 degree heat and feeling the sweat dry.
-Music festival season and the perks from my job that go along with it.
-Tank-tops and sunglasses.
-Milkshakes, ice cream, and Italian ice.
-Walking to El Cid for veggie burritos.
-The sound of fireworks in the distance.
-Having that extra bounce in my step when I go running.
-Milwaukee Avenue getting sexy.
-Reading a book indoors with all the windows open.
-Consuming more fruit, particularly oranges and strawberries.
-Annual camping trip with the posse.
-Eating outside practically everywhere in Chicago.
-Logan Boulevard and the farmer's market.
-Listening to all forms of thrash while riding my bike.
-Sweatbands and no socks.
-Dirty, sweaty basement shows.
-Closing my bedroom door so that it's an icebox from the trapped air conditioning coolness.
-The smell (not the oily, shit feel) of sun tan lotion.
-Sunroofs and all windows down.
-Flag Day.
Finally, although summer is the best, it brings what has become an annual NFL offseason circus. Needless to say, I have to address my and Justin's most hated subject while the pot is still simmering. You guessed it, Brett Favre - the evils of all evils - is inundating ESPN right now. There are rumors of his possible return to the Vikings, the same team you may remember the Packers went to great lengths to keep him away from last year. Anyway, the team doesn't matter, or the fact that he's 39 with an arm that's falling off and really can only make bad decisions and throw interceptions when it does work just the slightest bit. It's Favre as a person. What are you doing to everyone Brett? Justin and I are pretty much fucking psychic geniuses because we cursed you years ago, before anyone else saw the absolute toil you were going to wrap the sports world and collective public in as you threatened retirement, retired, wanted to come back, came back, switched teams, failed, retired, and just didn't go the fuck away.
One thing I can root for is the sullying of any sort of good ole' Mississippi country persona that Favre has painstakingly built over his 18 years in the league. Brett, your ego has been shitting on your public persona for a couple of years, and now it just clogged the damn toilet. Congratulations fuckface, you've screwed your legacy (just like Manny Ramirez . . . but that's a whole other topic).
Reports from Favre's agent have very recently surfaced to quell any sort of Vikings talk, but I'll believe that when I don't see Brett Favre on a sideline in the fall. For now, I'm not buying it. Favre continues to be the amazingly beautiful girl at the party that no one's talking to. Confounded, you go talk to her, hit it off, and consequently wake up with genital warts. Sometimes it's best to just stay away.
Just stay away.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Podcast Heaven.
So, Justin and I pretty much religiously listen to a podcast from a ESPN sportswriter named Bill Simmons. If you know us well enough, I'm sure you've heard us speak fondly of him before you got bored/annoyed and left the conversation. Anyway, we basically both aspire to be this man because he has the best job in the world. He writes about sports and talks to his friends on podcasts. Occasionally, he writes a book about sports, usually with some sort of a Boston angle. See, Simmons is a Boston sports fanatic. He was born and raised there on a steady diet of Celtics, Patriots, and Red Sox. Needless to say, his columns tend toward the Boston ideology and his overall love and obsession for Boston sports. This can be both understandable and irking because the view is so skewed. After reflecting, one can't really complain, however, because if I had the choice, I'd sway the way of Cincinnati every single time.
One of the discerning qualities about Simmons is that he's not solely schooled on sports. He was once a writer for Jimmy Kimmel Live!, which I'm sure only helped the comedic development of his voice as a writer. It also aided him in leading five thousand million riveting conversations concerning such cinematic classics as the Karate Kid and Rock IV: Rocky Defeats Communism (I've convinced myself that Stallone truly fucked up by not adorning the film with its full proper name). There's obvious comedy there and a kind of scathing, biting sense of humor. He's the perfect hybrid of a columnist and podcaster because he touches on a collective of interests, thus resulting in a higher entertainment value. Seems like a simple formula.
Simmons' columns and podcasts weave pop culture into sports and vice versa. There's no lack of Real World and MTV references. He can talk to Adam Carolla about the latest Fast & the Furious installment for 40 minutes and somehow make it utterly entertaining. By the way, one of my favorite things about the podcasts is that Simmons has this group of semi-celebrity studded buddies (Kimmel, Carolla, Chris Connelly, Jon Hamm, etc.) he brings onto the podcasts, and all they do is bitch and describe the painful minutiae of random bullshit that contains little to no intelligent substance whatsoever. You know, the shit people actually want to talk about when they don't give a fuck about spouting off a bunch of regurgitated facts on recent political and socioeconomic developments just to impress people who probably don't give a damn in the first place. I think I just appreciate hearing friends bullshit without encumbrances or cares. It's like being a fly on the wall.
Simmons once spoke about success as being a gradual occurrence in which you basically have to suck it up, take a dick in the ass for a year, make little to no money, and work your balls off. I've always had a similar outlook concerning the "foot in the door" kind of mindset. I slaved away for about a solid six month period, interning for an alt-weekly, slinging pizza as a server at Dewey's, all the while applying for grad school. It sucked hard, but I understood it to be a means to an end . . . to use a fucking terrible cliche. Not to say my job is mind blowing now, but it's a decent job with good people, and I know I wouldn't have gotten it had it not been for that six month period. It's nice to reflect on that from time to time.
Okay, now that I'm done with that aside (and basically nestling Simmons' balls), I want to make the point that I plan on recreating this kind of podcast heaven created by Simmons. I have Summer goals and this is one of them. Justin and I just got done texting back and forth with each other for about two hours during the epic Bulls/Celtics game, all the while knowing that I should've been taking notes during the game so I could be talking to him right now on a podcast about the game and random Seinfeld moments. This is really all I want in life: To talk about sports, music, and random Seinfeld moments. Occasionally, I wouldn't mind a slice of pizza too, or some of Heidi's cookies.
Ending this here seems abrupt, so I'll just end it right here, or after I point out what I'm listening to right now.
Pig Destroyer - Terrifyer
Damien Jurado - Caught in the Trees
Bat for Lashes - Two Suns
Converge - Jane Doe
Crystal Antlers - Tentacles
Here.
One of the discerning qualities about Simmons is that he's not solely schooled on sports. He was once a writer for Jimmy Kimmel Live!, which I'm sure only helped the comedic development of his voice as a writer. It also aided him in leading five thousand million riveting conversations concerning such cinematic classics as the Karate Kid and Rock IV: Rocky Defeats Communism (I've convinced myself that Stallone truly fucked up by not adorning the film with its full proper name). There's obvious comedy there and a kind of scathing, biting sense of humor. He's the perfect hybrid of a columnist and podcaster because he touches on a collective of interests, thus resulting in a higher entertainment value. Seems like a simple formula.
Simmons' columns and podcasts weave pop culture into sports and vice versa. There's no lack of Real World and MTV references. He can talk to Adam Carolla about the latest Fast & the Furious installment for 40 minutes and somehow make it utterly entertaining. By the way, one of my favorite things about the podcasts is that Simmons has this group of semi-celebrity studded buddies (Kimmel, Carolla, Chris Connelly, Jon Hamm, etc.) he brings onto the podcasts, and all they do is bitch and describe the painful minutiae of random bullshit that contains little to no intelligent substance whatsoever. You know, the shit people actually want to talk about when they don't give a fuck about spouting off a bunch of regurgitated facts on recent political and socioeconomic developments just to impress people who probably don't give a damn in the first place. I think I just appreciate hearing friends bullshit without encumbrances or cares. It's like being a fly on the wall.
Simmons once spoke about success as being a gradual occurrence in which you basically have to suck it up, take a dick in the ass for a year, make little to no money, and work your balls off. I've always had a similar outlook concerning the "foot in the door" kind of mindset. I slaved away for about a solid six month period, interning for an alt-weekly, slinging pizza as a server at Dewey's, all the while applying for grad school. It sucked hard, but I understood it to be a means to an end . . . to use a fucking terrible cliche. Not to say my job is mind blowing now, but it's a decent job with good people, and I know I wouldn't have gotten it had it not been for that six month period. It's nice to reflect on that from time to time.
Okay, now that I'm done with that aside (and basically nestling Simmons' balls), I want to make the point that I plan on recreating this kind of podcast heaven created by Simmons. I have Summer goals and this is one of them. Justin and I just got done texting back and forth with each other for about two hours during the epic Bulls/Celtics game, all the while knowing that I should've been taking notes during the game so I could be talking to him right now on a podcast about the game and random Seinfeld moments. This is really all I want in life: To talk about sports, music, and random Seinfeld moments. Occasionally, I wouldn't mind a slice of pizza too, or some of Heidi's cookies.
Ending this here seems abrupt, so I'll just end it right here, or after I point out what I'm listening to right now.
Pig Destroyer - Terrifyer
Damien Jurado - Caught in the Trees
Bat for Lashes - Two Suns
Converge - Jane Doe
Crystal Antlers - Tentacles
Here.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Social Network Overload.
I remember Friendster. Shit, I remember Makeoutclub. I assume these are still around in some sad form or another, but whatever. I didn't actually enter the world of Internet social networking until MySpace. Like so many people, I long scoffed at the idea of joining because I wanted to make myself think that I was too cool for school, but eventually I was coaxed in by the idea of seeking out a sort of confrontation loophole where you can communicate via impersonal messages and random comments (very similar to the fine art of texting). You can track people down through the Internet, judge them and form an opinion without ever meeting them. All this based on a few photos and vague, ambiguous personal info comments. Just beautiful. And not to say it wouldn't have happened anyway, but MySpace played some sort of a role in old relationships, both in the initial dating phase and in the "fuck you, this shit's over" phase. See, both are much easier because you don't actually have to confront the person. I find that I'm much more efficient in all secondary forms of human to human contact.
Anyway, within the past year, I've added three different social networking vehicles to my daily life. Is this necessary? One was kind of forced upon me because of work. Hello, Twitter. Don't get me wrong, the idea of Twitter actually appeals to me. The several genius thoughts I have throughout the day can now immediately be reported, in 140 characters or less. To be honest, I use it mainly for work. Journalists and journalism as a whole love Twitter because it gives them the ability to report the news immediately, beating others to the punch. Or, they just continue to regurgitate the same stories over and over until the public is drunk with them and collectively vomits. Makes sense to me. I rarely "tweet" (I don't even know how to express my hatred for that word) outside of work. It's something we were asked to sign up for, and so I did. I mainly keep track of music news (for instance, Pitchfork and Stereogum are at Coachella right now, and it's interesting shit to read their thoughts), sports news, occasionally laugh at my friends' comments, and that's pretty much the extent of it. However, with all social networks, it's a distraction. I admit that every time someone I'm following "tweets," I take the second to check it out, and then maybe I visit the link he or she posted, and then maybe read the article, and you can obviously see where this is going. Do I need the distraction? Don't I have enough to pay attention to without detouring my day of work so I can read a three-page story about some sadly intriguing story about an NYC hipster grifter? I don't know.
Then, there's this blog. I define it as a social network, but I have completely different feelings about it. While I love the comments from random people (hey, it's happened once or twice), this thing is really just a kind of communication with friends. I like doing it, and it allows me to expound on subjects instead of just trying to explain them in 30-word intervals. Plus, it's just good for me as a writer, which I'm not necessarily claiming to be, but in the sense that I'm not trying to pose as anything. It's good for me to develop my own voice because that's really what all this shit is. No editing or revisions. Just shit I find interesting and feel the need and/or desire to spew forth in my own words. Some sort of self-constructed podium for my own amusement. Maybe that doesn't make any sense, but it does to me, so whatever. See how it works?
Finally, this past week I took the Facebook plunge. As Justin can attest, I've stayed away from this thing like rabies. Similar to MySpace, I attempted to display some sort of disdain for Facebook in the thoughts that I was too good for it or something. Why I do this, I will never know. The funny thing is that I've had a fledgling Facebook account since grad school, when it was solely designated for the educated. What a fucking dumb, discriminatory concept. You can only sign up for it if you're in some sort of higher learning institution. Whatever. Anyway, I never did anything with the account, and it just stagnated in the cesspool of social networks. However, within the past year or so (I may be too dense here to really nail down any sort of timeline), Facebook has become the revolution of social networking. The CEO of Sprint mentions it in commercials, parents get on it and embarrass their kids by posting revealing baby pictures, and people I haven't seen since I was a senior in high school track me down and ask me to befriend them. Too weird. I mean, I like the idea of keeping contact with some of my favorite people from the ancient days of high school, but I'm not a fan of some random guy searching out my Facebook to point out some minor error I made in something I wrote for the Reader. Kind of overstepping the bounds yeah? I guess that's one of my main points in this diatribe.
A few years back, my mom set up an invisible fence for her dog Linus. Obviously, when Linus looks around the backyard, he sees a ton of land to roam, and does so accordingly. But he also knows where that invisible fence is because he's been bitten in the ass by it more than once. So, he instinctively stays away. He's been taught that. It's discipline. However, if he's let out the front door without his collar, it's a complete change of environment. The invisible fence no longer applies. He's forgotten about it and runs wild. See where this is going? Where are the boundaries in social networks? Everyone appears too quick to choose the front door and let all inhibitions fly out the window. Given, because I involve myself in several social networks, I may be making a hypocrite of myself by writing some of this. That's fine and dandy. I just think it's important for people to be able to buy tickets to the circus without feeling entitled to confront the trapeze artist after the performance and tell him or her how to swing. With blurred boundaries, there will inevitably be a select few who feel it's always okay to cross.
This thing got long and kind of out of hand, and I probably didn't get to touch on everything I had in mind when I started, but I'll just "tweet" it, post it on my Facebook and MySpace, or blog some more if I happen to remember what I overlooked. Sounds good.
Addendum: Coates noted that I forgot to add my list of the five things I'm listening to. Thanks for the heads up Juggernaut.
These Are Powers - All Aboard Future
Jesus Lizard - Inch (box set of seven-inches)
Various Artists - This LP Crashes Hard Drives
Zombi - Spirit Animal
Cursive - Mama, I'm Swollen
Anyway, within the past year, I've added three different social networking vehicles to my daily life. Is this necessary? One was kind of forced upon me because of work. Hello, Twitter. Don't get me wrong, the idea of Twitter actually appeals to me. The several genius thoughts I have throughout the day can now immediately be reported, in 140 characters or less. To be honest, I use it mainly for work. Journalists and journalism as a whole love Twitter because it gives them the ability to report the news immediately, beating others to the punch. Or, they just continue to regurgitate the same stories over and over until the public is drunk with them and collectively vomits. Makes sense to me. I rarely "tweet" (I don't even know how to express my hatred for that word) outside of work. It's something we were asked to sign up for, and so I did. I mainly keep track of music news (for instance, Pitchfork and Stereogum are at Coachella right now, and it's interesting shit to read their thoughts), sports news, occasionally laugh at my friends' comments, and that's pretty much the extent of it. However, with all social networks, it's a distraction. I admit that every time someone I'm following "tweets," I take the second to check it out, and then maybe I visit the link he or she posted, and then maybe read the article, and you can obviously see where this is going. Do I need the distraction? Don't I have enough to pay attention to without detouring my day of work so I can read a three-page story about some sadly intriguing story about an NYC hipster grifter? I don't know.
Then, there's this blog. I define it as a social network, but I have completely different feelings about it. While I love the comments from random people (hey, it's happened once or twice), this thing is really just a kind of communication with friends. I like doing it, and it allows me to expound on subjects instead of just trying to explain them in 30-word intervals. Plus, it's just good for me as a writer, which I'm not necessarily claiming to be, but in the sense that I'm not trying to pose as anything. It's good for me to develop my own voice because that's really what all this shit is. No editing or revisions. Just shit I find interesting and feel the need and/or desire to spew forth in my own words. Some sort of self-constructed podium for my own amusement. Maybe that doesn't make any sense, but it does to me, so whatever. See how it works?
Finally, this past week I took the Facebook plunge. As Justin can attest, I've stayed away from this thing like rabies. Similar to MySpace, I attempted to display some sort of disdain for Facebook in the thoughts that I was too good for it or something. Why I do this, I will never know. The funny thing is that I've had a fledgling Facebook account since grad school, when it was solely designated for the educated. What a fucking dumb, discriminatory concept. You can only sign up for it if you're in some sort of higher learning institution. Whatever. Anyway, I never did anything with the account, and it just stagnated in the cesspool of social networks. However, within the past year or so (I may be too dense here to really nail down any sort of timeline), Facebook has become the revolution of social networking. The CEO of Sprint mentions it in commercials, parents get on it and embarrass their kids by posting revealing baby pictures, and people I haven't seen since I was a senior in high school track me down and ask me to befriend them. Too weird. I mean, I like the idea of keeping contact with some of my favorite people from the ancient days of high school, but I'm not a fan of some random guy searching out my Facebook to point out some minor error I made in something I wrote for the Reader. Kind of overstepping the bounds yeah? I guess that's one of my main points in this diatribe.
A few years back, my mom set up an invisible fence for her dog Linus. Obviously, when Linus looks around the backyard, he sees a ton of land to roam, and does so accordingly. But he also knows where that invisible fence is because he's been bitten in the ass by it more than once. So, he instinctively stays away. He's been taught that. It's discipline. However, if he's let out the front door without his collar, it's a complete change of environment. The invisible fence no longer applies. He's forgotten about it and runs wild. See where this is going? Where are the boundaries in social networks? Everyone appears too quick to choose the front door and let all inhibitions fly out the window. Given, because I involve myself in several social networks, I may be making a hypocrite of myself by writing some of this. That's fine and dandy. I just think it's important for people to be able to buy tickets to the circus without feeling entitled to confront the trapeze artist after the performance and tell him or her how to swing. With blurred boundaries, there will inevitably be a select few who feel it's always okay to cross.
This thing got long and kind of out of hand, and I probably didn't get to touch on everything I had in mind when I started, but I'll just "tweet" it, post it on my Facebook and MySpace, or blog some more if I happen to remember what I overlooked. Sounds good.
Addendum: Coates noted that I forgot to add my list of the five things I'm listening to. Thanks for the heads up Juggernaut.
These Are Powers - All Aboard Future
Jesus Lizard - Inch (box set of seven-inches)
Various Artists - This LP Crashes Hard Drives
Zombi - Spirit Animal
Cursive - Mama, I'm Swollen
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