Reader, we know of your dissapointment with us in the past. Too often we have treated you like a one-night stand, a booty call, a FWB dial deep in the night..a careless drunken holler from OGFP, then months of silence.

We are hereby resolving (with certain reservations, of course) to attempt to suck it up and have a steady relationship with this blog. Companionship. Spooning. A Sunday morning shower and brunch and the New York Times on the Web. The works. Okay? We know we have said this before. Can we make it up to you? Do you mind if we sleep with a fan on? We need the white noise.

Last night Milemarker were imperial. Huge. A weapons grade assault on decent volume levels. Note to every other band in the universe: get a second drummer and some light-up satanic symbols for the kick drums. They don't have to play different parts at all, ever, in any of the songs. They just have to hit 'em hard. Trust me. The effect is cataclysmic. Milemarker used to be artsier. They looked and sounded "band". Now they are more like a streetgang. Immediately offensive and a little dangerous. Even though they have a violin playing keyboardist. Get Hustle were good, too. We are still mildly infatuated with Valentine on a *cough* fundamental level, but the free jazz/cabaret/Siouxsie raunch tones stand up on their own.

This show was barely overshadowed by the White Sox victory in Game 1, the first World Series game in Chicago since 1959. Did the OGFP staff wake up at just after 6 AM on Saturday in order to procure tickets, only to be shooed away by Sox security at 10AM? Was he spotted on the Saturday morning news by Mark and Ericka? Did this failure to actually get in the yard sting a trifle? Who can be sure? More importantly, the game itself, and victory. You should have watched it, asshat. The Rocket failed to launch. Crede and Dye hit the taters. The side of beef came in to get the save, striking out 3 of 4 batters faced. We lead the series 1-0. Game 2 tonight on the southside.