Wednesday, February 10, 2010

everybody in the club

get tipsy.

Or don't. I am not in the business of telling you how to live your life.

But say I were, I might make the following suggestions:

Rhino Fest 2010
Chris Bower
"Little Boy Needs Ride" and "Notes to Molly"
Friday, February 12
Prp Theater, 3502 N Elston

This Friday is the very last Friday you can pay what you can (and they mean it, too) to see two outrageously delicate and sadly hilarious one act plays by a man whose voice (both the vocal and written one) has never failed to intimidate and tittilate (don't be a child) the nuance-loving shit out of me.

Events like this, and like dear Kyle's reading at The Whistler the other night, and like sweet Dinger's Inchworm Series make Chicago winters tolerable, on occasion memorable, and on some nights, even as good as it fucking gets. Words, beers, pals, pathos - put on some coats and we'll make it through this together.

And seriously, have you the time and $0 - 15, get after this on Friday. It'll be way better than the Two Way.


I've been hanging 'round this corner for some months or so I can't remember. Waiting, I think, to write something I thought might have a fighting chance while reading, reading, reading. It's a lovely place, this elimae,one worth bookmarking. And say you did bookmark it, say you took a look sometime in March. I haven't just been waiting. Sometimes, from time to time, I try a thing or two.

Dave Eggers, claiming to save literature once again.  

I like The Believer and from time to infrequent time will find myself laughing out loud and in strange places about something on McSweeney's (Nietzsche's angel food cake is objectively hilarious). But I'm unconvinced that an extremely insular community of writers, journalists, photographers, and professional ass-as-hat wearing Peter Pans with a Jesus complex and a nose for half-baked poptard quirk is going to save the already dead broadsheet and triumph over the New York Times, which we're positive has been fucking with us for some time now anyway.

the one you're with.

Not because of Valentine's Day and not because it's winter and sure as shit not because you're terrified that you are going to die alone if you don't soon find the right thing to wear down, wear down, wear down. But because there are countless ways to share, show, and feel that shit, son.

My recent favorite ways to say "Sweet creamy christmas I'm in love with us:"

Super Mario Bros Wii
Meat sandwiches and Twin Peaks
Premature Summer 2.0 plans
Mexican Coke/Surprise
Wet shoe removal
Secret ingredient: sugar
Bacon-wrapped jalepeno poppers
Touching the blanket (not a euphemism. I touch my blanket and remember all the ways that I have loved)
Not-so-cryptic literary quotes/songs about California
Christmas secrets regarding the bump-it that may or may not have been included in one's stocking

Fuck it. Let me buy you a beer and I'll just tell you the rest.


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