Friday, December 07, 2007

Wife: (13 Wives)

Two posts in two days! Sit back, relax, fire up the blogtinis...Am I freaking you out?

Today was pretty much the perfect day off. Woke up around 1 PM, went thrifting with Hopper shortly thereafter. She marched me around the Ark mens' and womens' sections both, making me try on every dubious sweater and oversized dress shirt we came across, which was plenty, like in the hundreds. If she had her way, I'd be Mr. Office Contempo-Casual, 24/7/365. You'd look at me on the street and think I was a really gangly, misshapen female extra from the Golden Girls. We had a fun few hours.

While there found a real swell sportcoat in off-charcoal (men's; Yves Saint Laurent and Bill Blass tags inside-- label confusion), a few books and a real steamin' CD of Turkish music from before World War II. Came home, disco napped, ironed a pink shirt to wear with the new YSL/BB, then went downstairs to the Bottle to watch some White Magic jammy jams. Miles had a dark turtleneck/suspenders/jack boots/Eastern bloc spy look going on and we both looked underworld hott, truth be told. I thought there might be more willowy folkly damsels giving us zaps, but the weather was bad and no zaps were to be had. Even though the White Magic sounded good we blew that pop stand and jaunted over to the Rainbo. Been many moons since I last sipped the Canada Dry in that particular bad-mojo-haus, but tonight was fine. Dave Laney showed up out of the blue (well, not really, his band Auxes has a show at the Bottle Friday night; you should go) and Doug said I looked like Lux Interior going home to meet my girlfriend's parents for the first time. I think that was a twisted compliment of some kind. Then Miles and I came home and watched John Carpenter's The Thing. Why does Kurt Russell wear a really bad hat when he flies a helicopter in the Antarctic? Why did I not buy that Anita Baker CD for 1.50 today? When will I go hang-gliding with Father Yod?

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

I am waiting for someone to really discover America and wail.

And just like that, we are back.

So fire up a colortini, sit back, relax, and watch the pictures now as they fly through the air.

I've always wanted to say that. You know Tom Snyder died not too long ago? Do you want to know more? Tom Snyder gave great TV. Sure, the famous interviews are classics: John Lydon...when Wendy O. Williams sledgehammered a TV set...Charles Manson. But I remember watching the CBS Late, Late Show almost religiously, and there were some great hours there. An all-time standoff with a quiet and seemingly hateful Warren Beatty, who took 45 seconds to answer whether or not he still ever talked to his sister (that would be Shirley MacLaine, for all you OK! magazine readers out there) ; David Lynch reminiscing about moving to Philadelphia for art school and all his insane neighbors, including a tiny old lady who would crawl around her back yard barking like a dog for hours.

Snyder could even make a dimwit "intellectual" like Bob Costas sound cute. Go YouTube that shit. He's up there. I know some Snyder maniacs have put up ENTIRE complete shows (TV and Radio) on the YTub and other spots on the nets cause I been checking and wrecking them for days. IT'S ALL I DO. I would link to it, but I'm lazy and your fingers need the exercise. Fat fingers! Anyway, why should you go look for Snyder right now? Watch a cardboard hairdo turd a'la Brian Williams dry shellac his way through the evening newscast now, and you want to just nuke the entire fucking planet and start over. I hate this country. And that's why you should go watch Tom Snyder! He hated it so much he went and died on us.

So anyway, the other day I was talking to someone who shall remain nameless about our current listening habits. I had to explain that since I don't really like music or other human beings too damn much any more, it is slim pickens out there (and no, not the dude that rode the A-Bomb in Dr. Strangelove). Basically, I just want to return to the womb as soon as possible and avoid all the bullshit, so I listen to blurry noise and metal and numb and doom. Nadja, Panda Bear, White Rainbow and not only that but I'm back on Aphex Twin and Fripp N' Eno and Basic Channel and even the Orb! And then a few weeks ago I got stupid and read the fab new (New Yorker music critic) Alex Ross book about 20th century classical and can tolerate ought else these days! So fiddle my faddle! Can you taste the colortinis yet, you fucking cretins?

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Liberty, sir, was the primary object.

Big news: Robin (the umbrella lady; link to your right) and Ian are the proud parents of America's newest and best ever Memorial Day weekend baby, Max. Word on the street is that Max is pretty fat, still in diapers, and already ruling it. More information/pictures as they become available.

It is public knowledge that I am indeed the world's worst gift buyer/giver. I had the brilliant idea that we could get Max his first book and Hopper was all like "I've bought him 8 books already" so now I'm going to buy ahead for Max's future. Fuck that Dick And Jane bullshit. I was thinking the Library of America's excellent "The Debate on the Constitution: Volume One: September 1787 to February 1788"...

Part One: September 1787 to February 1788. The Debate on the Constitution charts the course of the bloodless revolution that created the government of the United States and the world's oldest working national charter. The extraordinary energy and eloquence of the ratification struggle is captured here firsthand in a unique collection of speeches, newspaper articles, pamphlets and letters. Part One presents press polemics and private commentaries from September 1787 to January 1788. Highlights include the state ratifying convention in Pennsylvania, where James Wilson confronted the deep democratic skepticism of the frontier delegates, and in Massachusetts, where John Hancock and Samuel Adams forged a crucial compromise that saved the country from political convulsion. A detailed chronology of events, biographical profiles, and notes provide fascinating background. An appendix prints the complete text of the Declaration of Independence, Articles of Confederation, and Constitution with all amendments. "The best resource for understanding the morning headlines I've seen in a long time."—Bill Moyers

That sounds very useful to me. And "Volume Two: January to August 1788" is the perfect Xmas stocking jam to complete Max's set! Then, also, when I'm babysitting I'll have something to peruse. Regardless, Max needs to meet my homeboss Patrick Henry, ASAP. We could all learn from a bloodless revolution or two.

I've come to grips with the fact that I'll never have children of my own, so I need to get my friend's and family's progeny the under the radar presents they need. Kids need knowledge that the public school system can't provide. Parents overlook this type of essential stuff because they have to wipe noses and make dinner: constitutional history, the Void/Faith split LP, Raymond Chandler paperbacks, M*A*S*H DVDs, etc. When he's 23, Max will be stoked. He'll also think I'm deeply weird if he remembers me at all. I'm cool with that.

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Sunday, April 29, 2007

And these are his words. He held up a chunk of rock. He speaks in stones and trees, the bones of things.

Part of this is from a few days past, so sue a dude:

Cold and rainy day out, hopefully the last burp/fart of winter. Probably not, but we can hope. Just bumpin' to the Rinse FM and keeping it on lock at the Wicker Park/ Bucktown CPL branch. What are you up to?

Did you see Mark Buehrle's no-hitter the other night? Totally 100% sweet. Caught a bit of it on the radio...thought Ed Farmer was going to xxxplode through the Myopic stereo speakers. He didn't talk about it the entire game until the damn thing was sealed. Old baseball superstition, if you didn't know, not to talk about the no-no in progress. Good for Burls! I hope his next contract is fat like the back of a baby's neck.

Sox have been inconsistent as heck, bullpen snapping one day and dogging it the next, rotation getting all underhanded, lineup mashing then crashing. Typical April hijinks. They're a game or so out of first, and the Angels of Los Angeles of Anaheim (real team name!) are coming to the South Side this weekend. Can the Good Guys pick up a few games on the Twins?

Lately I've been reading stuff you'd hate. French dudes, mostly. Apollinaire, Guy De Maupassant, Huysmans and on into Bataille...that type of thing. I like these "decadent generation" types. Lots of stories of wealthy barons utterly bored by existence, locking themselves in their large castles, wasting vast inheritances and going mad. Apart from the wealth, I can relate. And then there's Georges B., who writes about his sister sticking warm bull testes into parts of her body where the sun don't often shine, and rutting with (and urinating upon) just ritually-murdered priests. Doesn't that sound weird? Beats the junk out of Ayn Rand! (Queen of capitalist hate sex...full blog theory/post on this coming soon...)

Miles is DJing at Continental right now, and I should be over there offering moral support...but I'm sure he's slaying them real good. Besides, I was there LAST night (offering moral support of another nature) and too many nights at the ol' 4AM can get migh-TEE tiresome. Areif asked me the other night if it bothered me to be surrounded by drunken brutes (my term, not his) when I'm keeping it on the regular. Actually, people ask me that all the durn time. My easy answer: think of how stupid you were acting last time your ass was yanked on firewater. Now imagine the utter opposite of that. It's like a Jerry Lewis movie, and I'm always Dean Martin. Wait...bad example for sobriety. You know what I mean. That crestfallen stranger you made a cross-eyed war whoop at and then flashed your tits to, when the Journey song was playing? He was me and he was not particularly impressed by the tits in question. But keep trying! Its bound to work for you someday.

Speaking of tits and the bar (whoever takes a law school class with this title first; I'll pay your entire tuition), last Sunday marked the first occasion of a *completely random/clothing optional* Empty Bottle hook-up, at least in my somewhat illustrious career. Not to be all TMI, but if you can hold your utter disgust with me for a few more moments, there is full-bore Jimmy Durante pending. The subject came up (oh stop it!) the other night downstairs, and when bartendress (did I just invent that?) Jill asked what facilitated this event (the fellow hook-up-ee was as sober as I was, btw) all I could say was that she was on layover at the time. As soon as I said that, four other friends/patrons surrounding me at the bar all shouted "LAYOVER" at once, just like in a deformed episode of Cheers. Apparently this is some kind of registered excuse for casual out-of-town heavy petting. Who knew? Last time I was on layover, I feverishly shouted obscenities at Tony La Russa in a St. Louis Internat'l Airport gift shop. True story...but for another time. SUCKERS!

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Friday, March 23, 2007

Watch Maximilien Robespierre Throw Some D's

Those of you out there Google-ing for:

"mouth cupcake chasing Wicker Park"
"incapacitants t-shirts"
"ugly ozzie guillen children photos"
"merry go round called denial"
"attention deficit disorder adult romance"
"alexander haig you have the army"

in the last 48 hours or so, welcome to the blog! All this and more in the archives. I would blog more, but I'm devoting all avail free time far and away chasing mouth cupcake action in Wicker Park.

I'm not going to lie, I've done some sick, donkey-style shit in my time. Truly. But the concept of "mouth cupcake action" is far too advanced for my feeble, aging brain. However, "attention deficit disorder adult romance" is the STORY OF MY LIFE IN A SEEMINGLY INNOCENT WEB SEARCH! You have defined me as no other human ever has, random Googler! That might be the new name of this blog very soon. Don't front on the 1996 Blackburn College English Dept. Student of the Year, bloods! I'm makin' a comeback like Ken Caminiti!


Speaking of, um, attention...the class of 2007,2008,2009 and 2010 currently attending Roberto Clemente High School at Western and Division are truly *so* not down with my fashion grind. I get cat-called 50 spirit-crushing times a day because of my new summer 2007 (AKA The Summer of Forgiveness) gay hustler look, which includes a blinding white pair of cowboy boots and some Crackin' Ron Wood accessories. Bitch, I've got more accessories than Lee Harvey Oswald. That makes no sense. I'm a sucker for punishment. Summer of Forgiveness! Kathy Horyn, I'm coming!

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Wednesday, March 14, 2007

She used my name to talk in another way that I wanted to know

Two months! I know you're hanging on every word, chuckles. Thanks for sticking around.

Big news: probably no Yahoo Fantasy Baseball league participation this summer. Can it be true? Yes. I keep bitching about not having a functioning computer of my own to love and cherish, but then I keep realizing that I don't give a rat's hairy raisin sac if I'm on the internet for more than 15 minutes a day or not, since I feel that American KULTUR, in a nutshell, is growing ever more incredibly coarse, vulgar, and just generally gross. It's just ME and Walt Whitman and Herman Melville and Ralph Waldo Emerson and Theodore Parker and YOU and noone you know from here on in, folks. And by the way, did I mention I loved the new Rocky movie?

So what did I do this week? Let's see. Went on a rad date, watched the Ken Burns doc on Huey Long, worked on the WORK blog, started reading a book about Ben Franklin, enjoyed the sunlight and March in Chicago heatwave (not too fucking dazzling but we'll take it) by taking long walks along our mighty yet polluted great lake, went on another rad date, and another rad date (!!) and basically hung in there with my fly homies Dan Higgs and William Wordsworth. If I didn't like the first JESU record so much, I don't think I'd be listening to anything made after 1950. I think Hopper can tell you that isn't an idol threat (or a minor one).

21st century take a hike!

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Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Wretched is he who looks back upon lone hours in vast and dismal chambers with brown hangings

Sometimes you look back over a message that you just sent and think, huh, maybe I should have kept that to myself.

"I decided to read some H.P. Lovecraft tonight, and I doubt I will sleep for several days. More soul-blasting fright than I thought humanly possible, esp. that I just got this experimental black metal CD by Prurient and have been listening on repeat to what sounds like millions of souls endlessly terrorized on ice floes captained by winter daemons lowly intoning invective at God's diminished charity along with the string section of the Orchestre de Paris sawing away in the gloom back there. Couple that with the fact that I was assaulted this evening by an unfriendly chap outside of a cash machine, and today has been among the most notable Martin Luther King Holidays of my (approaching) middle-aged mortal span.


*****Resolutions and Revolutions 2007 Continue*****

We're going to open up the docket to Ozzie readers and MySpace friends and real-life friends and so forth, so if you have any NY 2007 resolutions of your own to share, don't send them to me or I'll obnoxiously post them here, anonymously, without prior permission, like this:

"1. wear more dresses. i always feel like more of a pretty lady when i wear the dresses.
2.i bought this pair of awesome green studdy boots last year; this year i'm going to make it happen.
3.i promise to blog more- i never write except when i'm experiencing extreme existencial malaise or giddiness. there is more to me than just the highs and lows.
4. stop obsessing over what i haven't been able to do yet and focus on all the beautiful stuff i've accomplished.
5. read that henry miller book i got a month ago, goddammit.
6. make more friends too! i don't hate EVERYONE..."

I like these resolutions. In fact, I could have written them myself, apart from the pretty lady stuff, but you never know. Green boots suit me. I could craft fake-ass NY 2007 lists and start a new branch of meta-fiction. I'm Borges like that.

You should send me yours TODAY and I'll post them and they will spread like wildfire across the Malibu that is the interjunk! Dude, where's my BOREDOM?

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Thursday, January 11, 2007

You Were at the Gigantic Spree, I Caught a Glimpse Now it Haunts Me

2007 started off with not a bang, but a whimper. The whimper was me realizing that I have been on earth for close to 33 years and I have little to show for myself but an ever-growing collection of black metal CDs and a handful of Bone Awl demo cassettes. Oh, well. Go get your gauntlets on a copy of Satyricon's Dark Medieval Times tomorrow and join me in my splendid Mount Lair Seven Leagues above the Glistening Fogs of the MoonFrost. The place to be!

Obviously the blog has suffered in the Aught-Six. Apologies, droogs. I'm sure to be feeling a few creative bursts in the weeks to come, but in the meantime....some New Year's Resolutions:

1) Always, always the tightest pants possible. No exceptions!

2) My new white cowboy ankle-boots (fake Ostrich, from the sweet shelves of Alcala's) are kicking five kinds of ass, if only in my own mind.

3) Dual blogging is the new shining path. I'm doing some prose crank for the bookstore's blog, where you can read more of my bitter, nerdy churl. I'd post a nice fat link, but bookstore cohorts would be embarrassed at the association with this here bloggity. You know where to go, right?

Oh my God, lacerating wood flute solo on this Satyricon right back.

Whew. Okay.

4) More writing down and reflections on very vivid dream activity as of late, if only to prove that your imagination/emotional life is not a burned-out, reedy husk.

5) You can make more friends! You can make more friends!

6) Make the winter beard happen. Temps dipping into the minus range this weekend...the time is now.

7) Make the matching Thin Lizzy's Johnny The Fox cover art tats you've been planning with Jon really happen.

8) Complete Gibbon's Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire. You know you can do it.

Later this morning, Indiana and then Metal Haven. Tomorrow the world!

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