Meditations on Chicago Baseball - Part I

White Sox
I need to lead off (hey, I'm using the jargon) with a note on how gracious and even-handed EdP was when I took him to Wrigley. He wrote a very nice post and was an all-around gentleman about the experience. I have to make it clear to everyone that Ed is a much better person than I, and as much as I appreciate his gratitude, if I were to only say nice things the post would end here.
Elise demanded that The Girl and I come out to see a Sox game while we were back in Illinois, so on August the 25th we headed out to the lost civilization known to locals as "Chicago's South-Side".
It was Friday, and as a preventative measure to miss "crush-hour" weekend traffic into the city, we left at 1PM. It didn't work. We were caught firmly in the grasp of the Hillside strangler - 290E was a fucking parking lot. We had been standing motionless in one spot for about 15 minutes before I realized that the mook on the billboard trying to sell me Brazilian meat was Ozzie G. We were stuck there in that one spot for 35 fucking minutes with the OG smiling down at us with his meat-sword firmly in hand.
We finally got through all of the 290 traffic, just in time to hit the LSD traffic going south. Fuck. It took us over 2 hours to get down to UofC (1 Hour & 15 minutes longer than it took for us to get to Wrigley the week before).
We had a couple of drinks with Elise and headed out to the park through the fabled "South-Side". For those of you not in the know, Chicago's south-side has all of the charm and grace of Mogadishu with the scenery of Eraserhead. Although, I did learn that all you need to turn a vacant lot into a tavern/open-air drug market is (apparently) 2 abandoned couches and a card-table. Go figure.
We found parking off Halstead and were promptly accosted by a local who was pissed-off that we were parking on his street. We placated him with a (local) pilfered parking pass and a tip of the Sox cap. He promised that he'd look after our car, shouted something about keeping Cubs fans out of the "hood", gave us a thumbs-up, and returned to the sofa on his front porch. He reminded me of an old confederate - the South-Side WILL rise again.
Anyway, we headed out toward the Cell meandering past a series of storefronts featuring plastic furniture, animal-print women's wear, ceramic animals, and FOR RENT signs. We continued on past several blocks of empty buildings, through dank concrete tunnels, around a bunch of overly-enthusiastic guys hocking self-screened t-shirts, and emerged at our destination: U.S. Cellular Field (USCF from here on out).

What can I say about The Cell? Well, it's a lot like paying $40 to go to a time-share presentation. That, or being stuck in a commercial loop. Man, do those fuckers love to sell shit. The ambiance of USCF is what I'm sure soviet propagandists imagined the US (as a whole) to be - One loud, blinding, garish assault of consumerism. At every available opportunity there was either a commercial, or some crappy song blaring through the PA system. Corporate logos illuminated the stands from the jumbotrons, and slogans circled the park in an unending loop of "go buy this". In the short time I was there I learned what car to drive, which bank to keep my money in, were I should get gas from, what company to get my long-distance from, which "exclusive issue" jersey I should be wearing, who's wieners were the plumpest, etc., etc., etc. Hell, I even got an insurance pamphlet from a what can only be described as an "ad-stripper", and got questioned by a survey poll-taker (a different kind of "pole-taker" than the stripper) while I was having a cigarette (at least a got a fake dollar outta that, which I promptly stuck in the fake-stripper's shorts).
The one thing that I knew that they were way off-base on (hey, using the jargon again) with their ad-blitz was that I should "Choose Miller", but choosing otherwise was a mother-fucking adventure.
Elise and The Girl were happy with their margaritas (margaritas at a fucking baseball game?!?), but I wanted a beer, dammit. I wandered off trying to find ANYTHING other than MGD or Lite. I must've walked 1/4 of the way around the stadium before I found a single tap of Sam Adams (meh.) - I kept walking. I found the line before I found the stand - a city block long for anything other than Miller or Sam. Fuck me. I learned (during my epic wait) that due to an exclusivity contract, there were only 2 stands at each end of the park that sold any variety of beers. I emerged from the half-hour line with 2 Old Styles, and finished the first one before I got back to my seat. The other one was gone shortly thereafter. Later, I ordered a MGD through clenched teeth - That one got warm before I finished it. That was the only sporting event I've ever paid for that I've left dead-sober. I guess that it all worked out for the best because the one attempt at using the Men's room resulted in a long-ass line, no troughs, and two pollacks getting into a fist fight three urinals over. Classy.

I almost forgot; Between all of the ads, the lines and the cigarette breaks, I'm pretty sure there was a baseball game, but I'm not 100% on that. If memory serves, the Sox lost to some team that was supposed to be contracted back in '01 - I think they were from Minnesota, maybe. Well, that's not important because right after the game came a HUGE fireworks display to the sounds of AC/DC, Guns & Roses, Europe, and any other butt-rock 80's band you can imagine. It was truly impressive and went on forever. By the end of that bombastic barrage, I had forgotten about everything earlier that night, and could only comprehend the prettiness of fireworks. I was so dumb-struck that I totally forgot to pick-up that $45 "limited edition" tie-dyed Sox cap outta the gift shop. Before I knew it we were out of the Cell and into the wall of panhandlers.

We had Shootin-Fest 'o6 the next day out in Plano, so we went straight home afterward, and had our responsibility rewarded with a shit-load of "lush-hour" traffic heading out of the city at the midnight. Just can't win.
While standing stationary on 290, I caught a glimpse in the rear-view mirror of the other side of a billboard - it was Ozzie G holding his meat and smirking at us as we crawled, defeated, toward home.
How appropriate.
---

Post-script: I really did enjoy going out with Miss Elise* to the game, and it was something I really wanted to do once in my life (ONCE).
I'm not trying to be mean-spirited (okay, just a little), and the SS Sox will continue be my horse in the American League.
From now on, I'll just make sure to watch 'em at home where I can mute the commercials, and drink whatever beer I want (unfortunately, there still will be fights in the bathroom).

*who totally freaked out at the' Neverending Story' thing, God knows what she'll do when she reads this

Happy Drinky, Birthday Joe!

Yup, It's JoeyP's Burfday today. In observance, I'm working on a gift for everyone.

Update:
Somehow, while updating the old DJ site, MSN Spaces crashed and now the page is coming up as "unauthorized". Fuck those guys.
The real quandary is: Flickr is freezing me out at 200 photos (and I have another 100+ and counting). Is it worth it to plunk down the cash to make the Drinky Joe Flickr page "pro", or has the joke run its course?

Holdin' Out For Some Heroes

I just wanted to give all of you blog monkeys a heads-up. If you didn't catch the premiere episode of Heroes on NBC tonight, they're replaying it tomorrow (9/26) at 8Pm (7 Central).
I wasn't expecting much, but was very impressed with the pilot. Before the episode had ended, I had programed a Tivo season pass for the entire series. Good stuff (so far).
If you're not quite sold, check out the online comic. Feel free to thank me later.

Photo Finished

I finally got around to putting up a couple dozen pictures up on my Flickr page that had been lingering on a memory card for too long. I'm a slacker.
If you have some weird fetish for pictures of bugs, rusty crap, flowers, destroyed appliances, or sunsets it's your lucky day. Go nuts with that (you sicko).

Ed, I Wanna Take You To A Gay Bar

We're out at the Electric 6 show at Black Cat - They're rockin' some
serious ass, but I'm arguing with some random White Sox fan at the bar.
Woo-Hoo!

- Sent From Blackberry Handheld -

Childhoodwinked

Lately The Girl has been on a huge nostalgia kick. This means that I've spent a good chunk of my free time lately watching the movies that filled my youth and shaped a generation.
No wonder this generation is so fucked! Looking back at these beloved films I realized that my childhood escapism was catered to by a bunch of hippie-dippy pill-poppin' pedophile sickos.
Don't believe me? Here's my breakdown:

The Dark Crystal
Anytime you start a children's movie with The Girl asking "Is that Gelfling naked?" you know you're in for a treat.
Yeah, it took all of 5 minutes into this thing to see that the 'Mysitics' represented Native Americans, the 'Skekses' represented Corporate America, and that the 'Gelflings' were total fucking hippies. Sweet Christ. The only way to make this more obvious would be if they hung signs around the characters' necks identifying them as such. The Mystics smoke pipes, chant, and are one with nature; the Skekses opress the masses, engage in elaborate power struggles, and conduct animal testing; and the Gelflings run around naked communing with nature and talking to animals.
The movie ends with the hippies uniting the native and corporate Americans, wherein they turn into a bunch of tall white glowing mother-fuckers. The moral of the story: It only takes a couple of hippies to bring about the eternal reign of the Aryan race (I think).

Labyrinth
Plot synopsis: The heroin addict chick from Requiem for a Dream dumps an infant into the hands of a sexually ambiguous doped-up 70's glam rocker. Hi-jinks ensue.
Seriously, I think that Requiem for a Dream had less disturbing shit in it than this one. The whole movie seemed like a drawn-out acid trip. Oh, and what the fuck was up with Bowie as the 'Goblin King'? No grown man should be allowed to dress up like a Brazilian transvestite and sing amongst a sea of Muppets while holding an infant (this goes double for Michael Jackson). What kind of message does that send to the kids?
This movie had potential, and could have been up there with Requiem - if only there was a scene with lil' Jennifer Connelly and Sir Didymous being forced into doing an "end-to-end" for a bunch of horny Muppet businessmen. That would be classic.

The Secret of NIMH
Y'all do know that NIMH stands for the National Institute of Mental Health, right? This is a movie about the plight of mice and rats that escaped from a medical testing facility. I don't care how much Don Bluth schmaltz you dip this fucker in - it's still about a bunch of vermin.
The one thing that you never take into account as a child is to what end the testing was being done. As far as I'm concerned, Nicodemus was holding the key to curing bi-polar disorder in his little ratty brain... and we all cheered at his escape.
Build a better rat trap... you know the rest.

Watership Down
A lot like Secret of NIMH, but was made 4 years earlier by a bunch of gothed-out Brits.
The moral of this story is that everything dies (horribly).
Just switch out the Art Garfunkel soundtrack with Skinny Puppy and you'd have a bunny snuff film. This one is down-right traumatic (as is the follow-up Plague Dogs).
No wonder I peed the bed until I was 23.

The Neverending Story
I'm circulating a petition to get this officially renamed "The Neverending NAMBLA Fantasy".
The German behind Das Boot helms a film about an emo kid who befriends an older shop-keep who then exposes the child to a world of hidden wonders. Can you keep a secret?
Anyway, Bastian (What, were they too over-budget to afford the 'Sa' prefix?) holes himself up in the school attic and is sucked into the tale of a shirtless, leather-vest wearing, 'purple buffalo' hunting boy who befriends a big strong 'rockbiter', a midget 'snail racer', and a homeless guy on a bat. They team up and have special adventures together. Eeeewwwwwww! Someone call John Ashcroft.
So the shirtless kid gets covered in old turtle 'snot', fights the big bad wolf (gurr!), and saves the world while riding on the back of what only can be described as 'a furry 30 foot long talking white phallus'. Check please!
Back to the 'Emo' thing. Petersen must be an emo-visionary - Bastion is the textbook emo kid with the custom graphics backpack and all, but 15 years beforehand. Plus there is a really bad emo-core band named Atreyu, which is the name of the vest-kid in the movie. I'm not sure what the relevance is, but I just got a cold shiver.

After watching all these films again, I now understand why our generation is a bunch of self-involved, sniveling, pansies huddled in the dark recesses of modern society. It's a crying shame, and it won't be fixed by a couple of Xanaxes and a grande frappuccino.
Frankly, our peer-cohort-group is lost. The redemption of society lies with the children of today, therefore we should feed them on a endless diet of 80's splatter flicks and German 'brown-bag' porno films. That should do it. And (for the love of God) keep them the hell away from any emo kids.

... and Stay Dead

I nuked my MySpace page today.

A few years ago, the Carney convinced me to put together a MS page. I took about 15 minutes and got it up and running, I was all set to start social-networking. I popped a congratulatory beer as a reward for all 'o' that e-hacking, and then promptly proceed to completely ignore it for the following 3 years. In fact, I would often forget that I had that damned thing until I'd check an obsolete e-mail address and be drowned by requests of dozens of idiots wanting to be my 'friend'. Um... no.
I'd though about killing it several times in the past, but somehow I convinced myself that it could come in handy if I needed it (it never did). Plus, I was fairly proud of the big zero preceding 'friends' to the side of my account (just like in real-life).

Then my MySpace shangri-la fell apart. A couple of weeks ago The Girl tricked me into logging onto my MySpace account wherein she promptly added herself as an e-friend (with benefits). Dammit. A couple of days later the Floating Basement MS page went up and strangled to death what very little 'cool' was left with its bare hands. God bless you gentlemen - The internets are now dead.

Less than an hour after suiciding my page, I was reading a Wired article on the best and worst Web 2.0 sites, and (surprise!) MySpace 'won' Worst.
I'm just gonna cut & paste that blurb here, 'cuz it says it all:

MySpace No thanks for the ad.

They say 100 million users can't be wrong. Well, can't they? Regardless of how popular MySpace is or how many bands, web celebs or stalkers it continues to empower and enable, the social networking site is about as pleasant to look at as last week's cat vomit. The user interface is clunky and counterintuitive. Advertising is ubiquitous and invasive. The garish backgrounds and animated images seem sucked from some terrible time portal that leads straight to the nascent web of 1995. Oh, and auto-launching audio widgets and video players? Don't get me started.

Amen, brother!

Popes Say the Darnedest Things

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Filler

I'm still piled under a bunch of work nonsense, and it looks like tonight will be the 3rd time this week that I work a 12+ hour day. Gotta love those nightly September receptions.

Note on the obvious: While doing web research for a client today I was amazed at the amount of abject hatred there is on the interwebs toward my vocation (and a few targeting me in particular). I always knew that those attitudes prevailed, but hitting on diatribe after diatribe still surprises me. Sheesh, If those blogger-types don't settle down I might have to cease my beloved hobby of strangling kittens in order to improve my image... probably still wouldn't work.

I have a 2-part post on Chicago baseball that I've been meaning to get up here for the last month. I'll try again this weekend, or just throw up an asinine rant of some sort - most likely on those motherfucking DC lobbyists. I hate them soooo much.

Malodorous Metro Malcontents

Fucking hell. I'm calling jihad on the manufactures of Axe body spray.
I've been busy as fuck lately, and have been spending an inordinate amount of time on the DC subway (Metro). I've noticed the following things:
- Those kids love the Axe body spray. With an ad campaign like they have, it shouldn't be any surprise that the only people using that shit are prepubescent hood rats.
- Those kids have very poor judgement as to the "appropriate" amount of fragrance to apply. I've been off the Metro for 25 minutes, and I still can taste Axe.
- Moderate exposure to Axe makes my eyes water and makes me choke up. The amounts that I'm exposed to on the Metro make me see colors and blast puke.

Something has to be done about this nonsense. I'm fucking dying here. So far I have 2 distinct courses of action I'm planning to get rid of this menace:
a) An armed siege of the Axe manufacturing plant - This would (most likely) fail due to the fact that my eyes would melt at that level of exposure.
b) I'm working on a series of animated PSAs featuring a rapping kangaroo to let the kids know that 'Axe is whack'.
That'll work.

DVD Killed Video Store

I've spent the weekend (so far) catching up on all of the DVDs that I've bought and haven't gotten around to watching.
Here's the breakdown:

Shock Treatment (aka: the "sequel" to Rocky Horror Picture Show) - Not as good as I remember (of course, this is probably the first time I've watched this movie while not totally wasted out of my gourd). For my money, this one still has a better soundtrack than RHPS.

Wild At Heart - A lot better than I remember (of course, this is probably the first time I've watched this movie while not totally wasted out of my gourd). Crispin Glover, William Dafoe, and Grace Zabriskie all managed to steal the show (somehow). Fucking superb flick. I found myself going through all of the DVD extras at 3:30am. I couldn't get enough. Surprisingly, David Lynch did a load of interviews for the bonus materials. He never does ANYTHING on most of his releases - Huge surprise.

Battle of Algiers (Criterion 3 disc Box Set) - I passed out on the couch at 4:30am (watching A Boy and His Dog on cable) and woke up at 8am to the sound of Drinky Joe wrestling with the locks on the front door. I stayed awake to sheppard him off the couch before he passed out. By the time he'd gone through his nightly ritual and headed downstairs, I was wide awake.
I decided to use the few hours before The Girl woke up to watch one of the many high-falutin' movies that I had bought, but had neglected to watch. I knew that if I waited, there weren't enough words in the English language to get her to sit through a 2 hour long black&white subtitled history-pic from 1966. I went for it.
Ho-lee-shit. This is one hell of a movie. This movie captures the Islamic conundrum perfectly. I'd say that it is more pertainant today than it was back in the '60s (of course, I'm an idiot). My only concern was that it felt weird routing for the French military (even weirder when I realized that I was supposed to be sympathising with the Algerian rebels - oh well).
I even coined a new folksy adage while watching the film: You can't get honey from hornets*. This phrase works equally well with radical Islamists or The Girl. I probably stole it from somewhere, and am too sleep deprived to realize it (or care).
The movie was so engrossing that I ended up watching the bonus features. I watched ALL of the bonus materials - 4 hours and 45 minutes worth - 2 discs/7 separate documentaries (gotta love Criterion).
That took up most of today. Although, (at the insistence of The Girl) we took a break to watch El Ataque de los Muertos sin Ojos - your typical campy 1970's Spanish satanic-Templar-zombie flick. It wasn't nearly as good as La Noche del Terror Ciego.

Yeah, that's what I did this weekend since I couldn't get out to the Touch & Go 25th anniversary thing. I've been planted on the couch sippin' homemade Knob Creek mint juleps and watching foreign/art-house films (wow, am I gay)...
...I've wasted my life (or at least this weekend).
---

*a preliminary Google search isn't turning up anything, so I'm claiming it.

Blog-age Suicide (Don't Do It)

Fuck me gently with a chainsaw.
Recently there has been a wave of blog "suicides". First Elise, then Kaka, now Jes - all gone, like so many eHeathers.

You'll be missed, ladies.

Go See This Movie (If You Can)

I just received an e-mail from Ms. Elise telling me how great this film was, and that I should get out and see it ASAP. One problem - One of the closest theaters to me that's showing the film is in Chicago.

Here's the deal:
This is the new film from Mike Judge (Office Space) about a man of below-average intelligence who is cryogenically frozen and is thawed out 500 years in the future (ala Futurama). In that time society has degraded to the point that he has become (by default) the smartest person in the world.
This is one of the (very few) movies that I was excited about this summer.

Here's the rub:
Apparently, Judge got into a grudge match with some pissant from the studio, who now has decided to bury the movie. It's only being released in Los Angeles, Atlanta, Toronto, Chicago, Dallas, Houston, and Austin. No east-coast distribution whatsoever, and it doesn't look like there will be. Fox has shit-canned ALL publicity for this film and seems to be pushing it to the annals of video as fast as it can. I think that they just used up all of their ad budget on their most recent 'classic' John Tucker Must Die.

You DeKalb folk may have to trek out to Naperville to see it, but it'd be worth the road-trip to be one of the few that got a chance to see this in the theater. For more info on Idiocracy click HERE.

Slacker

I meant to get a bunch of crap up here this weekend - I didn't. I did get a bunch of things taken care of around the homestead, had a couple of drinkin' nights, and ended up with an impromptu BBQ at my place last night. It was the last official summer weekend and I was determined to squeeze all that I could out of it, so no regrets.

Tomorrow I'll be back tethered in front of a computer (in the typical 10 hour shifts) for the next couple of months. I should manage to get something up in that time-frame... probably.