( 2:16 PM )
J LO GIRAFFE SEX
Today's my last day on the job. I gave notice just before Thanksgiving, and as of 2003 I'll be unemployed. Spent the last two days cleaning out the desk I've occupied since August 1998. I'm prone to silly nostalgia, so it's a little sad, but it's the right decision.
I've been at this job for four years, and change, and that's long enough. I don't have another job waiting for me, but I've got some ideas. There's a good chance I'll fall on my ass, that a year from now I'll be broke, evicted, humiliated and/or suicidal. But as I see it, any and all of those are preferable to letting my soul atrophy in the same job year after year.
I could tell you about the liberation I feel. About the elation that shoots through me when people say I'm crazy. About the myth and the futility of careerism. But I'm sick of hearing myself yammering about that shit, so I'll spare you.
What I will tell you is that I've met the Berlitz girl. Her name is Alyssa (sp? no idea) and she's from Sao Paolo. We met just before the holiday, when I stopped her to say we'd be having our office Xmas dinner at a Brazilian steakhouse (I'd heard she was Brazilian from another Berlitzer...and yes, I enjoy using the word Brazilian in reference to her). Today she waved me down on my way out of the men's room (hands washed, thank god) to give me some mail that had accidentally been delivered to their office. I told her it's my last day. We made a little small talk. She wished me luck.
I wanted to tell her how much she's meant to me. How much I'm going to miss the sight of her, smiling behind her desk, floating through the hallway, jabbering Portugese into the phone. But I didn't. I won't. She'll never know.
So this is it. My desk is empty, my personal junk stowed, my farewells said. I'll miss the place, but it's time to get moving again. I'm not sure where the next year will take me, but I know it'll be a year to remember, and that's the point. Stay tuned.
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( 1:52 PM )
Thoughts on the indie bands who send us their records.
Each of the CDs I've received fits one of two descriptions:
1. Sucks (probably 8 of 10 in my little collection)
2. Sucks, but shows potential not to suck
I don't mind listening to any of them, even the ones that suck. My time isn't that valuable. And sucky music isn't offensive or even bothersome to me.
The problem I have with most of these bands is that they take themselves too, too seriously. This is a problem the world over, but it's especially bad with artistic and creative types, because these people not only take themselves too seriously, but are prone to expressing it.
It's true that great art requires some degree of self-absorption. But just because you're self-obsessed doesn't mean you can't recognize how ridiculous you are.
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( 12:57 PM )
In defense of WBEZ
I like Chicago Public Radio. I like weeknight Jazz from 8pm to 4am. I listen to ‘Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me’ on Saturday mornings. I think ‘This American Life’ may be the best thing ever to ride an electromagnetic wave.
And I listen to ‘Morning Edition’ every day while I shave, wax, put on my lingerie and otherwise prepare to face the day. I don’t have a problem with Lisa Labuz. She comes on, she reads the local news, the weather, the sponsorships/ads, she introduces the traffic reports. I don’t find her inarticulate, but maybe that’s because I often tune her out. If the local news lacks interest—school boards fighting over attendance policy and so forth—I stop listening. Maybe I put on some music, maybe I just retreat into my head (you want to hear some annoying voices, step inside this head).
The sponsorship announcements are tiresome, but necessary. WBEZ has managed to pare down to one pledge drive a year. I’ll trade a few more ads for a few less pledge drives. Besides, they’re not nearly as irritating as the jingle-laden crap on commercial radio.
And then there’s the traffic. I love the traffic. Listening to the traffic report in Chicago is like listening to old World War II radio chatter—a rat-tat coded message to comrades doing battle on the Chicago freeways. I’ll never forget hearing it when I first moved here. "Dan Ryan twenty five minutes to the interchange. Ike 50 minutes from the North-South. Bishop Ford 30 minutes outbound to Kingery. Southbound Stevenson backed up with gawkers at an accident near the circle." I felt so cool. I had a big-city job, a crappy big-city apartment and soon I would know all the big-city traffic lingo: who was this Dan Ryan, and how did he get a freeway named after him?
Four years later I listen to the traffic just for the sonic pleasure, even though backed up traffic on the Kennedy affects me no more than a backed up toilet in Milwaukee. Now I know the code. Dan Ryan was on old crony of Mayor Daley (the First). I’m in. And every morning, I’ve got WBEZ to remind me.
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( 11:31 AM )
In the interest of jerking around, I've made a list of my favorite songs from 2002. Disclaimer: I, being of sound mind and (mostly) body, undertake this waste of time with full knowledge of its futility and irrelevance. I'm doing it because, why not.
Here then, in the order they come to mind, the best songs I heard this year.
10. Buddy Miller, 'Midnight & Lonesome'
9. Ryan Adams, 'Dear Chicago' Only truly worthwhile song on his half-assed 'Demolition' album
8. Carol's Pub house band, 'Silver Wings' Friday Nov. 29, approx. 1:30 a.m. Coolest country band in Chicago, my favorite Merle Haggard song. Moment immediately ruined when followed with 'The Gambler.'
7. Nick Cave, 'Love Letter' Face it: Nick Cave kicks ass.
6. Tom Waits, 'Flower's Grave' Another bad motherfucker, still getting it done.
5. Kasey Chambers, 'Water in the Fuel' Live at Martyrs, February. A Fred Eaglesmith tune rendered perfect by Kasey's big, beautiful voice.
4. Neko Case, 'Wish I Was the Moon' ...pitter-pat goes my heart.
3. Wilco, 'Jesus Don't Cry' Best song from the album of the year.
2. Johnny Cash, 'The Man Comes Around' Gives me chills every time.
1. Wilco, 'War on War' Live at the Riviera Theatre, Chicago, August. Jeff Tweedy belted out 'You're gonna lose, you've gotta learn how to die....If you wanna wanna be alive,' and I saw the light. Those words, that song, cleansed me, healed a summer heartache. I was saved on that night, with the Riv as my church, Wilco my minister, and music, my gospel.
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