Video: Putin Kisses Boy's Stomach -- As Astonished Crowd Looks On

I love the Drudge Report. Sometimes it makes me want to commit seppuku in the corner bathroom of a very public place, but I still read it every day. I have no idea how the internet works anymore, apart from my fantasy baseball teams. 2nd, 4th and 11th place, in order of importance. I still want to carve my initials into Ann Coulter's skull, though.

P.S. Last week saw Al Gore's environmental flick, and homie is making a move towards the electorate. Kind of a wave from the fruit stand across the street, really, letting folks know he's still there and not having anything much to do with Howard Dean these days. Story in the new Rolling Stone this (next?) week where he makes some shart comments about Senors Bush and Cheney, and we'll see what his next few moves are.

Superman movie? Who else wants to see it? Get in touch.

If you've sent me email you expect to be answered in the last few weeks and I haven't replied, don't take it all personal like. Internet connectivity is still tenuous, so use ye olde telephone, eh?

The White Sox just keep winning, bashing the shit out of National League teams right and left. Unfortunately, so do the Tigers of Detroit (remember them? Tyrus Raymond Cobb? George Kell? Jack Morris? Larry Parrish? Lou Whitaker?), who *seem* to have the whiff of destiny this year. I know that smell pretty well after 2005. Which would be okay by me, honestly. Their fans have had a rough time of it the last decade or so.

OK, I'll try and update more often. Bye.




(<$BlogItemCommentCount$>) comments

First you think your fortune's lovely

Reading tonight at the Quimby's. It starts in about 25 minutes, actually. The Copy Max, where I'm at now, is the place to go when all the public libraries are full of computer users. Right across the street from the bookstore on Milwaukee near the six corners of ass.

This dude at the computer to my left (#6) is freaking out because a paper he wrote for a class is missing in the hard-drive and noone here can seem to find it. I feel bad for him. I write mostly in note pads these days, to avoid Mac/PC complications. How challenging it is to go back to pen and paper after having spent years type-type-typing away as the main feature of the compositional process. Miles and I were talking last night about getting typewriters. Maybe that would be boss.

Not much to say. Been working on this piece to read for the Quim, done busted my prose nut, and now I'm kind of on Veggie Patrol, giving a once-over to ABC's The Note and chillin' in the A/C. Maybe I'll type my reading on the web so you can oogle it, or maybe not. I'll let you know.

But swing by tonight if you can. It's for a good 'cause.




(<$BlogItemCommentCount$>) comments

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy

Eckhart Park Library smells like chlorine 'cause there is a big pool here. I used to work for a computer place right across the street...and spent a few years there in various positions of "responsibility". It was the best money I ever made, by far, but in retrospect I integrated myself into the new economy of the early oughts by being incredibly skilled at slacking, most of all. I was laid off in early '02, but we all know what that means. I made myself irrelevant and therefore disposable.

Speaking of which, there is a reading at Quimby's on Monday June 19th at about 7 PM or so. The line-up is fab, and the $5 (suggested) cover goes to worthy charities, including a food pantry and rape crisis center. Writerly entertainment by Hopper, Amy Phillips, Brian Costello, Jim DeRogatis and, for some reason, little ol' me. I am trying to write a new piece just for the occasion, featuring the usual melange of disparate topics:

-my alcoholism and the merry-go-round called denial
-concepts of time and space in established musical forms familiar to this listener, but due to data shifts in his recently psychotropically medicated mind, how they have become rather "far out"
-Scott Walker's lacerating new album
-the fact that Sunn0))) was in the NY Times Sunday Magazine recently, and how this could be a sign of the impending apocalypse
-Mark Twain's sense of the bawdy
-the utter inability of language in America to signify anything other than our intellectual and emotional distance from one another since the *spectre* of global terrorism cemented itself as a political tool
-the utter decline of hand-jobs and/or "fingering" in the sexual repertoire of adults over the age of, say, 25.
-Turkish pirate films featuring dogs named "Kurt"

Some of these are lies. But, it shall be no less ambitious than the GodSpeed You Black Emperor/ Moby Dick piece we promised so many issues of Hit It Or Quit It ago.





(<$BlogItemCommentCount$>) comments

They go down to the lake of fire and fry; Won't see 'em again till the Fourth of July

Dog days of summer, hoo boy. They are here. Actually, this week has been overwhelmingly pleasant, Chicago weather-wise. You can't ask for better than mid-70's with few clouds and minimum humidity. So we'll count our lucky stars.

White Sox eeked out a slim win against the division leading Tigers of Detroit earlier tonight at the Cell. No, we were at the bookstore. But we were with the south side nine in spirit (and on the radio). Our boys have had a rough time of it the last few weeks, but we have faith things are about to turn around. The pitching staff has to get a few things in order, and Thome has to stay healthy, but October should see us again at the gates of St. Peter, if things stay on the current. Lots of season left to go, and the Detroiters could fade.

Does any one know where in Chicago to get a really good pair of white boat shoes for not a lot of crilla? We're trying to pull our summer look together. Lacoste has some that are manifestly fresh but also totally out of our current financial dimensions. Actually, wearing a pair of white paper bags is out of our current financial dimensions, but we're keeping our options open. Size 12, if you can help a brother out.

Ian of the great Northeast, thanks a million for the bootleg "Theme Time Radio Hour with your host Bob Dyaln" cd's. The timing could not have been better. If you haven't heard it yet, Dylan has an XM Satellite radio show where he picks a theme and then plays songs on the theme and then narrates all over the place. Kind of like This American Life in reverse. Of course Dylan is his funny, caustic, ambiguous self, and the musical selections are righteous. There are spoken word bits, snippets from movies, the works. The Baseball show (of course the first one we listened to) has a reading by Ferlinghetti of a poem that combines the political spirit of the sixties and the blazing nature of the sport in a way that is most happening; you'll never think of Juan Marichal in the same way again.

If you have a feeling that we're watching Ken Burns' Baseball in its entirety again right now in our free time, you'd be right. We know we promised to wait until the off season....but c'mon!

P.S. Happy 666 day! Ultimate metal melange at the bookstore tonight!




(<$BlogItemCommentCount$>) comments

Have you seen my wig around? I feel naked without it.

Opportunity of a lifetime, just missed!

Last night the new Dave Navarro/ Stephen Perkins vehicle (ahem) The Panic Channel played at the Double Door, and their stupid, giant tour bus was in our precious loading zone for 5 hours or so. And with about 30 hoochie-goth suburban community college chicks and plenty of goth/hoodrat yet gender-unidentified fellow dude grovelers in tow, annoyance factor behind the bookstore pulpit was high (and the register area really does look like a pulpit; if you've ever visited the store, you know how much taller we are than you when you buy your Edward Says On Orientalism). At least half as high, anyway, as the squeals that would slice through the bloated summer night everytime the accursed tour bus door opened slightly or one of the window curtains so much as twitched.

To be fair, the roadies were nice to the kids, issuing a few passes when they could and doing a lot of non-commital shrugging ("Can we pleeeeease come on the bus for a second? Pleeeeease? We just want to meet the driver."). After the show, the band paused for a bunch of photos and made a big scene of talking to pretty much anyone who wanted to and signing stuff aplenty with cell phone cameras flashing. But, still.

Dave Navarro is a cultural leech who has done very little for the world at large, aside from boning Carmen Electra for a while (remember that reality show fiasco?), mainlining lots of coke, doing a REALLY BAD solo on Been Caught Stealing (worst rock song ever? Barking Dogs? Ugh. Not to mention the video. Alternative Rock always did suck), and flashing his wang dang doodle in his home photo booth a few times. So, we made sure to call the cops every few minutes and inform them that we were being rock blocked like a motherfucker...but not a ticket was issued, nor even a Chicago po-po cruiser stopped by. Joe Shannahan must have some pull. Today, we're going to call Alderman Manny Flores, and see what we can get out of him as far as future promises go.

We figured if we couldn't combat this unacceptable situation in the usual fashion, we'd get some comp for the bookstore, so we had Nick, the store's adorable yet vaguely frightening 15 year old fake-I.D. toting, felony-having, retail theft ring-leading miscreant/street hustler get said Mr. Navarro to sign a copy of his book (one of which we just happened to have handy on our shelves under Musical/Artist (??)) for us to sell on our online store. Turns out the fuckkin' thing goes for like $40 jojos signed. Can you believe that?

To all the kids hanging out in the bookstore foyer for hours, we ask these pitiful small requests: not so much patchouli. That shit is for hippies and it leaves a pallor over any room. And what is with the piles of empty energy bar boxes and Gatorade bottles everywhere? It wasn't that hot last night. Were you trying to "juice up" for some acrobatic on the bus piss sex? Next time, go to House of Blues! At least they have a hotel.

How was your Memorial Day weekend? Ours kind of sucked incredibly hard. Highlight? Superman trailer. Kevin Spacey as Lex Luthor looked cheesy amazing. It's going to rule. And the Mem Day Un-BQ. Thanks Jessica and Matt. One love, baby.


(<$BlogItemCommentCount$>) comments