Last night rocked.

Highlights?

The gal that hit on me last week apologizing and conceding that my girlfriend is indeed hot.

Photogal puking like a pro behind a bar.

Mass madness.

Awesome.

What to do with myself?

Well, a holiday weekend is upon us – the first really proper holiday since January 1 – and I’ve got fuck-all planned. Maybe some softball on Monday and a BBQ with Photogal’s family but aside from those two options I don’t really have anything planned.

So that means it’s time for folks I know to get on the horn and start arranging some drunken tomfoolery damnit! For once most everyone I know is gainfully employed so this weekend IS actually a break from the norm for once. In the past these working holidays never really meant much besides the fact that it would be harder to get a drink at a bar on a Sunday because every yahoo from the ‘burbs would come into the city to “party when used as a verb.” The upswing? Lotsa girls. The downswing? Longer lead-time inserted causing us to wait longer in-between drinks. This usually led to more shots as a precautionary measure against sobriety somehow encroaching and the end results were never pretty.

Well, now I have a job AND a live-in girlfriend so it’s time for me to start appropriating some of those dumb-ass moves practiced by the yuppies all around me. I’m entitled, right? I put in my time working with them and commuting with them and, ultimately, providing entertainment for them so I should reap some sort of satisfactory reward, right? Don’t I deserve a free pass – and my friends as well – to act like a drunken lout with no thought about the consequences?

Unfortunately the answer is no. I mean, we know better and we can’t help it. Once you’ve seen the light you can’t really go back so I guess me and my pals will do the same thing we do every year around this time and go to a bar that will probably have less of an ass-hole factor and just enjoy each other’s company. The only real difference is that each of us will really enjoy staying out on a Sunday night since it means that for just one Monday we don’t have to rejoin the workforce.

Sweet relief.


So how was Bob Edwards, last night?

Great, thanks for asking. What was the best line of the evening? Oh, glad you asked. During the question and answer session with Bob some guy from Evanston asked, “Can you describe your usual routine you would follow while preparing for Morning Edition when you were the host?”

Bob’s answer was awesome. “Well, I would get up at one in the morning and be on the road by two. But not before pouring a steaming hot cup of coffee directly into my eyes.”

Awesome. Bob rocks.

Bleh.

Nothing to report. My dad is okay, though, thanks for asking. We’ll know later today when he can get out of the hospital. Apparently his new chemo just wiped out his white blood cells and even a simple cold could very well kill him at this point. Scary. Luckily he’s quarantined in his own room at the hospital so he should be fine.

Tonight Photogal and I geek out and prove what losers we are as we plan on attending the talk by Bob Edwards about Edward R. Murrow that is taking place in Chicago tonight. I am such a NPR dork sometimes.

Let this be a lesson to ye.

Never tell your girlfriend that another girl was hitting on you and you politely turned them down and then left the bar they were in. You may think you are showing her how grown-up, mature and in-control of your more base instincts you are, but in fact all you are doing is shoving your foot in your own mouth and looking really foolish.

This just in!

Slinky – that original walking spring toy that looks suspiciously like a coiled length of metal – will soon be starring in two animated feature films and an animated television series.

Presumably all the action will take place either on stairs or on a downhill slope.

..and no, this isn't a joke...

I meant to mention...

Jack Baur cut his partner's fucking arm off! Not as cool as two jets bombing a helicopter -- like a few weeks ago -- but still pretty rad.

My breath smells funny.

My dad’s in the hospital due to a non-existent white blood cell count. This sucks.

Julie and I had a discussion last night about Ultragrrrl and her ilk. This crowd annoys her but I find them kind of fun. Once again though it must be noted I am immune to name-dropping. I guess I just get the fact that they’re younger and, like it or not, seem to be the pop-culture arbiters and tastemakers when it comes to the national exposure of music. So be it, here’s the new boss, same as the old boss, eh?

Also, last night I got to listen to The Killers new disc (they share a manager with the band my friend Dave is in) and I’ve got to admit that it’s pretty fucking awesome. If it weren't for their disc being copy-protected I'd have my own copy of it right now. Screw copy-protection! Thumbs up to the tunes though. Niiiiiiice!

Okay, that’s it for today…I’m a tad preoccupied…

Really, no time to talk!

I have to get in to work early, so I can leave early, so I can hit the gym and still get home in time for the final episode of 24...so you know the drill. Me and Rudy will be spinning the music that moves you at Ten56 tonight. I'll also be previewing tracks off Rachael Yamagata's forthcoming debut "Happenstance." More info about our weekly disaster of residency can be found here.

Scream to a sigh.

So I just got a copy of the forthcoming debut by my friend Rachael in the mail this weekend and the album is better than I could have hoped. A full review will be up this week at the Lost In Guyville column. The only downside to owning this advance copy is that it must be copy-protected because I tried to make this album one of the initial additions to my new 40G iPod – courtesy the excellent Best Buy four-year service plan that was bought at the same time as my original 30G iPod -- and the whole thing comes out as a stuttering, choppy mess when translated to mp3 form. Oh well, I’ll just have to listen to it at home or in the car I guess.

The album is really, really good though. I’m so proud of her!

bumMER!

My computer just deleted everything off my fucking iPod.

I am returning this thing today...

I am severly pissed.

Waiting for the flood.

It’s wet here. People had to kayak just to get to the show last night. Even high-water jeans were of no use. So let me extend my hearty congrats and grats to the folks who slogged through the wet to experience a great night of the rock and/or roll. Most importantly a heartier thanks to the girlfriend for not yelling at me for stumbling in at the ungodly hour I did.

I had a blast so thanks to all involved! We now return you to the end of your work-week…

TONIGHT!

At Double Door it's a show with Thunderwing, Woolworthy, Cordy (featuring ex-members of Veruca Salt, Acumen Nation/Ministry) and Paper Bullets. As an added bonus me and my iPod (fittingly named tankPOD) will be spinning before, in-between and after the bands. As Duffy would say, "Woot!"

The secret origin…revealed!

“Where did you get that nickname?”

This has come up a lot lately so I’m just gonna tell you. In the early/mid-90’s I was really into the Tankgirl comics printed in Deadline. I loved the character and when I got my very first e-mail address I reckoned the male version of her name sounded pretty cool. I also had a mailing I did back then that was a precursor to this blog and as people I knew got these ramblings delivered to their computers they began to call me by my nickname. As time wore on and I promoted more and more shows the nom de plume morphed into something more solid – I guess a brand of sorts – and has just kind of stuck on to me over the years.

I usually don't tell this story since most people only know of Tankgirl from the movie, which completely sucked even though Lori Petty tried her best with a lame-o script and Naomi Watts looked unbelievably hot as a brunette. I almost called myself Jetboy...aren't you glad I didn't?

Exciting, eh? Later this week, re-printed on the web, an early tale from that fledgling e-newsletter…the infamous Pig Story!

I wore my hair like a rooster for Morrissey.

It’s true. I totally did that pomade thingie where all the hair in front angles up. It ended up looking more like a fauxhawk than Morrissey’s dapper do’ but the intent was there. Unfortunately nobody got the joke last night. Losers.

Also I made my first DJ faux pas of the year. No matter what you personally think of the tunes that Four Non-Blondes track, written by the lady who gave grit to both Xtina and Pink, it is not cool. Not a good response. Thank god Jeff Buckley came to the rescue.

Also it was my friend Mark’s 30th birthday which gave me an excuse to drink a little Maker’s mark. Not too much though! Photogal was especially impressed by how not drunk I got last night. Moderation, and a new trainee bartender who pours proper drinks instead of the pint glasses of vodka I’m usually allowed, certainly paid off. Maybe I can work that good behavior into a little congratulatory nookie. Positive reinforcement!

I am an idiot. I just realized my friend got her Daisy Glaze moniker from a Big Star song. I knew her cat Chilton was named after Mr. Alex but the Daisy Glaze thing totally flew over my head. And I call myself a music snob? Three spanks on the bottom for me!

Enough blathering. Must reserve energy for the Double Door gig tomorrah!

Oh yeah, and as usual...

Me and Rudy will be spinning all sorts of rock and/or roll at Ten56 tonight. Look us to feature new stuff from RJD2, Mirah, Graham Coxon, The Streets, Mission Of Burma, Juliana Hatfield and oh so much more tonight. Read about us here.

Yeesh!

Okay, my short temper regarding the cross of low-rise jeans and high-rise thongs is well documented. I would like to say I am not on board with the state of Louisianna and their apparent unease with the flash of a woman's hips. I say more hips, more hips!

No time for love, Dr. Jones.

Exactly what the title implies. No time to write today about old stories involvingmidgets at gas stations, weird tri-level parties taking you from Heaven to Hell in Bronzeville or Brad Pitt in a mini-skirt. Maybe tomorrow.

Blurbs.

Saw Scotland Yard Gospel Choir last night and thought they sounded like a peppier Belle and Sebastian. Also, they killed.

Note to the ladies out there: guys are stupidly territorial and yes we know it’s stupid and yet we find ourselves helpless so please forgive us.

This guy has it all wrong. He seems nice but is in that young frame of mind where you think you have all the answers 'cuz things are going so well. Not everybody has the same luck. Girls, we like it when you approach us and talk to us. Also, if the whole meeting in a bar thing never works out like this guy says then how do you explain me and Photogal for the past nine years? Props to him for trying to help out the ladies but a big minus for using youthful wisdom to ultimately steer them in the wrong direction.

Spanish skater punk slays and these guys are proof of that.

These blogs are addictive. Beware. Also, avoid if name-dropping makes you gag. me? I'[m used to it.

This is really poorly put together but I think it may show promise. Now all they have to do is start booking more bands people have actually heard before.

I’ve gotten to the point where I feel guilty if I don’t make it to the gym. I also have started drinking Guiness and Amstel Light again. If I stop drinking Maker’s do the previous statements make me a yuppie?

I am still too cool for school, no matter what the young ‘uns say. However, this guy is too cool for me.

The Webbs can't play my birthday show becasue they are opejing for both Longwave and Franz Ferdinand that same month. While I am bummed they can't do my show I'm psyched to see them in those opening slots. Way to go! Now if only their last -- excellent -- album could get released in the States...

Gearing up for a busy weekend!

Last night Wicker Park was all fucked up due to filming for The Weatherman – the new Nic Cage movie shooting here in Chicago – right at the intersection of North/Milwaukee/Damen. Apparently Nic has also been spending time at Liar’s Club so the guy can’t be that bad. Just don’t fuck with my neighborhood, okay man?

Tonight I’m checking out both Sour Deluxe at Double Door and The Wes Hollywood Show at The Pontiac. I’m especially excited to see Wes since I’ve missed him the last few times he’s played and his last album was one of my absolute favorite discs from last year. I wonder if Balthazar will be guesting on keyboards?

Tomorrow is an evening chock full of parties with the last stop on the express train to fun being literally half a block from my place. Wa-hoo! It’s gonna be a late night.

Otherwise it’s just business as usual at Tankboy HQ. I’m still putting together bands for my birthday show at Double Door and I think Photogal has convinced me to let her DJ so I can concentrate on just having fun and getting looped.

Anyway, since tonight’s gonna be busy I gotta get into work early so I can get out early sooo (please imaging me affecting that stoner dude’s voice from Dazed And Confused) check ya laaater…

Good news, good news and worse news.

For one I got the results recorded whilst a camera was shoved down my throat last week and layers of skin were scraped from my esophagus. There doesn’t seem to be any really terrible long-term damage and as long as my medicine keeps me happy I shouldn’t have any worries.

My dad went in and they scanned him and discovered that the tumor in his esophagus was actually getting smaller so the chemo and radiation seems to be working.

Then they told him that the particular cancer in his throat had migrated to a few other places like his femur, ribs and spine. Not exactly the best news.

Realistically they can’t eradicate these new outgrowths but they do give him some chance of surviving with the proper treatment. I guess they just dose you with chemo, the cancer shrinks and then grows and then a few months later you go in to repeat the process.

Needless to say I’m in a funk about this.

You wouldn’t know it, since I don’t really want to bring it up in casual conversation and when I do discuss it my family’s particularly dark brand of humor tends to undercut how much this freaks me out. I keep thinking about how I never met my paternal grandfather and the only memories I have of him are photos and stories. I feel like I’m lacking something because of it and I want my dad to be around to hold my kids in his arms and create living 3-D stories to reflect on.

This sort of thing isn’t supposed to happen to me or my family.