Wednesday, September 30, 2009

taking it to the streets

sometimes, after a long day of complaining about how long the day is, you're standing there six feet from the curb making both bicyclists and cars swerve to avoid you, feeling increasingly ornery about the lack of cabs - being the sort of person always waiting on cabs, see, you are especially susceptible to getting ornery about the little tiny little thing of having to wait for one - all you want is a buttercream or a hug or the buttcream+fuckyeah-awkward longevity of hugs, the bike-by high five.

just a little something rad to take you home today.


Sunday, September 27, 2009

i know some good ones

this is possibly one the better things to happen on the internet this weekend.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

John Adams: Reunion

No one needs to guess twice to know what will happen in the fourth installment of our currently favored historical dramedy. But here's the live blog for your enjoyment and--if you're lucky--participation:

they sure do, she says

goats do roam 2007 south african red wine and cc's special "trial and error"dillas.

alright then, thursday.

let's watch some historical miniseries.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

he's gone.

Our girl Kristin had a big bout of the body blues today. She need not wonder why: whether she ate something amiss or hasn't eaten 2 of her 2 daily required oranges lately.

No, the problem lies elsewhere. Summer, according to the fearless and attractive leader steering my employment ship, ended today at 16:47 Central Standard Time.

Let the mourning commence, for while September will rage on in all its wizardquesting, dellscamping, pinatalighting, mildweathering, whitepartying, labordaying, tripswesting, homefriends glory, while mothers will continue to soften the autumnal blow, while the winter holds great hope for much love, Summer 2k9 is at an end.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

John Adams: The HBO Miniseries, Part III

We're at it again! Probably just for one part tonight, but oh, how sweet that one part will be. Kristin noticed a decapitation in the home screen of the DVD, which is basically the best sign of things to come ever.

heart strings, tugged

can't quite explain why i welled up. maybe this reminded me of my mother's singing voice, or at least my memory of it. it's a mama's voice. a sweet one. my my.

i never said i was tough.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

dance on you tiny dancer

and even in the midst of an internet and summer gone made with death and stolen moments, i attempt even still my small little retrospective, moments made of gold and grace and aphorisms.

johnny castle. you made girls want to be women.

click through for scroll down presents

vida bohemme: we will never forget.

i'll take sylvia and mickey over the time of my life, any old day of the week.

ideas and plans, some good, some terrible

disclaimer: dubious claims and outrageous assumptions may follow.

26 will be my year of fiscal responsibility.

in the waning days of 25 - what a strange and fucking wonderful year it turned out after all - i will therefore hemorrhage cashmonies to usher in my new dawn with (old) style, (wizard) strength, and a return (or first ever trip) to my animal nature (i.e., wisconsin). it will be the end of an era.

an era in which the last seven dollars and change bought cigarettes instead of ramen and the cheap booze leftover from several parties ago inhabiting the dusty corner of the pantry looked like a perfectly decent friday night. in which with two weeks to go until the next paycheck, things like tents, kegs, fine cheeses from around the world, avocados, and a new positively audacious fedora are the most reasonable purchases one could possibly make.

no more.

i will contribute responsibly to my retirement account and use my savings account to actually save.
i will change my oil in a timely manner.
i will floss and find a dentist with whom i can establish a long and friendly rapport under whose skilled hands and wise cracks my teeth will never falter and never fear.
i will buy my own sleeping bag and hang up my clean laundry immediately. i will iron my shirts.
i will not buy dvds like "high tension" just because i can't stand to not know what happens despite knowing i will spend the majority of the movie face buried in blanket.
i will not upstage the Music TeleVision Video Music Award Best Female Music Video of the Year Award Winner simply because i happen to be of a different opinion. hilarious or no, i suppose this is a dick move.
i will remove my eye makeup every saturday night before going to bed.
i will call my parents more than once a week and do as my mother says when she says less booze more oranges and ladylike power naps.

26 year old kristin will be nothing short of Good At Life.

25 year old kristin will go ahead and do all of this until then though:

just you try to stop me from throwing my popcorn everywhere

click here but only if you want to know how i really am

but with a lot less terror and slightly less nausea, and more fire, beer, and hot dogs on sticks. not like corndogs, but like, ballpark franks, jammed haphazardly onto tree sticks. also go-karts.

donna summer - hot stuff. many times over. you cannot fight this.

there will be brisket, there will be laughter, there will be an amusing convergence of friends from all histories and social spheres, a venn diagram of lovely in my living room. and i take no responsibility for anything that occurs in the intersection of 25 and a birthday party and irons in the fire and donna summer and tents and fudge and wisconsin, at least not for another few days.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Shenanigans on you, Taylor Swift

Short of dying, how could Taylor Swift managed to drum up as many supportive facebook posts as happened last night after the Kanye West interception?

Reader, perhaps you want to see the moment itself:

Too bad! You saw that instead.

What my incendiary opening statement intends to spark is the fire of thought that perhaps this incident was just a little too harsh. A little too spontaneous. A little too good for Taylor Swift.

What I mean to imply here is that Kanye West is a hired gun.

This incident was clearly designed to trigger an outpouring of love and support for Taylor Swift, from such big names as the supposedly wronged Beyonce herself. Maybe Taylor knew. Maybe she didn't. Bottom line: a brilliant publicist with a passion for raising MTV's ratings was behind this stunt.

If I'm never seen again, look for me in a subterranean times square dungeon. I'll be taped to a theater seat with my eyelids pinned open watching Last Call with Carson Daly. but never fear. they can't take my spirit.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

maybe it's the hangover talking but i'm feeling a bit sincere

a jonny and i talking on a sunday morning and i, as always, remember something small.

i remember being 17 and summertime and preparing to leave california and the pacific and a jonny forever and the sadness of that and the anticipation for that. i remember walking into a bookstore and he says to me, he says:

"if you ever give me a gift, make sure it's not a v-neck or clogs."

my thoughts, in this order:
why would i ever give you a gift? i'm leaving this forever.
clogs? what?

i remind a jonny of this bizarre and terribly amusing bit of talk from so many years ago because he's just mentioned he needs some shirts. some v-necks. i laugh. he responds:

"i used to think a lot of things i don't think anymore."

and he continues, brilliantly, for minutes and i revel in the simplicity and eloquence of this little construction, this little poem he is pulling out of nothing but a tiny swatch of an otherwise not particularly memorable conversation from nearly a decade ago.

i used to think that, but now i know this. i learn how a jonny now feels about blondes, piercings, v-necks, image, so on so forth and this and that and i wouldn't have minded a lick if he went on forever but then he says, "now you."

and i struggle. but like a good friend does he pushes me toward it and after some misfires and i cannot believe the pressure i feel to confess to this person who already knows everything and that includes how i've changed i manage to realize this:

i used to think i was smarter than everyone around me.
i used to hold complete strangers in utter disdain for all of my assumptions about intelligence and value, but now i know i know so little.
the people by whom i am surrounded constantly are so uniquely talented and brilliant in ways i could never be.
and beyond them, strangers, friends i've yet to meet, intelligences and textures of knowing i've yet to brush up against, so many nuances and details and original thoughts in between and they are so much fucking bigger than i could ever amount to on my own and i want to learn them and love them and god willing i continue maybe to evolve.
and i think by now, i've maybe learned at least some measure of humility.

a jonny says, yes. good. remember that. write that down.

so i will.

and he still hates clogs.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

us and me and us

lindsay: the next person i love, i'm going to make listen to "foreground" by grizzly bear over and over until it no longer means anything except us and me and us.

here, a headstart:
grizzly bear - foreground (live, bbc radio scotland)

honestly, i don't know why you haven't bought this album yet. someone is aching to fall in love with you.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

"bad weather is like rape" and other humdingers

Thanks to Nerve's "20 Classic Douchebag Quotes," there's a whole mess of people I'm remembering I don't like.

And there are a whole lot more I found out about via the comments on this stunning photo essay.

Since I'm so thoroughly into bonus tracks, here are some more reasons to not get behind Gene Simmons:

Terry v. Gene

the best part of making bacon is eating the bacon


Tuesday, September 8, 2009

allergies, schmallergies

It's a true fact that I never had seasonal allergies in the Pacific Northwest when I lived there. Not once. Not even a little. My sister had so many that we called her "Allergies", not very creative but not a very far jump from her actual name and hey, we were kids and not very clever. For a very long time I was just under the impression that there are two kinds of people, those who have allergies and those who don't.

Let me tell you, I was wrong.

What I mean by this is that I'm not the kind of person who has allergies in the Pacific Northwest, but I am the kind of person who has crazy (I might go so far as to say "ca-RAZY") allergies to whatever flora happens to be growing in Savannah, GA in March, mild allergies to whatever grows at the beginning of every season in Chicago, and weird allergies to metal.

Not all metal, not all the time, but some metal, some times and in such a manner that whenever it happens I become really paranoid about it happening again. It's important to note here that when I explained this to my friend Glenrich (name changed to protect the innocent) he said, "What kind, like, Maiden? Slayer?". I wish.*

So here I am. Fallen victim to my own love of dressing up and unable to leave the house, maybe, because of several patches of small, compact, and itchy blisters in the shape of small, round, wire rimmed glasses. It's a rare thing when something I love, like a set of frames or a city, turns on me. Or rather my body turns on it. But let me tell you, when it does it isn't pretty. Basically, my histamine blockers need to get the fuck on it, because I'm not entirely opposed to looking like I'm wearing a blister-raccoon mask in public. Summer 2k9 is just too important.

Just saying.

*That's a lie, I don't wish that at all, because then how on earth would I ever listen to this

or this

never, that's when. pffffffff.

and say "hello!"

my milk toof is a terribly darling serial photo-comic blog thing that i simply do not understand but love love love so much. it is not updated too often but oh gosh how my heart sores when it is.

ickle and lardee's adventures tickle my twee bone almost as much as my satin lined blanket does, and those who have seen me with blanket know exactly how that tickles my twee bone (hard). this is a whole lot of potentially revealing information in one little post, but christ, look at these guys!:

it is yours

Karen: it is like looking into a mirror in front of another mirror, at the most beautiful face you have ever seen, and it is yours.

maybe every book should feel this way.

Monday, September 7, 2009


A priest told our seventh-grade class once that he had thought a lot about heaven, and thought that it probably resembled something like your favorite moment ever, stretched out to eternity. our faces at the time looked like this:

but younger. At the time, it was perfectly evident to all of us that you would get really bored doing the same moment forever. for. ev. er.

Anyway, I've been thinking about moments lately a lot because there have been several in the running for eternity-moments. These are moments like when your dear friend serves a blackberry tart with vanilla ice cream and you take the first bite and know it's for real, or when you watch a friend become totally enamored and disarmed in the company of one of the great loves of her life, or when your dog sneezes because he's angry about the neighbor's loudness and he collapses on your belly and you know he's perfect.

And it occurs to me that great moments are shaped by little things and that the character of great moments is such that they defy reason. The moments that have been great for me lately have taken place during the first few strides of a run, while rounding the corner of the Auto Glass, listening to eleven-year-old Michael Jackson express want:

All of which makes for a fairly ridiculous existence. But such promise. Such sunshine in this summer of Chicago. Such a convergence of good things.

Bonus track, also a candidate for forever:

Labor Day! A Real Thing.

First things first:

Notice the awesome olde time stills of people in solidarity. Forgive my lack of a recording of the great Dylan Michelle (name changed to protect identity) singing this. I had to get Pete Seeger instead.

And the main event of this web log post:

It is quite obvious from the start that there exists a material connection of men with one another, which is determined by their needs and their mode of production, and which is as old as men itself. This connection is ever taking on new forms, and thus presents a "history" independently of the existence of any political or religious nonsense which would essentially hold men together.

Finally, a bonus track to bring it home:

(that happened right here! in Chicago! last December!)

Sunday, September 6, 2009

bme: ipod speaks it right

the heart it bleeds on a sunday. the audacity of those days wednesday and all the way to saturday - to be so wonderful yet carry me inevitably to the airport, where i say goodbye for far too long, as always, again.

and when the arms unwrap and faces smile and we say the words and thank you and how lovely it's been, and all the buttons are pushed and released finally, and that mountain of a human being you've known for what feels like all your life - that has mattered anyway - walks through the automatic doors and you become a bucket of sighs certain this driver's seat is where you end, you hope at the very least - if not a last minute miracle wherein the doors reopen and light and he comes running back and says one more day, we'll have one more day - you hope at the very fucking least for the right kind of song. don't let it be ac/dc. don't let it be bowie and if it's kelly clarkson, ipod, you and i are through. now is not the time. what we need is catharsis, feeble maybe, melodic definitely. something to sigh along to.

sometimes, god bless it, ipod knows.

here is what you listen to when you must return without him.

rachel's - packet switching
wilco - sunken treasure
billie holiday - in my solitude
voxtrot - the start of something
aretha franklin - natural woman
iron & wine - innocent bones
the new pornographers - go places
cocorosie - promise
noah and the whale - the first days of spring

thank the good lord for dance parties. nothing fills the friend-shaped hole in your heart like a good dance party.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Would you go to an amusement park with a stranger?

I know. No one should take this post at face value. This is probably about commercial interests, or maybe someone just wants to sell this free ticket. Or give it away. In any case, I would love to think that perhaps somewhere in the world (somewhere like Gurnee, IL), someone is using Craigslist to find a stranger with whom he will go to an amusement park.


Many happy returns

A friend pointed out last night that we've been blowing at updating lately. What he doesn't know is that we were on an official, pre-Labor Day vacation.

To some, Labor Day rings in the advent of autumn and thusly the closure of summer. To this LLC, Labor Day is a celebration of Haymarket and a reason to sing the Internationale:

also, White parties (the clothing, not the skin color), Hobo parties, Thirtieth Anniversary parties (of a club, not a marriage). My sister gets a little more legal tomorrow and my brother-in-law gets a little further over thirty today. In short, happiness abounds.

And this will not stop happening for twenty-five more days:

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

los angeles is burning

Timelapse - Los Angeles Wildfire from Dan B. on Vimeo.

keep the hell away from my mama, fire.

here is winston, a treat for you on a tuesday

bound stems - winston

buy this album. do it now. in the year that i've known it, it has done me no wrong. so buy it. fall in love with it.
this album will not break your heart.
it will keep you awake when you drive home at 6am.
i will feel better knowing you have it.
everything is going to be okay.
just buy this album.