Friday, August 28, 2009

Crotch Shots - or - Is There A Stobe Light Under This Table?

The Irish band played a gig last night at a big ol' Irish bar in downtown Chicago. I asked Trish to take some pictures of the band. Here’s what she got.

That is genius, Trish. Pure genius.

5 points if you can guess which on is me.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Is This What Thinking Clearly Feels Like? - or - A House Made Of Cellulose

In my hometown there are seven traffic lights. There are less than 8,000 residents. There are no buildings over five stories tall. There are two movie theaters. I want to learn how to run a projector, a job usually reserved for teen-agers. I want to make popcorn, you don’t need a $104K BA from a small liberal arts college to make popcorn. I want to be part of a small artist community in a small town that means something to me, that helped make me who I am now. I am going to put in a bid on a 104 year-old movie theater tomorrow. Wish me luck.


Monday, August 24, 2009

Monday Morning Forehead Slap - or - Spelling Career Correctly

It’s 8am on Monday. I had a shitty week last week. I spelled career wrong and got called out by Em. I nuked a bridge that was made out of kindling and gasoline and I will most likly never speak with her again. Two of my ex-s called me. One of them hung up before I could pick up the phone. The other one told me not to try to get in touch with her, even though we haven't spoken in years. I stopped communicating with a coworker because I finally figured out that he is not the friend I took him for, but rather that he is simply a dick and having no contact is better than dealing with his variety of bullshit. Things changed Saturday night when I finished a 12 hour work day with a visit from a very good friend who is the drummer in a world touring rock duo called The Black Diamond Heavies. We had a bourbon and soda while sitting on the edge of the stage, laughing, talking, and calling each other "mna". I was two hours late for work the next day and dragged ass all day long. At 6pm yesterday, I got out of work and went straight to bed. I woke up a few minutes ago, refreshed, recharged, rejuvenated, revitalized, and reborn.

I feel great.

I’m going for a morning run to the beach to watch the sunrise. Fuck last week. This week is going to be sweet. I’m going to a record breaking gathering of Groucho Marx look alikes in Millennium Park on Tuesday, I’ve got tickets to see Elvis Costello on Wednesday, I’ve got a show with Tripp and the Irish band at Fado on Thruday, I and I finally have a weekend off so that I can bum around the museums and venues of Chicago on my own time. I think I’ll try smiling again. Thanks for putting up with me last week. I’ll try not to pull that emo crap again. Cheers.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Come On In, The Water's Great - or - Keep Me Away From Sharp Edges

I am perfectly sick of failing.

School, carriers, women, happiness. Fail fail fail fail. Fuck.

A good friend of mine once said, “you can’t wait for something good to happen to you. You’ve got to risk it all and go get it for yourself.” That is only great advice if everything you touch doesn’t instantly turn to shit.

Gimme a week, I’ll be fine, but for now I’m in a whirlpool of bullshit. I'm gonna go get drunk.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Pointless Agression - or - No Photography In The MCA

“Where are you, Obsquatch?”

Why should I care? There’s so damn much that I’m doing that doesn’t matter beyond paying some bill by the end of the month. I don’t have motivation for much right now that doesn’t involve spreed sheets, payrolls, and sweat glands, or checking my credit rating. Why should I care if you notice I’m not around these parts much anymore? Why the hell should anyone really care or even want to hear excuses why I’m not my normal chipper self? Why I’m not buying nightly rounds at the local dive? Why I’m not gallivanting around Chicago, hitting on any girl in a sundress and that blank stare in her eyes? Do you really care? Are you that in need of my attention? Don't talk to me about the health care debate. Don’t you think that if I had something good to say, or type, or film, or text, that I’d say it, or type it, or film it, or text it? Don’t you think that you’d know about it? Wouldn’t this be the place for it? I’m fucking working here, people. I’m working and sweating and paying bills and fixing the broken shit around me, and I still have a mother fucking sink full of dishes to do. BLARG!

Sometimes I get mad at nothing. Sometimes it leaves a stain. Sometimes it helps. Mostly, I just wish my phone didn't make that horrible shrieking sound, like some soul is being ripped to shreds. I'd rather sound like butterflies and bacon.

I’ve realized something during these past few hectic weeks, and the thought flashes into my head periodically as I get needlessly and endlessly yelled at by a small, angry Thai woman. I could solve a lot of problems with an army of giant robots with guns. Giant Fucking Robots with Guns!

I need to get more sunshine. Lemme just write that on my to-do list, right after finishing the dishes. Cheers.

Wednesday, August 05, 2009

Make An Unlikly Friend - or - I'm Showing My Hand

Fear divides us from each other. Fear deviates us from our own potential. Fear makes us make irrational decisions for the sake of self preservation, for example, I fear Hippos and will punch you in the throat if you make me hang out with one. I don't fear things that are commonly feared. I never have. Heights, snakes, driving in NYC, knives, guns, spiders, thunderstorms, blood, needles, dentists, God's wrath, midgets, weird food, Republicans, hotdogs from 7-11, they all make me shrug my shoulders and say, "meh." Sometimes, beer helps.

"Fear not, citizen, I'll save you!"

"Gimme eight!"