The group formerly known as Woolworthy and myself helped Rudy move into his new digs yesterday. As a general rule the rock ands/or rolling crowd aren't exactly a bunch of burly moving types, but we did manage to get all of Rudy's belongings down the Escher-stairs and into the moving van in one piece. His new building -- that he bought by the way thus entering the world or "responsible landowner" -- has a perfect location and I'm looking forward to many summer evening on his stoop. Rumor is there'll be a housewarming/bring-your-own-iPod-to-DJ party in early April.
After the move we had a blast relaxing with some pizza and beer in Rudy's new parlor. And I noticed something. My friends and I actually do have a good time together even when we're not in smoky, loud clubs surrounded by jibber-jabber and booze. It was a nice feeling and reminded me I really should try to spend more time with those guys outside of shows and such.
Dante's Eleventh Circle of Hell.
Last night I did indeed go boozing as threatened. Only the starting point was the last place on earth you expect to spot Tankboy. Imagine someplace roughly similar to the crags among Satan's toes, buried under miles of ice and suffocating you with sulfur. That situation would actually be more comfortable than where I was last night.
Hi Tops.
Buried deep in the breast of Wrigleyville -- a neighborhood only good for Cubs games and The Metro -- is this snarling, pulsing beast peopled by boys in striped oxfords and girls in black tops and blue jeans grinding against each other in a desperate attempt to prove they are, in fact, sexy. They're so not.
I went there to meet up with some friends and, I’m proud to say, I held down my gag reflex and actually lasted about forty minutes without starting a single fight or saying anything snide. I just drank many many beers and a few shots and everything was a-ok. Then we bolted to Ten56 where the staff must not have been communicating very well because all the bartenders kept trying to feed me shots independently of each other.
Then Photogal called! She was actually out and about with our friend Bill! At a bar! On a Saturday! So I bolted and cabbed it over to where she was before she had a chance to sober up and decide to go home. Many more beers were consumed, much laughter ensued and the evening ended with the obligatory Photogal need to stop at White Castle.
Ooh my achin' tummy.
Extraordinary Album.
A friend sent me a nice studio version of the new Fiona Apple disc that her label won’t release. The hype has really started to grow around this thing and while it certainly ain’t worthy of the Smile-vibe some overeager fanboys and girls seem to want to lavish on it I will say that I’m confused as to why the label won’t release the disc. It’s a mighty fine album ands while there’s no single poptastic stand-out it is the work of an artists maturing and starting to come into her own. At this point the hold-up seems more connected to building the buzz through underground marketing than to the label’s honest fear that the album won’t sell because it’s “difficult.”
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