There was a party here last Friday. Although parties are a celebration of humanity, when it’s my house, it always makes me kind of loathe humanity. You spend all day cleaning your dwelling, buying and transporting booze, then about a dozen of your closest friends show up with several dozen people you’ve never met before. Everyone ends up drinking all your booze, trashing your place, ransacking your pantry, then splits when the sun comes up, leaving you $100 in the hole with a thrashed apt. I guess there’s really no other way to execute a houseparty and still honestly call it a houseparty. I mean, you could charge at the door, but then you’re just turning your apt. into a makeshift nightclub and your friends (and friends’ friends) into clientele. It’s better to just bite your tongue, open your ass cheeks, and do the best not to hold a grudge against your friends, and instead hold your anguish inside until it can be properly released at some other poor sap’s houseparty.Approximately 99.5% of the party guests were friends of Melissa and H.R. It felt a lot like when I was a kid and my parents would invite all their friends over for a party. Not only were they not my friends, but I couldn’t even relate to them.I’m not sure if I’m bad at conversing with people in the Midwest, or if people in the Midwest are just bad at conversation. They never offer enough words into the discourse.Good conversation should be like tennis. There’s a back-and-forth and each party has possession for about the same amount of time. I find that when I talk to people here, it’s more like shooting hoops by myself, where I’m me and they’re the basket. I’ll lob something against the backboard, the basket will have possession for a few seconds or milliseconds, and then the ball drops backs to me. I now have possession, but I don’t immediately shoot. I dribble around to the top of the key and then rush the basket for a layup amounting to about 20-seconds of possession for me. The basket then has possession for a second, and then I again have the ball.I don’t want it to be like this. I’d rather play basketball with someone else. Everyone always accuses me of talking too much, but truth be told, I don’t really like talking that much. It’s just that if I don’t talk, nobody else will. I would much rather hang back and let somebody else make words with their mouth, but it doesn’t happen here. If I shut my mouth, there’s dead air. Essentially as if I was talking to the coffeemaker.Maybe I’m just too timorous about the open spaces and people just need more time to put together a thought before they respond. Or maybe people in the Midwest just don’t talk that much. Or maybe the content isn’t something that interests them. Although, I think that’s unfair, because I’ll talk to anyone about anything. In fact, the less I know about a topic, the more interesting it is for me to talk about. If anyone reading this has actually talked to me, I’d be very interested to hear your opinion on what I’m doing wrong.On one hand, I think it’s vibes. I’m positive of the fact that I give off spaz vibes. I know I’m squirrely, and I generally talk about things that: (a) I truthfully don’t care about; and (b) I do not genuinely believe. Plus, I’m a weirdo, and say things that people perceive as strange and confusing. I’m not being honest and I think people pick up on that and they consciously or sub-consciously withdraw.But on the other I think they’re just lazy. In the first episode of season 4 of Curb Your Enthusiasm, “Mel’s Offer,” Larry gets permission from Cheryl to have one extramarital sexual encounter. Shortly thereafter, Larry clumsily makes an attempt to cash in his matrimonial get-out-of-jail-free card with an attractive woman while watching Mel Brooks sing at a karaoke bar. He starts off solid with something like, “Hey, karaoke’s pretty fun, right?” She responds with something insipid like, “it’s something to do.” Then Larry says, “well, for things to do at night, you’ve got going to the movies, bowling, and karaoke.” She says nothing. Larry then dovetails into an improvised stand-up bit about bowling. She almost instantaneously loses interest. But it’s sort of the woman’s fault because she had a window to speak up when Larry laid out four topics of discussion: movies, bowling, karaoke, and things to do at night.” I personally, never let an opportunity to talk about something go un-taken-advantage-of.
Sure enough. The following morning, I woke up to find the pad flogged.
I remember the keg being tapped before I went to bed, but I guess that didn’t slow down our party guests’ ambitious party ways.They surged ahead with wine.And bottled beer (many of which used to belong to me).I’ll admit I’m upset, but I won’t show it. That’s what future house parties are for.
8/31/10
8/23/10
When so many love you, is it the same?
On and off again lover Dustin Brchr drove down to Chicago from wherever Justin Vernon recorded his first album. In tow was his best friend, Sully the dog, and his (presumed) best girlfriend, Julie. Anytime someone comes to visit me in my city of residency, I voluntarily bear the burden of showing them a good time. I want to give them a tour of the place that I live in a way that will be pleasurable, unique to that particular geographical location, and will weigh heavily on their future impressions of that place. I know this seems like common host sense, but I can’t tell you the number of times I go to some foreign city to hang out with a friend I know from a different geographical location, and upon showing up, they ask, “so what do you want to do?”
My first year of law school, I dated this girl that I knew from high school. I somehow miraculously convinced her that I was someone she ought to want to date during a chance meeting in New York City 5-years after high school graduation and then sealed the deal during my 2007/2008 Winter Break. I made several trips out to Los Angeles where she resided and should have known the relationship was doomed when I was given the burden of finding couple-shit when I was greeted by her at the Burbank Airport.
Eventhough I moved to The Windy City 3-months ago, I spent the first 2-locked in a battle of wits with the Illinois Bar Exam that rendered me incapable of exploring and mapping my new domicile. So when Dustin and Julie showed up, I was at a bit of a disadvantage with showing them a side of Chicago that was pleasurable, unique to Chicago, and would weigh heavily of their future impressions of Chicago. But I was still determined to do so. I researched two alternative excursions that would showcase exclusive components of the Midwestern United States’ most populace city. The first option was to take the El-Train to the Loop and eat hotdogs while watching live opera in Grant Park, which abuts Lake Michigan. The second was to walk down Milwaukee Ave. to watch improve comedy in a bar cellar. Dustin and Julie chose the latter.
Chicago is an improv comedy town, but that doesn’t mean that every improv comedian is John Belushi, or Tina Fey. Truth be told, most of the comedians are horribly untalented hacks performing in a medium that proves challenging for even the most experienced pros.That night’s performance in The Crocodile’s basement can best be summarized by this individual’s reaction to it.The upside is that at The Crocodile, each drink purchase is accompanied by a personal pan pizza at no cost. So how ripped off can you feel about free pizza and free (although very bad) improv comedy?Dustin and Julie live together with Sully in an apartment in Washington D.C. They told me what part, but I’m not familiar enough with our nation’s capital to have had it register.A lot of guys, like Jimmie Shannon, would argue it’s a mistake for a 27-year old man living in a major cosmopolitan to cohabitate with a woman, but one advantage to living with a chick that goes unmentioned is perceived maturity. A guy living with his girlfriend is seemingly more of an adult than a guy living with a roommate, eventhough in both cases, it’s still just living with another person that you split the rent with.
If you’re an unmarried dude, and you can’t afford your own place, but you want to appear to be a mature, developed social actor, you should turn down bunking up with your bros in favor of coupling with your sweetheart. It’s the same amount of money you’re spending on rent (possibly less), but people will consider you living with your significant other as a sign that you’re further along the dubious road to adulthood than your unspoken-for, underemployed, male counterpart. I’m not sure why, but living with someone you have regular consensual intercourse with makes all the difference.
I suppose it’s because living with someone you’re in a relationship shows: (a) you’re emotionally capable of making a long-term, serious commitment; and (b) it’s your love for the other person that’s causing you to share you’re living quarters and not your chintziness.When I lived with Kristen in New York, it was the total opposite of adulthood. It was essentially like moving back home with an angrier, more authoritarian version of my parents. A total reversion from the independence of college. I had chores and obtuse responsibilities, had to call and check in, and got scolded for bad behavior. In defense of Kristen, I was in fact, totally immature, and not really emotionally willing to commit to being in a relationship. She wasn’t sharing an apartment with her live-in boyfriend, she was sharing an apartment with a man-child with a slight drinking problem.
As soon as I moved out of our place in Queens and into a dilapidated boho bungalow in Brooklyn, I started to spin out of control. I did all sorts of terrible things to myself that Kristen kept a lid on while we were together. Just like my real life mother, Kristen’s mothering had kept me safe from myself. As soon as she was out of the picture, I went to self-indulgent pieces.Knowing Dustin, he’s not the kind of guy to spin out of control. He’s actually kind of a dork. He enjoys exploring the far reaches of the internet in his free time, and the lion’s share of his favorite records were made in the 70’s. As far as I can tell, Dustin’s days of sowing oats are behind him now, and what’s left is a torpid boyfriendable husk that any girl in her mid-20’s would be ludicrous not to nail down. I really hope I showed him a good time.
My first year of law school, I dated this girl that I knew from high school. I somehow miraculously convinced her that I was someone she ought to want to date during a chance meeting in New York City 5-years after high school graduation and then sealed the deal during my 2007/2008 Winter Break. I made several trips out to Los Angeles where she resided and should have known the relationship was doomed when I was given the burden of finding couple-shit when I was greeted by her at the Burbank Airport.
Eventhough I moved to The Windy City 3-months ago, I spent the first 2-locked in a battle of wits with the Illinois Bar Exam that rendered me incapable of exploring and mapping my new domicile. So when Dustin and Julie showed up, I was at a bit of a disadvantage with showing them a side of Chicago that was pleasurable, unique to Chicago, and would weigh heavily of their future impressions of Chicago. But I was still determined to do so. I researched two alternative excursions that would showcase exclusive components of the Midwestern United States’ most populace city. The first option was to take the El-Train to the Loop and eat hotdogs while watching live opera in Grant Park, which abuts Lake Michigan. The second was to walk down Milwaukee Ave. to watch improve comedy in a bar cellar. Dustin and Julie chose the latter.
Chicago is an improv comedy town, but that doesn’t mean that every improv comedian is John Belushi, or Tina Fey. Truth be told, most of the comedians are horribly untalented hacks performing in a medium that proves challenging for even the most experienced pros.That night’s performance in The Crocodile’s basement can best be summarized by this individual’s reaction to it.The upside is that at The Crocodile, each drink purchase is accompanied by a personal pan pizza at no cost. So how ripped off can you feel about free pizza and free (although very bad) improv comedy?Dustin and Julie live together with Sully in an apartment in Washington D.C. They told me what part, but I’m not familiar enough with our nation’s capital to have had it register.A lot of guys, like Jimmie Shannon, would argue it’s a mistake for a 27-year old man living in a major cosmopolitan to cohabitate with a woman, but one advantage to living with a chick that goes unmentioned is perceived maturity. A guy living with his girlfriend is seemingly more of an adult than a guy living with a roommate, eventhough in both cases, it’s still just living with another person that you split the rent with.
If you’re an unmarried dude, and you can’t afford your own place, but you want to appear to be a mature, developed social actor, you should turn down bunking up with your bros in favor of coupling with your sweetheart. It’s the same amount of money you’re spending on rent (possibly less), but people will consider you living with your significant other as a sign that you’re further along the dubious road to adulthood than your unspoken-for, underemployed, male counterpart. I’m not sure why, but living with someone you have regular consensual intercourse with makes all the difference.
I suppose it’s because living with someone you’re in a relationship shows: (a) you’re emotionally capable of making a long-term, serious commitment; and (b) it’s your love for the other person that’s causing you to share you’re living quarters and not your chintziness.When I lived with Kristen in New York, it was the total opposite of adulthood. It was essentially like moving back home with an angrier, more authoritarian version of my parents. A total reversion from the independence of college. I had chores and obtuse responsibilities, had to call and check in, and got scolded for bad behavior. In defense of Kristen, I was in fact, totally immature, and not really emotionally willing to commit to being in a relationship. She wasn’t sharing an apartment with her live-in boyfriend, she was sharing an apartment with a man-child with a slight drinking problem.
As soon as I moved out of our place in Queens and into a dilapidated boho bungalow in Brooklyn, I started to spin out of control. I did all sorts of terrible things to myself that Kristen kept a lid on while we were together. Just like my real life mother, Kristen’s mothering had kept me safe from myself. As soon as she was out of the picture, I went to self-indulgent pieces.Knowing Dustin, he’s not the kind of guy to spin out of control. He’s actually kind of a dork. He enjoys exploring the far reaches of the internet in his free time, and the lion’s share of his favorite records were made in the 70’s. As far as I can tell, Dustin’s days of sowing oats are behind him now, and what’s left is a torpid boyfriendable husk that any girl in her mid-20’s would be ludicrous not to nail down. I really hope I showed him a good time.
8/17/10
REVIEW: Men's Collars
Have you noticed that when you look in the men's clothing department, sweaters, shirts, and sweatshirts are divided into V-Neck and Crew Neck? V-Neck and Crew Neck. I'm no Karl Lagerfeld or Miley Cyrus, but wouldn't it make more sense if it was the V-Neck and the O-Neck, or possibly the U-Neck? I mean, we were talking about the alphabet, right?
THUMBS DOWN.
8/15/10
They will eat right out of your hand
Brandon flew in from Tempe this weekend. Mutually eager to explore our urban surroundings we embarked on a metropolitan expedition primarily consisting of a jaunt across the abandoned elevated train tracks running east-west through Chicago’s northwestern suburbs, commonly known as the Bloomingdale Trail.
As far as I know the trail is legally owned by some railroad company, but there’s no hope in keeping trespassers out. The unlawful intruder flood gates have been blown open. Brandon and I spotted cyclists, dogs, and short fat people, suggesting there are several easy access points (none of which we found, we had to hop a fence 6th grade-style).
There’s been talk of converting the tracks into a public park, but I feel like any official municipal recognition would only diminish the menacing appeal of the Trail as it sits. When you’re up there, you feel like you‘re above (pun intended) the law. You look down on the Plebs, too simpleminded to shin up a chain-linked fence. It’s awesome and I would recommend it to everyone.
These specks look like birds, but they're actually fighter jets.
This piece of grafitti is just south of the Aldi on Milwaukee.I can't figure out if it's a tribute, or possibly the work of NYHCers H2O, or if it's someone manifesting their admiration for the chemical make-up of water, or if it's just some retard's tag name. Either way, it does something that the vast majority of other "street art" falls short of: it makes me think. But only barely.
8/14/10
Plato's cave
Kevin and I met Brian and Lauren at some theater uptown for a preview of some community acting troupe's production of some play called, "Pandora's Box."Drums are involved in some way and Kevin found them irresistably enlivening.Also, there was smoke.And headshots!
We (Lauren) decided to improvise our own.
A silhouette shot of Pandora's box.Afterwards, we enjoyed some refreshments at Andersonville's Hopleaf.
We (Lauren) decided to improvise our own.
A silhouette shot of Pandora's box.Afterwards, we enjoyed some refreshments at Andersonville's Hopleaf.
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