Everybody's fancy

We're running a little behind on issue 2. Everything will be done by Friday, but instead of taking advantage of the week off, nothing was accomplished. I've added notes to my stories but haven't put anything substantial on the screen.

Sidenote: I think there are werewolf noises on the Beck song "Nausea". There's definitly something.

Friday night was all about the corner of Lincoln and Irving. Kelsey used to live in Lincoln Square but we haven't spent an entire night in the neighborhood for a long time. We ate at Orange Garden, saw Paul's band at Silvie's (more about that later this week on the Machine site), drank a few beers with Mike at a decent bar that had $1 pints but an identity crisis (sports vs. dive vs. yuppie) and watched "Da Ali G" show at Mike's place about a bathroom fixture store.

That last paragraph is proof positive that I'm much too out-of-touch with whatever is cool. The following will also prove my case.

I spent Saturday with my mother in Indian Head Park. The visit wasn't nearly as depressing as it could have been. Her overall demeanor was better than usual and I was calm after finishing a Mr. Rogers book.

The evening was spent at the Brain, manning the door. I still smell like smoke. It was also the first night there in months that I didn't write a word. That's not a good sign.

I spent more than 75% of the day in bed (if you count a futon mattress on a floor a bed). I consumed fried food like a real man. I napped from 10-11pm like a real man. I'm up at 2:54am like a real man.

While updating the Machine myspace page I came across an ad that looked like a possible DJ opportunity. It was actually for a porn star signing in LA. The porn star is in works similiar to SuicideGirls, if SuicideGirls did actual porn. I did some more research and the correlation between major and indie porn isn't much different than major and indie music labels. I'm trying to find a Chicago spin on this thing because it's one of the most interesting media related stories I've stumbled across.

I'm spinning at least five times in February. I'd like to make increase that number to seven. I'm not sure why. I fucking hate this time of year.

Witty?

This should be more witty. I'm not so witty. I'm full of yogurt and orange juice at 3:01am.

Juicy Juice

Issue 2 is mostly written. A piece on Rogers Park by Eric Lab Rat. A column about the CTA by Emerson Dameron. A interview conducted by Arvo. Kelsey and I are working on pieces about the Loop preacher, the closing of the downtown Carson's, a one-on-one with a dominatrix (I hope this one is taken out of context), maybe the Alley, maybe a Captain Chicago comment and maybe another creepy photo essay. All of this would be done if I didn't drink so much orange juice and soaked in so much Maury.

Lie detectors lie. That may or may not be a lie.

Still in the running

"America's Next Top Model" proves that the females that want to be models on the series are wonderful wastes of life. Almost as big of a waste as that last sentence.

Get a blank piece of paper.

Stare at it.

Think of someone that has let you down, made you angry, filled you with hate.

Cry.

Let it out.

Bitch.

Clever.

Kelsey and I spun at the Brain for New Year's Eve. We had a good time with Emerson and Nell. The first three songs of 2007 were
Mr. Rogers "It's Such A Good Feeling"
Chamilionaire "Ridin'"
AC/DC "Highway to Hell"
The song that got the biggest reaction was Sam Cooke's "Dancing the Night Away".


To celebrate the new year full of Mr. Rogers, Eric and Sarah came over and we had deep fried pizza, Chicago cookies (see The Machine for more on that), candy bars, Oreo's, Chex mix and more. Everyone won/lost.

We just finished uploading issue 1 of The Machine.

Done.

58. Mark Leyner and Billy Goldberg "Why Do Men Have Nipples? Hundreds of Questions You'd Only Ask a Doctor After Your Third Martini"