the fucking honda commercial with ocean man by ween as the music????? aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! what the fuck? what?
also, animal planet showed a show that was called THE WOLF WITHIN that was just footage of dogs in england doing cute shit with cute english owners with an english lady asking rhetorical questions about dogs in the background intermixed with slo mo footage of wolves biting each other and freaking the fuck out in a snowy forest environment with low key techno music in the background. it was definitely the best TV show i can possibly imagine. what else: fucking cubs.
also discovered: existence of high school cross country runner named Jim Beatty. some sort of weird eastern european doppelganger of my dad. weird. i got drunk yesterday that was neat.
ok bye
fellas,
lend me some sugar, i am your neighbor. i don’t know if i can vett the shake it like a polaroid picture thing. it’s kind of hokey. nobody shakes it anymore. it’s more of a bounce or a wobble, i think. in plain english, i bought the outkast record too. i know you like to think your shit don’t stank… but lean a little closer, roses really smell like poo poo pooh.
i don’t have the werewithal for sustained commentary on anything right now but i’ll point out the following:
there were two people wearing Tigger and Pooh body suits at the White Sox game on Monday. Tigger kept cabbage-patching. It was weird.
My fingernails are growing faster than they used to. Does that mean I have the croup or something?
My power to see through time is increasing.
I’m getting inordinately pumped for National Novel Writing Month.
Crazy bitch.
Crazy bitch.
Old-ass bitch.
That’s enough of that. Hey now. The CWN dropped the N from their name. Well, um, OK.
Andre 3000 is wearing a sash with his name on it. I see.
The media has mostly dropped the ball on the whole Maurice Clarett turning into the goddamn devil story. i didn’t see one picture of him wearing a cape and kidnapping teenage virgins in any of the several newspapers i read intermittently. No, seriously.
Restaurant Review:
Cambridge House Restaurant (Streeterville– Grand and St Clair?)
You are a goddamn fucking dump.
Salonica is closed today? What the fuck? I come to Hyde Park once a week, I want some fucking soup.
Mail that I opened when I was editor at the maroon is still sitting where I put it when I opened it. That’s funny. When did this turn into a Larry King column.
well i just went into the conference room and read old maroons for an hour. oops. bye now.
recap of last four days:
I played Ken Griffey Jr baseball
I watched Welcome to Collinwood (crazy featurette on DVD was slightly funnier than actual movie)
I watched Once Upon a Time in Mexico (very bad, not enough Johnny Depp to redeem it)
We acquired a dining room table also. Debate rages over the proper placement of said table.
The cat is using a blanket as a blanket right now. I am slowly (quickly) turning into the kind of person who might document cute things their cat does with a camera, so that history will remember the day Mama Cat used a blanket as a blanket. Something has to give here. It’s a good thing I don’t have a camera. Oh, I forgot, I got a Blockbuster card too. I feel like a college graduate now.
you know that noise the inside of your head makes when you woke up too soon? something like FBRINGDFS except more staticky and loud. my head is making that noise although now that i’ve found myself some strawberry jam and a bagel i’ll be better. the weird thing about working until midnight on friday nights is the next day you have a work hangover, if that makes any sense. and now i have to get back on the train in two hours and go back to work. allegedley on tap for tonight: once upon a time in mexico or i should probably just say johnny depp in an unrelated act of filmmaking.
i have a question for the reading public: when does the new outkast album come out? is it out already? can i have it?
live from notmyhouse in hyde park, the first non-domestic hyde park blog post in the history of Das Rundtischgespräch des Bürgerkriegs. i took the #@$ re-named #6 Jackson Park express. what was wrong with the Jeffery name? i understand that they gave the Jeffery name to another bus (#14) that actually runs on Jeffery Ave, but whatever. this is dumb. this computer is too small. i got to write highlights at work for the first time today so peep on the downers grove south soccer recap if you get a chance. i used the word game as an adjective and was overruled by the judges. ok someone is watching me type so i am going to stop. it worked they stopped looking over my shoulder. that reminds of something that i;ve never discussed: i fucking hate it when people look over my shoulder. i feel funny again. i had gardetto;s snack mix for dinner. blalallalalalalala
Some quick notes. First, I think it’s time for a redesign on this here bitch. The whole browns color scheme, it’s wearing me down. Second, I’m so down for writing a novel in November, Eggs. I will bury everybody. I can definitely crap out 50K words in a month.
so whoever wanted to redesign my web page let me know.
later jerks.
i am now at work. i have been wandering around the loop for three hours because i had to come get my ID picture taken at 2 when i started work at 5. one thing i did notice was that A) the El is really loud. B) there are some shifty restaurants in the loop C) the Harold Washington Library appears to have been interior-decorated by a Liberace fan with a concurrent Civil War fetish, sort of like mine except more furniture-centric, in the way that really liking furniture is gay, and also more terrible than my own passing interest in the civil war. no offense intended, tames, about implying that you may have decorated the Harold Washington Library, which, incidentally, appears to have been exterior-decorated by a nu metal band or possibly that weirdly effete maniac who made the terrible third and fourth batman movies. No beef with non-aesthetic properties of CPL’s main branch, i might add, but the logan square branch, no prize pig, is a bit easier on the eyes.
to the knife-wielding scumbags who claim beef with my opinion of california but can’t figure how to make comments work on their websites: oh come the fuck on. i’m talking about like bakersfield where nothing has happened since merle haggard tried to rob a restaurant at 3 in the afternoon. i have no beef with the central valley. my whole point then, is that you should do what i mean, not what i said.
i apologize for being a terrible person for saying that really liking furniture is gay. very sorry won’t do it again.
catching up on restaurant reviewing if i might:
applebee’s #29383, north platte, NB
i don’t know if anybody’s ever discussed the ecclestonian theory of the 53rd st. McDonald’s, that in the cosmography of fast food chains, this particular location is in fact the official McDonald’s of the Damned. well, that’s the whole theory, i guess. what i’m getting around to is that the Applebee’s in NP is in fact the Applebee’s of Real Big Jerks. not quite damned, but well on their way there. tips for tots: when a customer asks you if they can move to a booth, don’t say “i really don’t care, do whatever you want. but your food’s coming here [points at current table].” now i remember i already talked about the aztec chicken salad. fuck this shit.
i just sat here and kept wanting to type more after i finished typing so i guess i have more stuff to say, although about what i’m not entirely sure. one thing i’ve been thinking about a lot recently is the idea that college is the best time of your life and that the years after college, lasting from six months to whenever you get your life together, are the worst years. obviously, these ideas, which i’ve pieced together from overheard conversations and bad fiction, aren’t absolute, but i sure don’t feel as good as i felt at the end of college. my last two years of college were fun. and i didn’t even go anywhere or see anything. i mostly just sat in apartments and talked and drank beer and stuff. and now i live in a different apartment and talk to a subsect of the people i talked to before and drink cranberry juice and eat cold cuts, and occassionally go to a very easy job. but i’m crankier, i guess. oh for the love of christ would you listen to me whine. obviously all i need to do is take a shower and find another book to read to keep myself occupied. or maybe i should go sit in a well with a baseball bat and think about how the weird mark on my face. shit.
iowa
iowa, as a matter of fact, is an attractive state. i was expecting something that looked a lot like north central ohio. and it did, except lumpier. so sue me if i think that’s pretty. one thing i do have to say about iowa is that people drive like assholes in iowa. not as much as they do in illinois or in salt lake city, but iowa definitely had some weiners driving. it could be that i drive slow or drive safe or am such a good driver that i make people around look like bad drivers in comparison, but people definitely drive like assholes in iowa. i don’t have much else to say about iowa because it came during the portion of the trip where i had completely and totally lost my mind and was getting into fights with tessa every four seconds. additionally, the book on tape had ended, and it had pacified me, despite being about weird serial killing and shit. so i was completely insane. and i ate subway in nebraska for lunch and it freaked me out. now for some reason the concept of salmon bacon just popped into my head. wish i had some salmon bacon right now while i listen to willie nelson and kill time before work starts.
i have to go get my id picture taken which means i have to go in to the tribune office exceptionally early, which i’m not terribly excited about although i suppose i get paid for my trouble.
western-central-eastern illinois up to chicago
absolutely and totally devoid of value. no point arguing this. there is nothing there, people drive like dicks, illinois is a terrible lair of insidious tools. i’m moving. in a year. to where i don’t know. this is terrible. i need exercise and a cup of soup.
File under Lincoln Park eats it:
The 47th St. Foot Locker has six colors and most sizes of New Balance 574. The New Balance store at Clark and Fullerton has two colors and some sizes. And no EE as they claimed. Neither did Foot Locker but they didn’t lie to me.
I had an argument with the cat this morning. I think i might need to get out of the house for a while.
