This just in from The Chicagoist: admission to the Art Institute will be free February 1-21 and admission to the Museum of Science and Industry will be free February 1-7.
I know most of you have better taste in movies, but as for myself, I am a Werner Herzog fan. The Reader's giving away tickets to a Herzog festival happening throughout February and it would be keen if you entered the giveaway so we (okay, so I) might have an infinitesimally better chance at winning.
What do you say?
In other news, some of us went to see the Belmont Burlesque last night and had a blast. I'm so glad that such an archaic tradition is alive and flourishing in Chicago right now. I've heard about a lot of so-called "burlesque" shows out there that consist of hideous half-naked goth girls spanking each other, but that ain't burlesque, that's just kind of gross. The Belmont show is an actual variety show with a comedian, magician, and a singing mc...in addition to the lovely ladies who do tasteful stripteases and fan dances. I told you the 20s never really ended.
To round out tonight's media blitz, I'd like to express my unwavering awe at the new Menomena album that just came out last week on Barsuk. I've been pushing this band on just about everyone I've come across since their first album (packaged in a flip book) landed on my desk at the ol' newspaper office in '04. They've really outdone themselves this time. If you like TV on the Radio, Sunset Rubdown/Wolf Parade, or anything with powerful layers of orchestration, you will love this. I'm also glad I ordered a physical copy of this one because dreamy Craig Thompson (who wrote the graphic novel Blankets) drew the album art, and the front insert acts with the disc as a kind of decoder ring. It's breathtaking. When I gave it a first spin, I had to sit still and listen without doing anything else. I can't remember being that absorbed in a CD since the first time I listened to Funeral.
So, I guess I'll see you at the Empty Bottle on March 20th, when our socks get rocked off. San Francisco, they will attend to you on March 9th, and Los Angeles, your turn is March 10th.
I'm not saying any fishy business is afoot, but if you're interested in the Bright Eyes EP that's due out in March, you just might want to email me. Just maybe.
They just don't hand it out to you here like they do in San Francisco. And it's always subtle, so you have to pay close attention. Both of these factors lend weirdspotting in Chicago a superior payoff.
There were the odd lawn ornaments in my neighborhood: a stained glass panel depicting a collie displayed on the snowy grass in one yard, a grilled chicken breast in another.
An attorney's plaque designating the offices of Bullwinkel and associates.
And I suppose I made my own contribution by changing my shoes in front of a dour-faced suit in that office building elevator. What can I say. I have no idea where people make the transition from winterwear to office attire here. It's like they jump into a phone booth and come out looking fabulous, with their coats and boots magically absent.
and I think my body is going to dissolve like that senator dude in the X-Men movie. It will be interesting to see how the electric mattress pad reacts to so much water. My guess: entertainment at its finest.
Seriously though, eight years of this stuff and I still can't believe the human body is capable of half the crap they make you do in the studio.
Ever get jeebied for no reason when somebody sits next to you on the train? I was merrily reading Carter Beats the Devil on the way home from the library when a total creepster man in purple earmuffs sat down and did that rude slantwise book-stare that I'll admit to doing, myself, to see what the population's reading. No, wait, he was staring at my dress. And slowly caressing the hem of it between his fingers. Oh, so THAT'S why I had felt jeebied. It took me a while to notice since I can't feel anything through my infinite layers of winter clothes. I got up, wedging my big hardcover book and my Snoopy tote behind me so he wouldn't "accidentally" touch my butt as I passed, and once I was settled next to a woman on the other end of the train, he followed and sat in the row behind me - but thankfully got off the train after a few stops.
I was too confused to even say anything to the jerk - what the hell kind of D-grade pervert does that? I carry mace everywhere but what do you do when the situation is about a hundred miles shy of physically dangerous? Lord knows the next one will steal my hat and start rhapsodically smelling it.
Welcome to the first and probably only installment in my project for the weekend: make a video dumb enough to post on YouTube and publicly embarass loved-ones in the process. Cats were the dullest subject that came to mind, so I'm satisfied with the results. Note the look of unbridled passion in the cat's eyes, and that hand frozen on the keyboard, stiff with fear.
I could blog about the interesting things in my life, but just now I feel like hoarding them. The internet is no place for interesting things!
Hey, remember when I went around lying that I recorded a voice for a Nickelodeon cartoon? I was just kidding about that - it was actually a true story.
If you listen very closely during the little bursts of fighting, you can hear me yowling operatically on the soundtrack to this weird little short.
Hey who knows how to neuter a cat? Wanna hang out?
Animals.
They will get you.
Oh god: animals.
So yesterday, we realized that our guest cats' owner secretly hates her cats. She just couldn't be bothered to take the younger guy in to be neutered, and now he is persistently humping the older (male) cat and spraying on anything upholstered he can get at. Now we have the fun task of keeping him locked up in the kitchen howling for two weeks, and instead of meowing at us to be let in to the kitchen to use the litter box, the other cat went ahead and peed on my roommate's nice dress. Awesome.
In an unrelated incident, my friend's cat attacked me out of nowhere last night, and cut pretty deep into my leg, drawing blood. There must have been fur on my kneesocks from Captain Twoballs over here.
I curled up under my reading blanket when I got home and while I was distracted by my book, that little bastard jumped up and sprayed on the blanket.
Laundry party today, and then when I go outside, I'm pretty sure a bobcat or a cougar or something will leap out of a tree and eat my face.
I am so cranky right now, you could clamp cables to me and I'd jumpstart your car battery.
As thrilling as it is to have two adorable kitties visiting us for the next two weeks, this prolonged unemployment has me feeling like I'm living just like them, except I get to read books and shower. I lie around, send my resume a few places, and wait for the cats to start chanting, "gooble gobble, one of us!"
The hockey game was fun, though sadly bereft of brawls. But that's not what I'm here to talk about. Introducing: the world's best party game.
Make a list of subjects and modifiers and take turns rolling dice, once to choose your subject, again to choose the modifier. We had a twenty-sided die to work with, so we numbered our lists 1 through 20, rolled, and went with the corresponding words on the lists. Each person draws something on everyone else. Everybody wins.
After spending Christmas back in the golden West, I came home with the urge to shake a little more of the residual California-ness out of my bones, much like I'm still shaking that stubborn Pacific sand out of my Ponys. Not to say that I'll give up the dream of eating curry for every meal now that I no longer live in a largely Asian city. But I've been in Chicago for two and a half months and I'm still itching to check out new things that are, you know...midwestern.
So, hockey, right? Tonight I'm going to a hockey game. If TV doesn't lie, this is a sport that consists entirely of brutal fighting. I'm not scared, just confused. Like I'm switching teams. And we all know that the only team I root for is the San Francisco Ballet (we kick ABT's ass!). I've been to a couple of baseball games and felt like I was missing something fundamental in whatever it was they were doing down there on the field. I'm used to spotlights onstage and a dark audience, so it's hard to focus on the action. You know, between their casual, spitty attitude and the mechanical rhythm of the game, it kind of felt like I was watching dudes work an assembly line.
But I'm excited about this, and it's an excuse to hang out with my droogs. Any enterprise that requires strapping blades on one's feet is fine by me.
Yesterday I watched an episode of the cartoon "Clone High," in which clones of historical figures ride out their awkward high school years together. I'm guessing it was the cause of the dream I had this morning, because it was set in a high school where I was desperately worried about becoming the least popular kid in school thanks to my being the angel of death. A deadly epidemic was going around the school and I was trying to get my special work done without attracting too much attention.
High school's rough.
In other matters death-related, The Vatican's producing a musical based on Dante's Divine Comedy and the Inferno sequences will be "illustrated with rock, punk, and rave." Throwing rave music in to sully the nice, honest rock? That definitely sounds like hell.
First, I'd like to express my horror at hearing that Queen has beaten the Beatles to the position as top British rock band in history (according to BBC listeners). I hate to preach a&e opinions but holy cats anyone who doesn't care about the Beatles ought to be bullwhipped.
In other news, in the grand tradition of a toddler throwing out an expensive Christmas gift to spend all afternoon playing with the box it came in, my favorite gift this year is a 24-pack of colored Sharpies. Did I receive nicer things? Yes. Many.
