Wednesday, July 26, 2006

In the Sky, Lord, In The Sky

I know you hate me for never updating this thing. Sorry. Really. It's's nice outside. Deep breath. Go get an iced tea and leave the internet to the deep hornballs. Stay up 'til 4 AM so you can listen to BBC Morning Update every night like I do, and get your news that way. Who needs email? I don't. The only email I've gotten in the last two weeks is junk mail from JennysoHORNY2008 about selling house pets for obscure sexual purposes I don't understand. Lots of exclamation points at the end. I noticed that, although I was shuddering uncontrollably.

*******>>>>>>>> SUMMER UPDATE <<<<<<<*******

The White Sox right now are like the bad news bears without Walter Matthau and his ever-replenished bucket of beers. NO FUN. I think Ozzie's gay-bashing comments last month are now karmically destroying the team. It could also be that the pitching staff is serving them up there for opposing hitters like a platter of Onion Rings at the fucking Steak N' Shake. If you've never been to a Steak N' Shake, I weep for you.

In other news, Wicker Park Summer 2006 officially sucks your trouser donkey. Last weekend was the whole "shut down Damen between Division and North and have a street fest" debacle. Sure, I bet Dead Meadow and Make Believe and Gris Gris were good. I even heard some of Kinsella and the boys when I was alphabetizing the Nature section Sunday night. (Yes, my life IS that sexy on the day-to-day).

Anyway, the streets were filled all weekend with insanity on a scale hithero known only to Bacchus, and perhaps Robert Evans. I went down to the Food Mart to get a Choco-Taco just after midnight and it was like Milwaukee Ave was the set of a really bad Fellini movie. Ambulances every thirty feet, carting sweaty fatsos away to the morgue...all the coked-up little gay hustler boys sassing around in their short-shorts and love beads (a look I secretly wish I still had the legs to pull off)... ladies falling from not being able to drunkenly navigate on heels, frat boys a' raging, crackheads a' weirding, and that baffling Asian guy who does his strange exercises on the six corners traffic triangle or in the park, wearing far too little clothing, and making most passers by VERY uncomfy.

Why Time/Out Chicago did a story on this bozo is far beyond the scope of human faculty. Then again, so is the Pissed Jeans record, and I love it to death. I'm just a grouchy old man who really likes songs based on single tone feedback. Just like Steve Albini! The circle is unbroken, dun! Like Too Short, I'm out.

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