LADIES & GENTLEMEN


The Black Angels.

Last night's show at The Empty Bottle was damn good. Not their best (the vocals were nigh inaudible), but you won't hear me complaining. I certainly won't hear me complaining. My eardrums got droned the fuck out.

Exquisite.

KITLERS
Amusing

WONDER
Why do you bother to bag your dog's shit if you're just going to leave the bag of shit on the sidewalk?

This is not an isolated incident.

I'm more insulted by the abandoned bag of shit than I am by the unbagged shit.

MAKES MINE EARS HAPPY, LATELY
(Or: Another Lame Attempt to Establish Credibility)

Wire—"Pink Flag"
I can only rate this with a series of exclamation points that would make a preteen blogger girl seem reserved.

Midlake—"The Trials of Van Occupanther"
You need this album more than you could possibly know.

Pearls & Brass—"The Indian Tower"
Rock your hair out.

Neutral Milk Hotel—"In the Aeroplane Over the Sea"
You should already know all about this. If you don't, you have some serious catching up to do.

Tuatara—"Breaking the Ethers"
Nice walking music for a misty day.

THE QUALITY OF MERCY, STRAINED
Don't let The Road to Guantanamo fly under your summer movie radar. It's a beautiful, devastating, thought-provoking film.

NEIGHBORS OF MAGNITUDE
I have dragons upstairs. It's true.

Matthew, the quiet Northwestern business student, moved out on the sly some month or so ago, leaving vacant a second-floor apartment with reasonable rent. Last week, I saw the dragons for the first time and they seemed nice enough. "Wait until nightfall," I told myself.

I have experience with dragons. I know their tastes and habits.

Sure enough, in the evenings, the deep-throated grumble above shakes dust from the ceiling fixtures. And I can hear two pairs of ragged talons scuttling across the hardwood floors. In the morning, I find soot on the front stoop — evidence of another domestic tantrum.

This has kept up for just over a week now. I have dragons upstairs.

Send help.

SUMMER FUN AT THE BEACH
I went to the beach on Saturday only to find the water was closed. I waded three steps into the ankle-deep surf of the Mighty Michigan before a frantic life guard ran across the beach and saved me from certain peril. "You can't go in the water!"

Why yes, I could. And had. That much was clear.

What she meant to say was "The City of Chicago will not be legally responsible for any microscopic parasites that happen to swim up your urethra and adhere to the lining of your small intestine. Might I suggest you go inland and play Frisbee?"