I spent my Saturday night watching a naked tranny lip-sync.

I don't have anything against drag queens, but I don't particularly have anything for them, either. For someone of the generation that came of age while the general attitude toward homosexuality became slightly more accepting, and a dude in a dress is no longer a shocker, I've never really been all crazy about transvestites. I mean, I find them generally entertaining, I suppose, but I've never been to a drag show or really sought out any environment wherein I'd be exposed to men in taffeta. Also, having lived in close proximity to Boystown for two years, I've become pretty accustomed to passing a few trannies in the street on any given weeknight, which is fairly desensitizing.

Having said that, I was fairly stoked to see Amanda Lepore on Saturday night.

[Disclaimer: I understand that Amanda Lepore is not a drag queen. Rather, she's known as the most successful transsexual (a title, I assume, which bases success on fame and notoriety rather than commercial success), but because her act is based on the fact that she used to be a man, I'm lumping her into that whole scene. Just bear with me here, K? Thx.]

I heard from John that Amanda Lepore would be at Hydrate, and I really wanted to go despite hating Hydrate. For those not in the know, Hydrate is a gay bar in Chicago that's fairly disgusting in the sense that you have to pay to get in and you'll leave with the smell of smoke and desperation all up in your clothes. There was apparently an open bar from ten to eleven that night, and they weren't charging cover if you went before ten, but "Hydrate Before Ten" sounded like a level of Hell I had yet to (nor did I wish to) experience, so I drank a lot of vodka beforehand and figured a five dollar cover wasn't too painful.

And, as an aside, I'd like to express why, exactly, I think Hydrate is particularly disgusting. Two bits of information: A. I knew someone who was roofied there, which doesn't surprise me because the place has a very strong sense of somewhat willing date-rape going on, and B. There's a sign in the bathroom that says (and I'm only slightly paraphrasing here), "Don't do meth." Not "Don't do drugs;" it specifically warns that users of crystal meth will be removed from the club. Classy!

So anyway. As John, Leah, and I approached Hydrate, I saw that at the front of the thankfully short line in front of the entrance there was a slender young man wearing big shoes, tiny shorts, and black and white body paint all over his chest and face in a pattern to make him resemble a court-jester, and I started to realize that I'd made a big mistake and was headed straight into Party Monster. Then we had to stand around for an hour and a half, since Amanda Lepore wasn't slated to go on until one in the morning (and the bitch was late, natch), listening to the repetitive beats of house / trance (whatevs) blast in our ears as we watched men in platform shoes wander through the crowd. Finally, around one-thirty, a haggard-looking transvestite to the stage to do an introduction, which was fairly muffled over the crowd's impatient chatter. Then Amanda came out to "perform" her "hits": "My Pussy (Is Famous)," in which Ms. Lepore repeated the p-word over and over; "My Hair Looks Fierce," which contains the lyric, "The party starts as soon as my dress drops," (um, and it did); and "Champagne," which is a clever little number about champagne. And she was completely naked on stage. Thankfully, I was too far back to see any fake vag*, but I did see some big old fake titties (but really, I was expecting that, since you can't Google Amanda Lepore without finding pictures of her chest).

Unfortunately, we skipped the meet and greet.

You may be asking yourself, "Why, Tyler, did you partake in this event if you kind of knew how bad it was going to be?" Well, Internet, it's because I do enjoy a good train wreck** every now and then. It's refreshing to experience all of the low-brow culture our society has to offer, since it makes me feel like a goddamn Proust scholar in comparison. Sometimes watching a tiny, plastic human prance around on stage while lip-syncing to a song about her fake genitalia makes one feel more alive and, honestly, distinguished. People like Amanda Lepore get all coked up and act a mess so us normal people don't have to. Plus, they make stories on Gawker possible, which in turn gives me something to read at work.



*Luckily for me, John found pictures from the evening on that gossip blog. (Link NSFW.) (But seriously, don't click it.) (I'm serious, you guys, don't do it.)
**Speaking of train wrecks, I've considered downloading I Know Who Killed Me. Can you really call that a wasted hour and forty-five minutes if you get to see someone hit LiLo in the face with a shovel? I call that a reward.

I'm sitting here daydreaming of his pornographic fan-fiction right now.

Because I rely heavily on public transportation and I have "Be Crazy Around Me" stamped on my forehead, I've gotten to the point where I expect someone to talk to me on the El.

Today I was reading my copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, and I finished the chapter I was on a few stops away from Bryn Mawr, so I put my bookmark in place and closed the book. I made brief eye contact with a sad-looking sap of a man across the train, and before I could look away and pretend I didn't see him, he opened his mouth. Here we go, I thought.

"I was kind of disappointed with that," he said.

"Ah," I said, not wanting to give him the idea that I wanted to talk to him.

"Have you read [Blah Diddity Blah Blah Boring Old Fantasy Novel Whose Title I Can't Remember]?"

"No," I replied.

"It's by the guy who wrote the Tarzan books. Well, in that book, the plot follows this pattern where the main character gets into these sticky situations and the tenision builds up each time and then by the stroke of luck he gets out of it. And it happens over and over again that by the time you get to the climax, you don't care anymore."

"Oh." Shit, four more stops to go.

"You've read more than half the book," he said, as he glanced at my bookmark sticking out, "so you've probably noticed it."

"Yeah."

"It just sucks because she didn't follow that pattern in the other books. And what about Fred and George?! The Weasleys are hardly in this book! I waited for TWO YEARS daydreaming about what kind of wizarding weapons they might be experimenting with, and nothing!"

"Uh huh," I said, fully embarrassed as his excited pitch woke up the dude who was sleeping nearby.

He calmed down after that and, thankfully, got off at the next stop.

I think the most ironic part of this was that Adam was sitting next to me and was reading an anthology of Philip K. Dick novels. And this dude picked ME as the closest nerd to strike up a conversation with!

I don't have cable.

I called my mother last night and she told me that my cousin, the artist, is doing the courtroom sketches for the Michael Vick hearing in Richmond and the pictures were picked up by CBS, FOX, and ABC for broadcast tonight on their national news programs.

"Be sure to watch for his byline!" she told me.

"Well, I would, except that I don't have cable," I replied.

There was a silence on the other end of the phone that lasted longer than I was comfortable with, as if I had just told her I had killed someone. "What?" she finally asked.

"I don't have cable."

Another pause. "What do you have?" she asked. Not really understanding the question and how I should respond to it, I repeated, "I don't have cable."

"You don't even have HBO?"

Sigh.

I used the conversation to segue into the real reason I called home: I overdrew my account and needed to borrow money. Too bad sacrificing VH1 and Big Love isn't actually saving me money.

My new apt!

I took pictures of my apartment this afternoon so I could assure my mother I wasn't living in squalor. Here they are for you to see, too, since I don't have anything interesting to say. My apologies for the messiness!

The odds are in my favor, right?

I applied to thirteen jobs at Northwestern yesterday. I've already gotten an email from one of them saying I wasn't chosen.

Twelve to go!


In this minute I just spent writing the above post, I received a second email from NU saying I wasn't selected for a position.

Eleven to go!!

Two things:

1. Lindsay Lohan was arrested for her second DUI this morning.

2. Lindsay Lohan's middle name is "Dee."


Related:
Lindsay Lohan Arrested In Second DUI Today [Gawker]

This will be brief, and scatter-brained.

I'm almost completely moved into my new apartment.

I'm refusing to paint my room back to off-white because nothing in my lease says I have to.

Last night I ordered Domino's and unpacked just enough to find my corkscrew and one plate for my pizza.

I drove the U-Haul because Christina refused to. I managed to get that goddamn truck stuck three times.

I will never rent a U-Haul again.

On Friday night Christina and I went for our last meal in Lakeview* and realized that we are totes happy about the decision to move out of the neighborhood. Seriously, every single person we encountered pissed me off in some way. And then, that night, there was a party on the sixth floor of our building that got out of hand, resulting in a riot of sorts and this broken window in the lobby:

I think it was a good time to move out.

I really love our apartment, by the way. We have so much room we don't know what to do with it.

We don't have a dishwasher, though.

Grinderman is playing at the Metro this week but no one will want to go and I don't think I'm up for going to the fucking Metro alone. I did just buy a ticket to the New Pornographers show in October because I have insider information that Neko will be touring with them. And if that information is wrong, then friendship terminated.

I have to buy a thousand things at Target tonight. And then go to Dollar Burgs at Big Chicks. Yum.

Just when you thoguht it was safe to go back on the Internets!

JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR! NAOMI WATTS IS SO PREGNANT!!!

We're Gen-Xers, really.

I can has irony?

I have a problem with two articles I recently read.

The first is a brief piece in Bitch magazine by Sarah Seltzer about Tina Fey's character on 30 Rock, Liz Lemon. Now, if you haven't watched 30 Rock, you need to, because it's simply the best comedy on television right now. But Ms. Seltzer does not think so, apparently; she takes offense at Liz Lemon's stereotypical characteristics and makes a claim that Tina Fey is damaging the idea of a strong female role model. Now, I love feminists as much as the next guy, but not when they don't get irony. I think Tina Fey is smart enough to get the joke here, and it bothers me that Ms. Seltzer is not. Liz Lemon is indeed an important female figure in the show, and she does suffer from those stereotypical attributes that society places on women of such important stature. I believe Tina Fey is playing on those stereotypes; after all, she's a satirical writer. My suggestion to Ms. Seltzer is to watch Spike Lee's Bamboozled and then tell me if she thinks putting African-American characters in black-face is offensive.

The other article was in today's Red Eye, which I swear I only pick up for the sudoku and the crossword. I was tempted to read it today because the cover article was about John Travolta's role in the movie version of the musical version of Hairspray. Already I'm against it because the original was good, the music in this version sounds shitty, and John Travolta is stupid. (By the way: what's up with his southern accent in the movie? Baltimore, Maryland?) I read the article, however, because apparently some gay blogger in Washington took offense that Travolta is in "an iconic gay role," despite being a Scientologist, which "rejects gays and lesbians as members and even operates reparative therapy clinics to 'cure' homosexuality." This is a pretty stupid tiff, especially compared to the negative view of Tina Fey in Bitch, because the argument here seems like someone trying to garner a lot of buzz over something pretty inconsequential. John Fucking Waters is quoted in the article as saying that he didn't intend for the original role of Edna Turnblad to be a "gay role;" it just happened that Divine was a drag queen. I think we can all agree that the reason that Edna is played by a man is because seeing a man in a dress is, well, funny. And John Waters knows this, and he wasn't afraid to make use that kind of humor in an effective way.

On a sort of related note, one of the Chicago Tribune's bloggers took a swipe at Gawker today because it made fun of Jews in a post yesterday.

I think my point is this: lighten the fuck up, people. It's only a joke.


Related:
Sour Lemon [Sarah M. Seltzer]
Playing it straight [Red Eye]
Chicago Blogger Unamused By Our Anti-Semitism [Gawker]

If you interpret anything through dance around me, I will punch you in the neck.

I saw The Decemberists perform a free concert last night with the Grant Park Orchestra in Millennium Park, which was a pretty good show despite the rain and the chatty people on the lawn. The band's collaboration with an orchestra was such a good match, even though they did play about four songs on their own.

I will admit, however, that I kind of have a love / hate relationship with The Decemberists when it comes to their live shows. When I saw them a few months ago, I was very put-off by the pretentious on-stage antics. I understand that Colin and Co. have these playful personalities and they want to bring that out in their live shows, but really, we get it. We know the music, so we don't need to watch you reenact scenes from The Hobbit in the audience (because, really, not that many people can see it anyway). I'd much rather hear a band play music than see them do something crazy and kooky.

Luckily the show last night was so huge that they couldn't really do anything of that nature. And I was extremely pleased because they played one of my favorite songs, "I Was Meant For The Stage," and the performance last night may have been the second best performance of a song I've ever heard (the first being, hands down, Sufjan's Stevens singing "Romulus" at his Black Cat show back in 2004). But for every "I Was Meant For The Stage," there's at least two or three pirate-rock songs (a description Adam appropriately used to describe the band) that make me hate them a little bit. They ended their show with "The Mariner's Revenge Song," which is definitely not my favorite, especially when it's coupled with requested audience participation on Colin's part. I'm historically anti-clap- and sing-alongs, and I'm extremely against having to "scream like I'm being eaten by a whale" when instructed. No thank you, sir. What made the performance really get to me was the group of people behind us who decided to do an interpretive dance sequence to the song. As I'm watching one white guy with dreadlocks pretend to battle some meathead in a wifebeater as an indie-rock sea shanty blasted from the speakers overhead, I knew it was time to call it a night. And then I noticed that in the sea of "young people," a term I'm sure the twenty Grant Park Music Festival regulars used to describe the crowd's demographic, there were a lot of interpretive dancers looking just as stupid. The one major thought running through my head was, "This is the kind of crowd who prefers its irony on twenty-dollar T-shirts and its mix-CDs curated by Zach Braff." And that's the kind of crowd of which I want no part.

So scene.

I went to see Mirah last night at Logan Square, which was quite a good show despite the fact that the venue is a miserable place to see a show. Even Mirah was distracted by how crappy the sound and lighting systems were, and poor Laura Viers opened and no one could hear her because everyone in the back of the room (because it's literally just a room that you could throw a prom in) was chatty. Granted, people rarely pay attention to the solo acoustic singer-songwriters that open for the headliner they paid money to see, so it was rather awkward when she thanked the listeners in the front in a passive-aggressive swipe at the people in the back.

Anyway, I ran into a bunch of people I knew at the show, and that kind of thing has been happening a lot lately. When I moved here almost two years ago I never thought I'd know enough people in this city that I'd randomly see acquaintances in public. Honestly, though, it's happening over and over again. I'm not necessarily talking about people I try to avoid, necessarily, but let's put it this way: I went out dancing on Monday night and saw two people I've made out with, and both of them came over to chat with me. And that's weird (but not as weird, frankly, as hearing the DJ play Michael McDonald - that is NEVER OKAY).

I've met a few fellow bloggers lately, which I love, because it's fun meeting people that you know an unnecessary amount of information about before you even talk in person. But here's the thing: like in my real, offline life, I have Internet enemies. And these people don't know how I feel about because I hate them based entirely on their blogs, which they don't realize I read. I know this is silly, and I'm sure there are people out there who read my shit with the same kind of ire, but I find it really entertaining that I happen to see a few of these people in public and I wonder if any of you mystery readers have the same relationship with me.

Pitchforked.

Aaaaah, I had a fantastic weekend! It doesn't even completely suck to be at work today, especially since there are only four other people who bothered to show up. Since I've got a lot of unsupervised time on my hands, I'll do a quick recap of the weekend's festivities.

I had much more fun this year than last since the weather was amazing. I learned the hard way last year that if you don't bring a blanket and try to get close to the stages for the bands you care about, you're going to be miserable. This year, Megan, Kelly, and I sat in the corner near the Connector stage in what Adam dubbed "Lazytown," and let me tell you, once I settled there, I didn't want to leave. In fact, the only shows I stood up for were Sonic Youth (amazing), Cat Power (good, but the sound was terrible), and Iron & Wine (quiet and hot, so I only stood for four songs). I was much more into playing dominoes in the shade while listening to music. The highlights were New Pornographers (Kathryn Calder's voice was so good, much better than when I saw her with the band last year), The Sea & Cake, Junior Boys, Battles, Jamie Lidell, and Of Montreal (who I've now seen four times, which is the most I've seen any band play - although Megan has seen them eleven times). Malkmus was okay, and though I'm still not a fan, I was excited when he played "Spit on a Stranger." And I think I had the same reaction as everyone else to Yoko. Don't get me started.

I also spent a ton of money on posters (I got a gorgeous Andrew Bird one, though, so I feel like it was worth it). I also got a ReadyMade subscription for five dollars, which is terrific, since I need another magazine I don't read (I'll add it to the pile of Smithsonian and Vanity Fair). And, hey! I was surprised at the lack of ridiculous fashion choices this year! I feel like people actually dressed for comfort rather than style, and there wasn't an overwhelming amount of a certain fad (like last year's collection of American Apparel '70s gym clothes). I feel like the major accessory this year was a BABY. Good lord, there were a lot of indie rock babies hanging out at Pitchfork. I also noticed a lot of Deep Vs, which still kind of gross me out, and some unfortunate tattoos.

We had a lot of fun going out after Pitchfork. On Friday we met up with Kristin, Tony, John, and Leah at the Empty Bottle for Gravy Train!!!!, which was probably the most amazing live show I've ever seen. It was a mix of Le Tigre, Scissor Sisters, and the dialogue from a John Waters movie. And there was on-stage nudity. And thennnn there was Saturday night, when a bunch of us when to Debonair for two hours of free Colt 45, which didn't even sound like a good idea at the time. To make a long story short: I had four tallboys of Colt in two hours, and projectile vomiting in the cab ensued. Oh, dear. I had fun before leaving the bar, though, and finally! got to meet Jenny after nearly two years of reading her blog.

And that's that. Now I have an absolutely insane week ahead of me: Dollar burgs at Big Chicks and (possibly) Chances tonight, Mirah tomorrow, and The Decemberists on Wednesday. And thennnn I get to spend the rest of the week preparing for the big move to Edgewater on Saturday! Gah!


Related: Pitchfork Photos [Flickr]

Pitchfork!

This will probably be one of the few times in my life that I'll ever use "excited" and "Pitchfork" in the same blog post. What can I say? Those pretentious fucks know how to put on a good music festival. And yes, I'm very excited about the weekend because Megan and Kelly will be in town and we'll see lots of good music, drink a lot of beer, and hopefully dance a lot.

Today is my three-hour Friday, so I don't have much time to sit down and compose an extremely well-written and eloquent post (which, you know, I do every other morning) (right?), so here's a list of the bands I'm most excited about this weekend. And if you're going to Pitchfork and really good at stalking / spotting me in a crowd of a few thousand people, come say hi!

FRIDAY.
9:00. SONIC YOUTH. (I caved. Daydream Nation is very good.)

SATURDAY.
2:00. VOXTROT.
3:00. GRIZZLY BEAR.
4:00. BATTLES.
5:00. IRON & WINE.
7:15. DAN DEACON.
8:00. CAT POWER.
9:00. YOKO ONO.*

SUNDAY.
5:00. JAMIE LIDELL.
7:00. OF MONTREAL.
8:00. THE NEW PORNOGRAPHERS (Sadly, Neko will not be there. Shame!)
8:30. KLAXONS.

I'll be at the Empty Bottle and Debonair Social Club on Friday and Saturday nights, respectively. Fingers crossed that I don't get too drunk and take a picture of someone biting my boob!




*LIES. I'm totes skipping Yoko. (Sorry, John.)

Too bad she didn't have a blog, too.

Dear College Students, especially Miss [Your State Here] Hopefuls:

Don't post pictures of people biting your boob on Facebook. They will come back to haunt you.

Not that it actually MATTERS, because how many people have embarrassing pictures of themselves on the Internet? It shouldn't be shocking that most people in their early twenties get drunk every now and then and take incriminating photos of their debauchery. Should it really matter? Not really, because it's just stupid, silly behavior, as long as no one is hurt and laws aren't broken.

I think our parents should just be glad they lived in a time before the Internet and digital photography.


Related: Miss New Jersey Is Physically, Not Ethically, Quite Flexible [Gawker]

My favorite song about domestic abuse.

About a year and a half ago, when I had just seen Quadrophenia and was in my Mod phase, I downloaded a bunch of songs by Phil Spector's girl groups (The Crystals, The Ronettes, Darlene Love, etc.) and found this song called "He Hit Me (And It Felt Like a Kiss)." It's pretty amazing in a weird kind of way, especially when I discovered that Carole King wrote it and the man responsible for its production later shot a woman.

Here's a thirty-second preview of the song (damn copyright laws!), performed by The Crystals:


About a week ago, my friend John bought to my attention a cover of the song performed by Grizzly Bear. Since Grizzly Bear is playing Pitchfork and I've been preparing by downloading some of the bands I hadn't heard (I've been very bad at getting new music lately), I searched for the song. I'm pretty obsessed with it now, and it's one of the rare cases where a cover sounds as good - if not better - than the original. Plus, having a man taking over the vocals makes it sound even weirder, which is a good thing.

There are no seamless transitions here.

Last night I was watching The Devil Wears Prada on HBO. My rationale behind it was "because it was on," which is why last week I watched Rumor Has It and Big Mama's House 2. (We're not going to have cable in the new apartment, so I might as well live it up.) It was the second time I saw the movie (I blogged about it before), but I have some thoughts about it after a repeated viewing.

First of all, Anne Hathaway's friends are losers and she should not have felt bad about ditching them for a shitty, yet ultimately rewarding, job. Her boyfriend was a CHEF and ADRIAN GRENIER. And then she had one black friend (the black woman from Rent) and one gay friend. Her obvious social ineptitude, of course, is just one clue that "Andy," the small-town Midwestern girl with a boy's name who has the audacity to think she's special enough to make it in Manhattan by not playing the game like everyone else, is an incredibly disposable character. I would have rather seen anyone other than Anne Hathaway as the lead but, now that I recognize that the character is basically unlikable in the first place, it makes sense that she's there.

My favorite part of the movie has to be when Anne Hathaway goes to pick up some pictures from a photo shoot. In the scene there are about six or seven models wearing animal print and plastic animal masks. And she gets all excited and says, "Oh, I get it! I get it! It's called 'Urban Jungle!'" How the hell did this bitch get into Northwestern? Congratulations, "Andy;" you've figured out juxtaposition. We'll get to "dichotomy" later.

And what, exactly, is the appeal of Anne Hathaway? I can't imagine who would find her attractive. Julie Klausner put it best in this video: "[She] looks like someone Xeroxed a face onto a head that was too small for it." It makes sense, then, that the two men who are attracted to her are the previously mentioned Adrian Grenier (huge Jewfro, stupid face) and Simon Baker, who looks like he's ready to date-rape at any moment.

I got ahead of myself, honestly, because I was really going to relate a brief exchange that Christina and I had while watching the movie, but it's one of those things where it's probably not funny to anyone other than me and Christina. (But hey, I didn't really have anything to say today, so eh.) Christina and I were agreeing on how dumb the movie basically is, despite Meryl Streep desperately trying to save it by acting circles around everyone else. When Simon Baker came on screen, probably somewhere near the scene where Anne Hathaway has to get he seventh Harry Potter book for Meryl Streep's daughters (sidenote: another reason why the dumb bitch was an idiot. You quit your job after working that hard? You were REWARDED with a trip to France, but Miss I-was-the-editor-of-the-Northwestern-newspaper thinks she's better than the woman who RUNS VOGUE RUNWAY?), I said, "I hate him, too," meaning in addition to everyone else in this movie. Christina's eyes got really big and said, "Did you just say that out loud? I just thought, 'I hate him,' but I didn't say it." I had to crush her and say, no, we haven't gotten to the point where I'm reading your thoughts; it's just save to say that anyone I associate with would have a rational hatred for this guy.

All hopes for BFF ESP were dashed, unfortch, when Christina locked herself out of the apartment last night and had to sleep in the hallway like a common homeless person when I slept through her calling my phone and banging on our door.

But I'm sure she did it with more class than Anne Hathaway would. (Full circle! Right, guys?)

I can't think of a clever title for this one.

I've got three things to say:

First: It's SO HOT in Chicago right now. I don't have air conditioning, so I spent last night sweating in my apartment. I'd stay in Katy and Justin's place all week if I didn't have to clean in preparation for Megan and Kelly's visit this weekend. Also, I need to start packing, since we're moving next Saturday and I'm 100% unprepared.

Second: I finished The Secret History, which was very, very good. It's kind of a literary version of The Rules of Attraction (Donna Tartt and Bret Easton Ellis went to Bennington College together, and both novels take place at a fictionalized version of their alma mater) and features a group of morally corrupt, pretentious group of Classics students who are involved in two murders. It was a little long, but very well written and entertaining. Tartt has a gift for social satire, focusing on the posh, privileged students who are so caught up within their little collegiate bubble and have little interest in anything but themselves. Recommended!

Third: I found out this morning that Magnolia Electric Co., whom I recently decided is my favorite band, is releasing a box set with four new albums and a DVD. I'm incredibly excited about this, especially when I read that Andrew Bird is a guest musician on one of the albums. And they're playing the Empty Bottle next month! Yay! I've been watching YouTube videos this morning, and here are two of Jason Molina performing two of my favorite Magnolia Electric Co. / Songs: Ohia songs.

"Hard to Love a Man"


"Just Be Simple"

Another reason I love my friend Erin.

Would someone like to analyze that one for me?

This week in Google searches.

I have a confession to make.

I just spent $71.40 on underwear.

An excerpt from a GChat conversation.

I love my friend Erin because she has the best way of rationalizing life. For example, this is something she just told me, and it makes absolute sense that this is how she decides how she'd be attracted to someone.

"He's someone I'd make-out with when he was sweaty and smelled like beer, but I couldn't take him seriously sitting on a porch at sunset drinking lemonade."

Obvs.

Movin' on up.

I'm moving out of my apartment building in two weeks, so I feel like it's pretty safe for me to write about how it's a really weird place to live. Granted, I picked this place because I was lazy, it was cheap as hell, and the leasing agency did not require a security deposit. I can't really complain so much, I suppose, since it's been a generally fine place to live, even if the bitches next door scream really loudly at the end of every episode of America's Next Top Model.

The thing about the building is that it kind of resembles the Overlook Hotel, so much so that every time I get off the elevator and turn the corner to head down the hall to my apartment, I expect to find this:


The building is also filled with other people like me: young, post-graduates who get drunk a lot. Unfortunately, these are the kind of douchey post-graduates who think they can get by with saying they live in Lincoln Park simply because our landlords use the park in their company's name. We're not in Lincoln Park, however, since we're just north of Diversey Boulevard (which, if you're not familiar with Chicago neighborhoods, is the border between the fake-Bourgeois Lincoln Park and the fake-fake-Bourgeois Lakeview).

Because everyone in the building (save for the French-American couple with the toddler) is so young, my building is also kind of like a dorm. Especially since one of my neighbors started a Facebook group, which I joined as a joke (with myself, of course). I'm not exactly sure what the motivation for the group was - probably just an excuse for Some Dude to be a member of another Facebook group - but it's pretty ridiculous, especially since nearly everyone in it have private profiles, thus restricting my stalking abilities of the people I don't particularly want to be friends with anyway. Also, there is the wall:

I miss those kids already.

Mr. Rogers fucked me up.

Great! I can now add Mr. Rogers to the list of people who I blame for making me into the shitty human being I am today!

According to an article in today's Wall Street Journal, Mr. Rogers is now being re-evaluated as being potentially damaging to my generation because he repeatedly told us that we're "special, just the way we are."

Don Chance, a professor at Louisiana State University, claims that Mr. Rogers is "representative of a culture of excessive doting."

I'm just glad it's not my fault!




Related: Blame It on Mr. Rogers: Why Young Adults Feel So Entitled [WSJ]

It's time to get real, for realsies.

I was going to write a post this afternoon about how I decided today that I need to cut down on my drinking. And then I checked my SiteMeter and found that someone in Chicago found this site by Googling, "Tyler [Redacted] is a drunk." Even though it's most likely someone I know trying to fuck with my head, it pretty much solidified my decision.

I'm not giving up alcohol because I feel like I'm an alcoholic or anything. My major reason is that I've been spending and ungodly amount of money lately on booze. And I've been going out on weekdays and not getting any sleep. Also, I've been making bad choices.

I've been going out and dancing, which has been great because dancing puts me in an excellent mood. The problem, however, is that dancing is usually coupled with heavy drinking. At this point I've stopped wearing my glasses because I have a history of shaking my head so much they fly off of my face. (This is probably an example of treating a symptom instead of the disease.) And, let's face it: when I get drunk and start dancing, I inevitably find myself in a makey-outy kinda mood. And I've made out with someone three out of the five times I've been dancing in the last two weeks. This is all fun and games at the time, of course, because kissing is fun! And I like feeling attractive, which heretofore hasn't really happened to me. I still kind of freak out if someone calls me "cute" or "hot," because I've never had anyone call me that, and I'm not exactly sure what changed. (Definitely not my arms! Or my FACE.)

And last night I made a mistake by making out with someone whom a friend was interested in. Things are kind of hazy, but I believe I said, "Bros before hos!" But after I was making flirty eyes and getting flirty eyes back, I said in my head: "Hos! Hos!" And while dancing with Flirty Eyes, I saw my friends leaving without saying goodbye. And I'm new to the whole meeting people in bars and making out with them thing, but I'm fairly certain that the people with whom you came to the bar don't just leave you there. And I immediately felt awful, knowing that I'd rather be hanging out with the people I know I like than making-out with someone I don't know.

I've felt kind of shitty all day because of last night (and my hangover) and I've been doing a lot of thinking, trying to figure out why, all of a sudden, I've become this selfish person who keeps treating people horribly. I've been fucked-over so many times in my life, and I know how shitty that feels. And I HATE myself for being so selfish. I'm not the type of person who can just live my life without a thought of how my actions affect make the people I with whom I surround myself (and these are people I honestly and truly care for and consider friends). And I feel awful because I'm already in a sort-of undefined relationship that's based mostly on drinking, making-out, and GChat. And I feel like I'm the one who has to come up with these definitions, and that freaks me out. The only real decisions I can make right now are what kind of gin I want mixed with tonic (well gin) and what kind of beer I'm going to order (whatever is two dollars, which usually turns out to be Bud or Miller Lite).

And (I hate to do this, but all roads seem to lead back here lately because I'm obviously not over that mess) I keep thinking about the Ex and how fucked up that whole situation made, and still makes, me feel. I keep remember things and realizing that I made the right decision by cutting it from my life completely. But I keep thinking that I'm becoming just as selfish and, well, mean. I was so frustrated about how things were undefined for so long, and how I was led-on and lied to prevent my feelings from being hurt. Yet I find myself doing that now in similar situations, and it pisses me off. It really pisses me off that I keep finding myself unable to make decisions instead of just saying how I feel. It's a confusing time for me, and I think I've been drinking so much because I can just forget everything that I'm so concerned about for a few hours. And that's not a good plan.

My plan for the weekend, so far, is this: Justin and Katy are going out of town and leaving me in charge of feeding their cat for a week, and I'm going to just move into their apartment for a weekend and cut everything out for a while. I'll be in Edgewater instead of Lakeview and won't have the convenience of my local and regular haunts being walking-distance from me. And I plan to just relax by myself for a bit. I want to finish The Secret History and finally watch Oldboy, which I've had from Netflix since May 15th. I need the time away from other people and situations that get me into trouble - or at least make me feel less about myself. Hopefully it'll do me some good and I can figure out somethings. And at worst it just means I'll spend a lot of time with a cute kitten, taking pictures and adding captions for my LOLcats collection.

It's official.

My blog has the same rating as Slut Machine.

A quick rant and I'll get back to the YouTubes.

I don't like to get extremely political with this blog. I'd much rather alienate my readers with bad YouTube videos and dick jokes and dash my own hopes of getting a better job by admitting that I don't do that much work at my current one. And, as I've been told before, I don't particularly care about "important issues," but every now and then Gawker will touch on something that doesn't have to do with Salman Rushdie's impending divorce, and it makes me have a serious thought or two. Get ready for my opinion!

So, Scooter Libby is not going to jail for being the guy who took the fall for exposing a CIA agent whose husband refused to lie about Iraq buying uranium from Nigeria in order to start a war. And no one should really surprised because he wasn't on trial for the leak that put a CIA agent's life at risk. Rather, he was on trial for perjury and obstruction of justice, which seem like code for "what can we pin this guy with so people will stop paying attention to our fuck ups?"

And the moral of the story? I don't know, really, it's complicated. I mean, it kind of reminds me, yet again, why I stopped following politics in the first place. When I was in high school and my early years of college, I used to get so fucking upset about political issues. I would fight with my father about gun control and how shitty Bush was, and it didn't solve anything. Instead it just made us more angry at each other and what was going on. And that's why I stopped paying attention: I have too much stuff going on in my life that I have some sort of CONTROL over to sit around and bitch about Iraq. I can't do anything about Iraq, and even if I thought I could, it wouldn't make a bit of difference. Libby's commutation is another example about how this administration (and really, EVERY SINGLE presidential administration - Republican and Democrat) is going to do whatever the fuck they want to anyway, because people are stupid enough to keep supporting them. And also, they've got the power and can use it. And that's really what it comes down to.

And please, I know how ironic it is for me to say that just bitching about this stuff isn't going to do anything, because I am, essentially, bitching about it. But really, I'm so sick of people putting bumper stickers on their cars and and joining Facebook groups and going around and shouting about Global Warming because our generation has finally found a cause they think they can change. Look at the youth generations before us. Look at the goddamn '60s, for example. You had all of these people who protested against a war that lasted FOREVER, in the hopes to stop it and make sure something like that didn't happen again. And it STILL went on and it happened AGAIN! And what's worse, you look at some of those people now and see how they are just as ridiculous as the people they were protesting against. John Kerry! He became a fucking politician who was exactly like every other fucking politician. Look at Dennis Hopper, who wrote and directed the film that became a symbol of the '60s counter-culture. HE'S A BUSH SUPPORTER.

I mean, we're living in an age where people are trying to tell us that if we buy cute t-shirts, we'll help AIDS victims in Africa. Because we're living in an age where we need to be immediately rewarded for doing good things, as well as have some sort of object to say to other people, "Look at me and how good I am."

Basically, I'm sick of the fad that is political "awareness."

KTHXBYE.


Related: Make Your Voice Ignored. [Wonkette]

I want to be an astronaut.

Because I've been feeling tops lately, and because I'm out of ideas, the job search is rather stagnant right now. That does not mean, however, that my current job has been less ass-rapey. In fact, we have a ton of work to do right now as we are receiving loads of final high school transcripts for all the incoming freshmen and we're a few days behind. And it's not helping that I'm spending hours on YouTube. But honestly, I realized that there's absolutely no reason for me to put forth any more effort than I have to, because after that whole Vincentian mission of giving education to everyone, etc., there's an unwritten rule that we do that by keeping the bar pretty low. I'm not just saying this based on my office, which is abysmal and poorly managed. I'm also talking about the other administrative offices I've dealt with. And even the students. And the faculty.

But, I'm a hypocrite because if they paid me more, I'd look past all of that. I'm incredibly ready to sell out. But, frankly, my forty nine cent raise did not exactly blow my mind.

Also, I realize that I won't find a job with such a relaxed attitude. Such is the benefits of working with high school graduates. If I don't have the energy to put on socks and shoes in the morning, no one is going to bitch at me for wearing flip-flops.

This morning my boss / "King of the Remote"* stopped by my cubicle. He asked me how things at home were, and I gave him the updates about my dad. Then he asked how the job search was going, and I told him, "Eh, it's not really." I talked about the jobs HERE that I had applied for / did not get, and he asked, again, what my salary expectations were. I told him "around thirty thousand," because THAT'S SO MUCH MONEY TO ME, and he said, "Well, you should stick around. There'll be some exciting changes around here."

I'd be excited about the prospect if I wasn't led to believe that I'd have this exciting promotion already, like it was hinted back in March.

I should get back to my crossword now.




*I've been wanting to mention this for so long. The man has a picture frame that says "King of the Remote" and it still has the picture that came in the frame. It's of dolphins. And I think it's amazing.

Joo-ly! Sumratime!

I'm too exhausted to not write random things this morning.


1. I've been in really great spirits lately, and I credit all of the dancing I've been doing as the cause. It reminds me the second semester of junior year when I went out every single weekend to dance parties and how happy I was. I also got Dean's List that semester. Dancing makes you smart.

2. My BFF from high school, Heather, moved here on Saturday and I'm super duper excited. She's living a block from my new apt! And she's already been up for going out, which is great! Last night she and her roommate met me and friends John and Leah at Smartbar. It was empty and we were the only people dancing, but it was still tons of fun. And it was nice to be able to go out knowing that I won't have to run into people I'd rather avoid seeing.

3. I'm getting more and more excited about Pitchfork, even if Cat Power and Girl Talk overlap (it's going to be a tough decision). I've been listening to Daydream Nation and it's growing on me, and I'm working on Spiderland. And I still don't care about Yoko Ono, even if it's a given that Chan Marshall will sing with her. If John Lennon showed up, I might be interested.

4. My Day-Day's birthday was on Saturday (57!) and my mom got him an iPod shuffle, which makes no sense at all. They've already called me once because they didn't understand how to load music on it.

5. I watched West Side Story over the weekend. I rented it years ago but only made it through the first five minutes before deciding that ballet-dancing gang warfare was NOT cool. It turns out that if you make it through the first sequence, it's actually really good. It's so well-made and so 1960s. I wasn't even offended that Natalie Wood was in Hispanic-face. It did bother me, however, that three different people sang as Anita.

6. I'm kind of obsessed with this video right now: