JVO

I'm never here.

Seriously. I'll be done with this site altogether once I've transferred all the archives over to http://blog.jamesvanosdol.com.

Recent entries on my live blog include an interview with Q101's Ryan Manno, thoughts on Sirius XM's impending doom, and why I bought a new refrigerator.

james@jamesvanosdol.com

New at blog.jamesvanosdol.com-Social Networking and Clear Channel

I've posted a few new posts up on my new, in-development, blog home. Most recent are a post on social networking, and a quick summary of thoughts on the Clear Channel layoffs this week.

http://blog.jamesvanosdol.com

Radio's State of the Union

I thought it was time to start taking a look at radio, and learning ways it can help pick itself back up again:

http://blog.jamesvanosdol.com/2009/01/19/radios-state-of-the-union-2009.aspx

website

I'm slowly making my way towards having a new web home. I just flipped to using GoDaddy as my DNS/web hosting provider, and I'm starting to experiment with how to use the platform and build content. Eventually, the plan is to move all my blogging activity over there. As a test run, I created an MLK-themed playlist entry for today:

http://blog.jamesvanosdol.com/2009/01/19/build-this-playlistmlk.aspx

Numb

It's a cliche to bitch about the weather in Chicago, but I can't help it today. Five stops into my El ride, and my toes are, um, uncomfortably numb and the fingers typing this don't feel much better.

As I drove to the Kimball Park and Ride this morning, the thermostat on my dash read "-15." That would place the windchill somewhere in the 30 below range. Tell me again: Why have I lived here all my life? It's a rhetorical question, and I'm the first to acknowledge that the items in Chicago's plus column far outweigh the case against the city's quality of life.

I just need to remember those things as I search for feeling in my extremities. Best summers ever. Best music ever. Coolest buildings ever. Best restaurants ever.

Whew. I feel better. Ish.

Good morning, Chicago (thoughts about stuff)

Blogging from the Brown Line at Western, numbed fingers fumbling their way around my Blackberry keypad.

Forecast calls for pain:
Last winter in Chicago was a loyalty-tester. Relentlessly miserable with alternating pummelings of snow and ball-hibernating cold, the season was a joyless, stay-at-home block of time that didn't properly end until April.

...And here we go again, staring at our first sub-zero high temperature since 1996 and a record amount of snow for the season. My morale for the week is crushed, with my spirits for the next two months soon to follow.

"24":
My friend Phil sent me a flurry of last-minute texts last night, imploring me to lift the "24" embargo off my house. Having been burned so completely by the last season, I just can't put myself through another day with Jack Bauer (though never say never, I did DVR it).

Operation: Music Digitization:
The slowest process known to man continues. Some newer discoveries and observations:
Amon Amarth-Viking metal is never as good as it should be. I know I doth speak blasphemy, though it has to be said. So say we all!

B-52s-First album. Wild Planet. Cosmic Thing. Everything else must go (Good Stuff, anyone?).

Babys-"Isn't it Time" may well be the best pop song ever.

Auteurs-One of my favorite never-quite-made it British bands of the 90s. Playing "Chinese Bakery" yesterday was a great nostalgia trip.

Magazines:
Getting thinner by the day as that industry continues to struggle against the economy and the internet. The new Blender looks like a brochure.

Speaking of Blender:
The Fall Out Boy article was eye-opening. The question I was left with was whether the author had an axe to grind with the band, or if Pete Wentz really is that much of a load.

At Sedgwick now, Alice Cooper "Elected" just came on the iPod. Shut it down...

Operation Music Digitization

One of my goals for my seasonal "staycation" (I still detest the word, but for some reason am using it here) is to continue my ongoing efforts to archive my CD collection onto my terabyte drive. I'm still stuck in the As, and have learned some distressing things about my collection over the past week:

1) I own every Tori Amos album. I fucking hate Tori Amos.
2) I own an Athenaeum album. I don't know if they have more than one, but I'm positive that the one I have is more than society needs.
3) Arrested Development was overrated.
4) At the Drive-In remains superior to Mars Volta and Sparta.
5) AC/DC is still one of the greatest rock bands ever.
6) Armageddon Dildos should never have covered Morrissey. Their name also is nowhere near as clever as I bet they thought it was when they came up with it.
7) I prefer the John Bush Anthrax years to the "classic" ones with Joey Belladonna.
8) I'm going to be a very old man by the time I'm done with this.

Good morning, Chicago

On the Red Line by Morse, listening to my iPod as Apocalypse Hoboken 'Monchichi' segues into AC/DC 'What's Next to the Moon,' thinking that my MP3 player is both sentient and intuitive.

I'm tired as I type this, the result of an OCD-like drive to watch every episode of 'Battlestar Galactica' (new version) on DVD, something that's been keeping me from going to sleep at a responsible hour for weeks running. In their latest issue, Entertainment Weekly singled 'Galactica' out as the television show most defined by the W. Bush era. Look for allegories and draw parallels all you'd like--bottom line is that it's a genre-elevating, thoughtfully complex, beautifully-written, show.

6-12 inches of snow tonight. I'm glad I took the el today, despite the stink wafting from the sleeping gentleman three seats up.

Return to Kuma's Corner

I had interminably slow service the last time I went to Kuma's Corner, slow enough to keep me from ever returning. But that burger...that what-had-to-be one pound of beef on a pretzel bun, loaded with obscene amounts of over-the-top ingredients...lured me back there for lunch today.

Though just as crowded as my last visit, Kuma's was a bit more subdued--even comfortable--during the lunch rush.

My party of five's food came out fast and our waitress was great, though none of that really matters for this story. What matters is the burger I ordered.

I had the Goblin Cock (did I mention that every burger is named after a metal band?), a burger topped with a split hot dog, bacon, cheddar, relish, sport peppers, and mustard. It was an orgy of meat (which you'd kind of expect from a Goblin Cock), a cardiac traumatizer on a plate.

It was magnificent.

Next time I go to Kuma's, it'll be for lunch and I'll be ready for the Bongzilla, a Sheboygan brat on a burger.

Keeping it metal on the Brown Line,

JVO

Trapped in downtown Chicago

I drove to work today. Dumbest move ever.

Travel times on the Kennedy from downtown to O'Hare are sitting between 3-4 hours. Lake Shore Drive is 90 minutes from Monroe to Hollywood. There's no reason to throw myself into the stress-inducing mess that Chicago's highways have become, so I'm sitting at my desk at work, biding my time.

My plan is to leave at 7:30, when (hopefully) the majority of rush hour commuters are closer to home. That leaves me eating dinner at the office, meaning I've hit the at-work meal trifecta. Every one of my meals, starting with yogurt and a banana at 8 a.m., has been consumed in the friendly confines of my place of employment. I'd find that depressing if it wasn't such a comfortable alternative to being on the road right now.

Spare the Rod...

That warm feeling we Illinoisans were cozying up with after sending Barack to the White House? Iced over by the laundry list of corruption charges made this week against Governor Blagojevich.

The only thing worse than an arrogantly drunk-with-power and criminal egotist running the state is a an arrogantly drunk-with-power and criminal egotist running the state with a shitty haircut. On a related note, CNN.com published an interview with a psychiatrist who explained that Rod's haircut is symptomatic of delusional self-importance (paraphrasing here). Really, everything's fair game in the Blago turkey shoot.

Abuse of political office and the public trust is certainly nothing new, especially not in the dubious history of Chicago politics. Still, I think we'd all like to believe that the higher calling of public service brings with it higher standards. Time and again, though, we're reminded that politicians are just like the rest of us monkeys--driven by self-preservation, survival, and money. And in the case of some Senators, anonymous gay bathroom sex in airports.

Rod will be going away for a while, to that special "Governor's wing" in prison that George Ryan helped build. When I was living in Ravenswood, Rod was running for his House seat. When I would leave for work in the middle of the day, I'd pass by his campaign billboard which read,"From our community, for our community." It was run-of-the-mill political positioning; and as we've learned, not at all reality.

Steve Dahl

I posted and quickly pulled down a post about Steve Dahl’s morning show on 10/28/08. I didn’t love the way it was written, so I made a mental note to edit and repost it at some point. Since Dahl got cut loose by JACK on Friday, so I decided to repost my original thoughts, revision-free:

In my current career role, I don't have the need to meticulously observe radio ratings. I don't know who's up a tenth, down a tenth, or struggling with such things as "non-ethnic men over 18."

As such, I don't have a complete read on how Steve Dahl's migration to JACK-FM has impacted the station.

(Lamentedly) former Sun-Times columnist Rob Feder spelled out a dark PPM world where Dahl occupies a subterranean spot normally reserved for brokered and college radio.

If that's true, it's a real shame. Dahl's been doing consistently solid radio since jumping frequencies and dayparts. When he's at his best, his humor and topics come across as natural and effortless, something other mic jockeys forcing yuks up and down the dial could (and should, really) learn from.

The real secret to Dahl is the very secret to radio's survival--his show is hyperlocal. Dahl strikes a chord through shared regional experience. When he talks about walking down Michigan Avenue in shorts on a cold day or a candle shop in Bolingbrook, he's relating in a way a syndicated host never can.

What's more, the show's been bare-bones when I've been listening. Without the morning show wacky whistles and bells that have become so tired and so cliche, Dahl's show stands as authentic, intelligent, and appealingly local.

Catching up on odds and ends...

It’s been a while since I blogged. Work and family distracted me from my regular vanity exercise, and much has happened since my last entry. A couple of quick notes about the past month:

November 4, 2008-We actually got it right. Holy crap. I was in Atlanta that night, watching celebrations in the street which lasted well past midnight. Totally remarkable to see.

I’ve never been optimistic about government—I born too late for JFK and lived through Reagan and a pair of Bushes—but this is as close as I can imagine myself coming.

November 14, 2008-I went to Toronto on a business trip, marking my third visit to the market. I absolutely love Toronto; it’s a big city on one of the Great Lakes with lots of tall buildings, varied architecture, and great restaurants. Upon further reflection, my affection is probably based in the fact that it’s very similar to Chicago.

November 29, 2008-My first trip to Kuma’s Corner, the metal burger joint by Belmont and Elston. The good: Anthrax played at an ear-splitting level over appetizers. The “Pantera” burger. The vibe. The bad: Waiting 75 minutes for my burger after the order was placed…at 5:45 in the evening. Lame.

Early December, 2008-I got hit with my first major flu/cold/general well-being f**ker-upper of the year. I was laid low for a week, which pretty wrapped up on Friday. I had laryngitis for a good chunk of the week, which made any kind of interaction a bit of a challenge.

Some movie thoughts:

”Quantum of Solace.” What a suckfest snoozer of a movie. The bad guy wants to control the Bolivian water supply? And somehow there’s a movie built around that?

“The Dark Knight.” Now that it’s coming out on DVD on Tuesday, I fully expect people to take a closer look at the effusive praise they lavished upon it over the summer. It’s. Just. Not. That. Good.

“X-Files: I Want to Believe.” I watched it while I was home sick last week. I want to believe in a possible X-Files franchise, but this movie fell short in every possible way. The pedophile priest psychic wasn’t even necessary to the plot. Take him out of the equation, and you have a sh**ty James Patterson novel.

JVO in Newcity again

I have a feature in the "Words" section of the latest Newcity about local comics creator (and creator of cult fave Hack/Slash) Tim Seeley. Get it on newsstands until Wednesday, or read online:

http://www.newcitychicago.com/chicago/8383.html

JVO in Newcity this week

The latest issue of Newcity features an article I wrote about local comics creator Tony Daniel.

Pick the issue up anywhere in Chicago or read the article here:

http://www.newcitychicago.com/chicago/8287.html

Non-crime scene

Blogging from the Red Line, where an oversized man reeking of sweat and Winstons is snoring in the seat in front of me. Just passed the Loyola stop. This is going to be a long trip--back to the Brown Line tomorrow.

An unknown criminal was in my car on Saturday night. I know that because on Sunday morning the passenger door was standing ajar and the glovebox was hanging slackjawed, clearly having been rifled through.

Nothing was taken from the car, though there was nothing there worth stealing, outside of 62 cents in small change.

My neighbor said that his car and garage had been "visited," as well. Nothing taken there, either.

I called the police last night to report the invasive non-theft. They came out and theorized that it was dumb kids looking to lift GPS systems. Finally, my innate sense of direction paid off--I don't own a GPS.

The police were surprised that nothing at all was missing, specifically the 62 cents. "They always take the change," one officer said.

I've been following local police blotters, and it seems like crimes are getting more frequent and desperate every week. Going garage to garage, car to car, in my relatively quiet, blue collar, hood looking to steal GPS's is definitely desperate. And from what I can tell, unsuccessful.

The economy's in ruin? Don't tell comic collectors.

Blogging from the Red Line, pulling past the Morse stop.

Over my lunch break yesterday, I went with my friend Walt to the Loop's sole comic shop, Graham Crackers.

Wednesdays are when the new comics hit the racks, meaning that most stores on those days are wall-to-wall mouthbreathers from open to close.

True to form, the store was packed when we walked in. I counted 10 people in line and another 15 or so milling around the store.

Looking at the crowd, you'd never think that hard economic times existed outside Graham Crackers' revolving door. Comics are EXPENSIVE, so much so that I cut my "pull list" at Challengers (Western Avenue near Bucktown/Wicker Park) to a manageable 10 titles. If I want more comics, I'll pick them up according to what catches my eye and what I can afford. Just to be clear, that decision was a struggle to get to.

Collectors are a unique personality type. Finances and creditors be damned, those weekly comics have to be bought. What if (shudder) you had a break in a near-perfect run of Captain America? Or you were the last one on the D.C. Comics message boards to learn the shocking developments of "Batman R.I.P.?". The horror! Ooooh, spoilers, I curse you!

The need to collect and acquire is a genetic flaw that old ladies-gone-antiquing, trading card enthusiasts and comic fans all share. The conditioning and reinforcement that shapes a serial hobbyist's brain is extremely difficult to turn away from.

I somehow managed to snap out of the obsessive collector's mindset, but don't think that I won't be erupting in cold sweats on Wednesdays moving forward.

Greetings from Terminal E

I'm at O'Hare, eating scrambled eggs at Chili's, waiting to take an overnight trip to St. Louis.

My travel timing, as a rule, sucks. The flight boards at 7:40, and I got here at 6. I'm always paranoid about delays on the Kennedy, so I made sure to allow myself plenty of time to get here. Plenty. Of. Time.

That means I woke up on the early side of the 4 o'clock hour. My eyes are scratchy with sleep and I'm currently planning on finding ways to kill time at a Hudson News. I swear I'll never learn.

The right to shoes

Blogging from the Brown Line, at the Kimball station.

I'm dog tired this morning after a very nominal amount of sleep last night. I knew I was in trouble when I put "The Happening" in my DVD player just before midnight. Plants...really?

My groggy state today is comparable to the way I felt last Wednesday.
I hadn't slept well the night before, but had to fight through it in order to be on time for a work-related seminar downtown.

I was a wreck, fumbling around in the dark, trying to put something presentable on--anything, really. I pulled myself together and bolted out the door, aiming my body towards the Sears Tower.

One hour later, I was at the Palmer House, sitting in the back row of the seminar with some friends. Coffee in hand, I was ready for the day.

A few minutes in, I stretched out in my seat, lifing my feet in the air in the process. A primal, reflexive yelp fell out of my mouth. I was aghast to see that my shoes didn't match: One black. One brown. I looked ridiculous.

Thoughts and questions raced before me: Had anyone noticed and just not said anything? How brain dead was I to not realize my footwear faux pas? Should I stop at a shoe store on State Street afterward and buy two shoes that matched, or should I just suck it up and be "unmatched shoe guy" for a day?

I was unmatched shoe guy for the day. And it was a long day, at that. I was called "special," a "moron," and "original." One friend asked if it was safe for me to be walking around the big city without a helmet on.

My shoes match today, though I'm not altogether confident that my fatigue hasn't planted an apparel time bomb elsewhere on my person today.

"Along Came a Spider" review

My friend Patrick helps run a metal e-zine called DETRITUS, and asked recently if I'd contribute a review of the new Alice Cooper album, which I've pasted below.

In case you're interested in DETRITUS:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Detritus/
http://www.myspace.com/detritusezine

Alice Cooper
"Along Came A Spider"
SPV

A new Alice Cooper album really only exists to serve existing Alice Cooper fans, and those fans are getting harder to please. Most gave up after "Trash." Those still on board have only grudgingly accepted later-in-life releases like "The Last Temptation" and "The Eyes of Alice Cooper." Call it a sense of duty. Call it nostalgia. Call it an unfulfillable hope that somehow Alice will write another song like "Elected" or "Ballad of Dwight Fry" before he goes to the Great Back Nine in the sky.

Because the possible appeal and saturation level of an Alice Cooper album in 2008 is limited to the black-mascaraed faithful, the only way to look at his recent concept album about serial killing, "Along Came A Spider," is to hold it up against his previous four decades of catalog.

First, the good: "Along Came a Spider" has a more well-expressed concept than Alice's previous, watershed, entry into the concept album arena, "Welcome to My Nightmare." In a reverent nod, that album's Steven manages to scare up a reference before ACaS's boo-scary, plot-twist closing.

"Along Came a Spider" tells the James Patterson-lite story of a serial killer who creates a spider from the parts of his victims (those victims are wrapped in silk, 'natch). It's over-the-top, ridiculous—even stupid, at times. It's also as close to "classic," theatrical Alice as we've seen in a long while.

The best songs on the album, two in sum, are as good or better than anything since the late-80s. "(In Touch With) Your Feminine Side" is instantly familiar, seemingly crafted for fist-pumping karaoke sessions in either the violent crimes wing of your local prison or one of the outer rings of hell. Lyrically, it could be taken as an AC/DC-penned, lusty obsession for a member of the opposite sex. Looking at it within the album's greater context, it's really just a creepy ode to calculated stalking.

Stronger still is the soaring anthem "Salvation," with its melancholy contemplation and pianos giving way to crashing guitars, understated guitar solo, and commanding vocal performance. It's "Spider's" finest moment; one that would have sounded just as natural on Cooper's semi-autobiographical (and entirely underrated) insane asylum chronicle "From the Inside."

Moving beyond "Salvation" and "Feminine Side," the songs on "Along Came A Spider" are merely okay—not awful when they pop up in an iPod Shuffle, but nothing to intentionally add to an iPod playlist. The album's "single," "Vengeance Is Mine," is mostly aimless, though ultimately harmless. And so goes the rest of the disc.

Looking at the album as one body of work, where the sum of the parts is ignored for an analysis of the greater whole, "Spider" lacks real bite. For an album about a truly lunatic serial killer, a self-described "arachnophobic psychopath" ("Catch Me If You Can"), "Spider" never feels dangerous. The album's first song, "I Know Where You Live," opens with a news report that sets up the album's narrative. It's flat exposition for its own sake, and amateur-sounding at that. For true opening chills, Cooper need only refer back to the title track of his "Dada" album, which still manages to evoke spontaneous pantshittings from the faint of heart.

Since Alice Cooper's glory days, he's found his golf swing and Jesus, but has never lost his unique skew on the world and what collectively freaks us out. And while "Along Came A Spider" doesn't necessarily add to Cooper's legacy, it doesn't take away from it, either.

Finally, how does "Along Come A Spider" place among Alice's other 25 decades-spanning works?

Billion Dollar Babies >Love it to Death>Welcome to My Nightmare >From the Inside>Lace and Whiskey>Trash>School's Out>Hey Stoopid>Killer>Goes to Hell >Constrictor>Muscle of Love>Raise Your Fist and Yell>The Last Temptation>Along Came A Spider > Flush the Fashion>Dragontown>Dirty Diamonds>Easy Action >Brutal Planet> Dada>The Eyes of Alice Cooper>Special Forces>Pretties for You>Zipper Catches Skin

Dear Sarah Palin,

...it's pronounced "nu-cle-ar," not "nuke-you-lar," you back alley rube.

Oh I get it, you're just being "folksy." Never mind, then.

The city by the lake

Blogging on my Blackberry from the Brown Line, just past Southport.

Welcome to Chicago's new Renaissance.

The White Sox pulled it off last night, after a week of torture for their fans. The team begins their post-season play tomorrow.

Meanwhile, the Cubs walk into October play tonight.

Amazingly, both Chicago teams are in the playoffs for the first time in over a century.

Baseball aside, we Chicagoans are also staring at the very real possibility that the next leader of the free world may well (and hopefully) be a local guy.

And what about the ghost of Chicago future? I'm still trying to imagine what the Olympics would be like under the shadow of Chicago's skyline. Granted, 2016 is far from locked;but as they say, it's an honor just to be nominated.

Speaking of nominees, I'd hate to overlook former Chicagoan Tina Fey's recent success at the Emmys. In addition to the "30 Rock" wins, Fey's had one of the most successful comedy movies of the year ("Baby Mama"), and currently dominates YouTube with her recent, spot-on, portrayals of Alaskan moose-skinner Sarah Palin.

Though the Fey example is stretching my point about Chicago greatness, it's a fact that the city is on a white-hot streak (dismissing, if you will, the recent study that named Chicago the most stressful city in America).

I think back to the 90s, when the Bulls were absolutely untouchable and the Chicago music scene enjoyed its most prolific period, well, ever. It feels like we're entering another one of those memorable periods in the cultural history of the city.

The new look of the Chicago Tribune is clearly a topic for a later date...

Star Wars

Blogging from the brown line, happily back in Chicago.

The new issue of Entertainment Weekly jumps to the defense of George Lucas and the recent animated "Clone Wars" film. The movie was decimated by critics, and most die-hard fans weren't interested enough to head out to the cineplex to see it (though they'll likely DVR the Cartoon Network series).

"The Clone Wars" was, in all honesty, more entertaining than any of the three "prequel" films, which were insulting and torturous to watch.

Sure, "Clone Wars" was made for viewers under the age of 10. Sure, the animation style was clunky. Both points are made less relevant in the face of the reality that "Clone Wars" was more fun, less convoluted, and more universally appealing than anything we've seen with Hayden Christensen and an underused Samuel L. Jackson.

I've never thought much of "Star Wars" or the cultural phenomenon surrounding it. George Lucas released the right movie at the right time in 1977, and every day's been payday for him since then.

Georg-au revoir

Blogging from United flight 321, awaiting takeoff for home.

Atlanta was humid today, so much so that I prayed that I wasn't going to arrive at my lunch meeting with giant sweat stains on my shirt.

For reasons I can't comprehend, the airport was humid, too.
I was so uncomfortably warm after hanging out for a half hour, I bought a Braves shirt and changed in the men's room. I have a truly cunning look going on right now--blue baseball shirt, khakis, and dress shoes.

Took Atlanta's mass transit system, MARTA, today. There were a few stops, passengers, and moments on the trip when I felt as though I had intentionally placed myself in harm's way.

Still, it beat what would've been a $45 cab ride.

Doors closing--leaving soon. Gotta power down...

How the other half lives...

I'm blogging from the 25th floor of the J.W. Marriott in the Buckhead area of Atlanta, staring out the window of the Concierge Lounge at the Atlanta skyline.

By the time I had to book my hotel accommodations for this trip, pretty much every one in the Buckhead area was full. The Marriott was available, so I snapped up one of the few rooms they had left; one that offered access to the vaunted and otherwise-secret "concierge floor."

You need key access to get up there. Once you're in, it's a feeding frenzy. Food and drink everywhere. On the buffet table I just barnstormed were seared shrimp on cheddar grits with a peach barbecue glaze, braised skirt steak skewers on a bed of black beans, and gnocchi with fresh squash, tomato sauce, and goat cheese. I could've added a salad and fruit to my plate, but why stand on ceremony when the options were what they were?

Every now and then, I get a glimpse of how "the other half lives." Every time I catch a glimpse, the experience is galling and humiliating. The other half lives well.

How does one cross over to the other side of the street? My big plan is to sell a bunch of unused CDs on Ebay (why do I own the entire Creed catalog, anyway?). I don't think my plan will work, but it's clearly a start.

ORD2ATL

Blogging from Gate B3, awaiting the boarding call.

Some of the things I've thought about since arriving:

-Never fun before, checking bags is now way more miserable. In forcing flyers to pay for checked luggage, the curbside checkin has been made longer and as grinding as passing through the TSA security checkpoint.
$15 for my bag, really?

-O'Hare needs more dining options. The restaurants that are here have menacing lines coming out of them around the clock.

-I should get a Nintendo DS.

-The trade paperback of "Planet Hulk" isn't worth its $35 price tag. Sorry, Barbara's Bookstore at O'Hare--i just couldn't pull the trigger.

-I always dread boarding. I fear two-plus hours sandwiched into the window by someone who's either super-sized or rude. Or both.

-On a related note, why do people buy middle seats? I can't handle them. I change my flight times when seating charts don't go my way.

Waterlog, 9/15/08

Blogging in a cab on my way to O'Hare for a flight to Atlanta.

The weather is perfect as I type this--a few grey clouds are dotting the sky on a pleasantly cool day. It's a reward for enduring the past two days, which were just plain awful.

The rain started on Friday, and kept coming. And coming. By Saturday morning, there was a drip coming from the ceiling of my home office. By Saturday afternoon, my basement which had never flooded since I moved in years ago was two+ inches deep with water.

Some stuff was lost--though nothing catastrophic (an autographed Abra Moore poster from 1993, for instance).
The worst part was hauling wet carpets and an impossibly bulky Shopvac up and down the basement stairs.

I've pinpointed the breach to the floor drain in my laundry room. It backed up with such force that it sent the metal drain grate flying up and off. After a day of cleaning and bailing, I wasn't able to find it.

Now I'm sitting in a cab that reeks of cigarettes and b.o. to fly from one of America's busiest airports to another of America's busiest airports.

Rainy days and Mondays always get me down.

Stuff, 9/10/08

Stuff- 9/10/08

Blogging from the Brown Line on a truly gorgeous morning here in the big city of Chicago...

Some thoughts on stuff:

SOUTHERN ROCK
I'm listening to "Green Grass and High Tides" by the Outlaws as I type this and enjoying it. I had a similar experience with "Gator Country" by Molly Hatchet over the weekend. Could this genre be unfairly maligned? Subject for further investigation: Freebird.

UNITED
I'm flying to Atlanta on business for a few days next week and booked my flight through United. Before the great bankruptcy scare and stock freefall, the best seat I could get was in the last row, next to the lavatory. I logged on to United's website during the craziness and managed to move myself up to Row 5, window. Thanks, stock investors!

T.V.
I've never been much for television. I usually have one or two shows I like at a given time, but they always let me down (see also: Smallville, X-Files, 24). I find that the only shows I know much about these days are on the Food Network. I can't tell you how very depressing I think that is. I actually found myself in a conversation this week where I said, "I'm guardedly optimistic about 'Feasting on Waves,' but I know it won't be as fun to watch as 'Feasting on Asphalt'." I know the names of the Iron Chefs. I followed "The Next Food Network Star." I've identified this all as a problem and I'm working to correct it.

ROCK STAR CLUB
One of the great never-made-it bands from Chicago (and,yes, there are many). Their song "Shut Up And Work It" just came up on my iPod; it's one of the best working-class songs I know, and so very Chi-cah-go.

White Sox, Bleak VMAs, Pink Face

Blogging from the Brown Line, where it's already full approaching Western. It's going to be a long trip downtown.

I spent yesterday at the Sox/Angels game after spending Saturday night watching the final 6 of 15 innings of the previous game.

Yesterday was supposed to be cold. Rainy,even. Turns out, it was a near-perfect, sunny day. I baked in my seat and walked out of the park with half my face bright pink and burned. I look like one of the two villains from "The Dark Knight," so at least I've got that going for me.

After the game, I took a desperately-needed shower and decided to watch the VMAs. I couldn't have found them more repugnant or beyond my scope of interest.

Back in radio, I HAD to pay attention to the goings-on of pop culture's most self-satisfied awards event. These days, I don't need to know who's hosting it or which artists are nominated. And I didn't on either count.

The anonymous teabag hosting it wasn't funny or anywhere near as shocking as he clearly tried to be. But he was loud. And he talked fast. Maybe that verbal sleight-of-hand distracted viewers from the lack of entertaining content.

Maybe I'm just so far out of the MTV demo that I don't get it. Maybe MTV is so far beyond redemption I shouldn't care. Maybe it's both.

Just passed Fullerton. It's packed tight in my car. Feeling every bit of my claustrophobia right now...

Costco

Costco

Find me a retail experience where the customers are less respectful to one another or less attentive to their environment than at Costco. It can't be done.

I made the trip yesterday, because I apparently had to have a 40-roll pack of Charmin Ultra toilet paper and the 3-CD Best of CCR.

I like the idea of Costco, and the thought of the potential savings benefits that can be had when one doesn't add superfluous items to his cart (anything with John Fogerty's voice, for example). What I dislike is the zoned-out bargain-hunting masses who plod up and down the middle of the aisles, talking on their 2001 Nokia cell phones, prohibiting anyone from going around them. Did I mention the size of the shopping carts? They're huge. Of course, they have to be. You can buy a treehouse fort and a wide-screen TV at Costco.

What could've been a 10-minute visit clocked in at more than 30. The other customers were like speed bumps, milling around like they were at an art exhibit. By the time I got in line to have the cashier not bag my items, I was anxious and cranky. Nothing a massive slice of pepperoni pizza couldn't cure, however. The food counter by the exit saved the day. It's as if Costco knows the anguish people like me feel by the time they're finished shopping. Uncanny.

A Bullet Dodged

Blogging from the Brown Line again...

I reported for jury duty yesterday morning. Not just jury duty, GRAND JURY duty.

26th and California was just as I'd remembered--tenements to the east, razor wire-lined prison to the immediate south. It was a soul-crushing scene to cap off what was a soul-crushing commute.

I admittedly didn't know much about how Grand Juries operate, but it was quickly explained that they hear close to 100 cases a day and determine whether enough evidence exists in each to go to trial.

It was also explained that, if selected, we'd be serving through the first week of October (Rocktober, if you prefer). That's a total of five weeks. That's ridiculous.

Other than the unemployed and unemployable, who has the finacial security, lack of personal/family needs, and patience to serve for five weeks? One week is a reasonable expectation to place on a citizen; five weeks is obnoxious.

We each took turns being interviewed by the Assistant District Attorney, who I found very likeable--kind of like Gary Oldman's Commissioner Gordon in the last two Batman movies. I told him who I was, what I did for a living, and some basic family information and then returned to my judicial pew with the rest of the jury "hopefuls."

After a considerable amount of time, the jurors were announced, and I wasn't one of them. Life continues as originally scheduled for the next five weeks.

I got a $17 check for my time. I'm going to spend it all in one place, maybe on iTunes:

Warren Zevon "Lawyers, Guns, and Money"
Anthrax "I Am the Law"
Judas Priest "Breaking the Law"
Fiona Apple "Criminal"
Eno/Cale "Crime in the Desert"
Peter Tosh "Here Come the Judge"
Jackson Browne "Lawyers in Love"
That's the best I can come up with while being crushed on the train and typing into a Blackberry...

Alice Cooper at the Genessee

Alice Cooper slayed (find me a verb more appropriate, I dare you) last night. The show punched my face clean off and then poured rubbing alcohol on whatever pulp was left.

Alice Cooper has taken up a proud tradition former legends have been successfully employing for years: using young, mostly-anonymous, and hungry players to make the live show seem vital and not like a sad stab at recreating the so-called "glory years."

That doesn't mean the glory years weren't revisited. The concert was essentially divided into two sets, the first of which was a raw, club-level, rendering of Cooper's greatest hits. Library essentials like "Eighteen," "No More Mr. Nice Guy," "Is It My Body" and even the (relatively) more modern "Feed My Frankenstein" and "Lost in America" were ripped through with a toughness and sense of rock and roll danger I had (wrongly) assumed Alice Cooper was long past creating in his sixth decade of life and fourth decade of live performance.

The band jumped from song to song without any insulting stage patter or time to allow the audience to catch its breath. There was no, "Thank you Chicago, how ya feeling tonight;" no "Anyone here eighteen years old? Well, this song's for you!" After the first four songs had completely kicked my ass, I leaned over to my friend Patrick to say, "This show is absolutely his to f*** up." I've seen too many concerts where, just as things were going in the right direction, the entire experience was sabotaged by either substandard new material, cheesy banter, or by-the-number and/or bored recitations of older songs. None of that happened. There were only two new songs played last night--that's it. And they weren't half-bad.

There is no presence on stage like Alice Cooper, no frontman as commanding. Cooper prowls the stage like he's surveying an army of his own malevolent creation, taunting the audience while twirling objects ranging from cane to riding crop to sword, spinning each with Three Musketeers precision. With his make-up on, masterful stage persona, and the fountain of youth all-stars backing him up, I never once felt like I was watching on old man past his prime. Instead, I was watching Alice Cooper, superstar. Just as it was supposed to be.

The second set was devoted to pure Cooper theatrics, the sort of thing that helped elevate him to stadium-filling status in the 70s. A handful of tracks from "Welcome to My Nightmare," the chilling "Steven" among them, played out as an on-stage plunge into insanity, complete with straightjacket and enraged version of "The Ballad of Dwight Fry" to cap it off. The bit concluded not with a beheading (okay, kind of a disappointment), but a hanging (still a good time).

By the time I got to the first song of the encore, "Billion Dollar Babies," I'd had the time of my life. I walked into the venue not knowing what to expect and walked out feeling like I'd seen the show of the year.

And now, a word from the Cook County Circuit Court

A few weeks back I found a certfied mail notification in my mailbox. The slip didn't identify a sender, so I didn't think much of it.

Last night I came home to a second delivery attempt notification. This time, the sender was identified on the slip as "Cook County Court." I started to panic. Was I being sued? Was my home being foreclosed? Had someone finally found the body of the drifter I killed for gas money back in '87? I tried not to think too much about what the letter contained, but every time I did, my stress levels rose. I knew there was no legit cause for concern, but the mind can be a funny thing.

I went to the post office before work today, sacrificing a punctual arrival at the office for an immediate answer to the question of the letter. I got there right at 8, photo I.D. in hand. I had the envelope open and its contents removed seconds after it was handed to me, and well before I walked out the front door. The good news is that I wasn't pulled into some random and unexpected litigation, nor was my home being foreclosed. Furthermore, the body of "Fast" Philly Abrams remains safely hidden off a dirt road just outside of Norman, Oklahoma.

The bad news is that I've been summoned--make that "Commanded"--to serve on a Grand Jury this coming Tuesday at the center of hell known as 26th and California. I'm guessing that a Grand Jury doesn't serve for nearly as long as a trial jury potentially can, but I'm bracing for the worst.

When I had jury duty in the past, I was notified by snail mail. I guess the seriousness of being called for a Grand Jury warrants the certified letter. Whatever the reason, Cook County can feel good knowing that they scared the shit out of me. They should send certified letters to all problem children and citizens with high potential for criminal behavior. That would at least give them pause before they considered doing something horrible.

Back to Work

Sigh. Blogging via Blackberry on the Brown Line, returning to work after a week off.

When a friend asked what I was doing last week, I explained that I was taking time off to hang out at home. "Oh," he said. A "staycation." I'd never heard that term before, but I'm pretty sure I hate it. If I had seen Mark McGrath last week, it would've been a "Sugar Raycation." If I had been in Florida, it would've been a "Tropical Storm Faycation." The jokes write themselves. A week on Halsted street? You can keep this going, if you'd like...

I'm a bit disoriented at the moment. When I take the Brown Line, I park at the Park & Ride at Kimball. I drove right past it today, completely oblivious. By the time I passed Montrose heading south, I thought, "Man, this is taking forever." Then I realized what I'd done. Whoops.

Passing the Southport stop right now. Looking forward to the Belmont crunch.

Notes from an at-home vacation

I'm on vacation this week, and spending my time at home and around town for the duration. While it is therapeutic taking time off, there's something not-quite-vacationly about maintaining many of my usual routines in my usual habitat. Here are some of the things I've experienced so far:

RED LOBSTER
As long as I've lived, I'd never been to a Red Lobster until this week. That's not to say I don't respect the chains--I'm a big fan of the bottomless chips and salsa at Chilis. Ditto for the never-ending salad at Olive Garden.

I decided after seeing "Tropic Thunder" last night (big laughs) to indoctrinate myself into the world of Red Lobster. My assumption has always been that it was a cheap alternative to more desirable seafood joints. I had it in my head as analogous to McCormick and Schmick's, as Sizzler is to Ruth's Chris. On a related note, does Sizzler even still exist? Ponderosa? Shit. So much for analogies, but I think my point's been made.

Red Lobster is easily one of the worst restaurants in North America. No, I'm not being dramatic. It's hell on earth.

The atmosphere--the first thing you notice--isn't all that dissimilar from a hospital cafeteria. The lights were up, exposing every nuance of the wood paneling and wallpaper that would look dated in the Brady Bunch house.

What's worse, my local Red Lobster played their in-house music REALLY LOUD. Distractingly loud. And the music itself was completely awful and 100% unfamiliar. Every song. Every artist. That made me think that the house mix at Red Lobster is a custom mix of unknown schmucks who create music specifically for use by the Red Lobster chain. Chilling thought.

We had to wait 10 minutes for a table, at close to 9 p.m. on a Tuesday night. I expect that at, I dunno, Mia Francesca. But Red Lobster? Really? When we were taken to our table by our soul-enervated, doesn't-want-the-new-school-year-to-start, host, I was shocked to see a 1/4-full dining area. I was so shocked, in fact, that I found it kind of funny. What balls! What nerve! I can't even complain!

The biggest shock of the night came in the form of the laminated menu, which looked like it had been manhandled by the toddler room of my local daycare. Once I got past the grime and strange translucent gob in the top corner, the prices shocked me into more laughter. Fish prices consistent with market price at "real" seafood places? $30 crab legs? That gag reflex-inducing white chocolate tilapia dish from "The Next Food Network Star?" Everything else on the menu is fried?

I know that seafood is expensive; I just never imagined a place that looked like Red Lobster getting away with those kinds of prices. In reality, I could've taken in a totally kickass dinner elsewhere for only a few bucks more. I knew that whatever I would've ordered in the $20 range would've been regretted, so I opted for the $10 lobster pizza appetizer as my entree. It sucked, but I feel like I ducked in time to avoid a full scalping.

The other little things--not getting a napkin and silverware until long after the hideously greasy seafood/mushroom appetizer dropped, the beaten look on the staff's faces, the sad family who spent five minutes in front of the lobster tank like it was a Saturday trip to the Shedd--added to my overall disgust.

GREAT AMERICA
I don't think I've been to Great America since I worked for Q101 the first time around and had to broadcast live from the heart of Yukon Country (or some similar cartoon-led fiefdom). It was a beautiful day when I went on Monday, and I honestly had a great time. One thing I found fascinating was the Roaring Rapids "douchebag enabler." After riders disembark, they can go to an observation level and douse other riders with waves of water seconds before the ride ends. I saw lots of Antioch-by-way-of-Kentucky folks in tank tops gleefully raining holy hell on strangers before they continued their park visit to the funnel cake stand.

STEP BROTHERS
Really, what's not to love? See it before it disappears from theaters.

Hello from Jacksonville, FL--miscellaneous thoughts

After spending the morning in Jacksonville on business, I'm currently enjoying a plate of nachos at the Jacksonville International Airport as I wait for my lift back to O'Hare. I didn't visit Jacksonville long enough to get any sort of impression of the city, but I did have to drive over a giant suspension bridge coming to and going from my meeting. I hate bridges. I avoid the 90 Skyway whenever I can, because I'm always unnaturally afraid my car will end up rocketing off the bridge into the wild blue abyss (or worse, Gary). The Jacksonville bridge was scarier from a distance--I swear it jutted thousands of miles into the sky. It was mercifully painless when I drove over it, but I swore out loud the entire time to provide myself with comfort and distraction.

____

I suppose it's strange to say that I really don't read many books on music, despite my having written one (and almost finished rewriting it). I just read "Fargo Rock City" by Chuck Klosterman. He's a very funny and very wise writer, and the book made me feel much better about buying tickets to see the Scorpions this Sunday night.

As I told my friend Marty, who I'm taking to the show, "The seats are okay, but it could be worse...we could be going to see the Scorpions.

What's that?

Oh. Crap."

______

After my review of "The Dark Knight," I decided to buy the animated "Gotham Knight" DVD, which is supposed to bridge "Batman Begins" and "The Dark Knight." I tried to watch it on the plane, but it was really boring. And very manga-looking. Pass.

_______

I just bought the new Old 97s and Hold Steady albums. Not blown away by either yet, but I suspect they're both "growers."

_______

I thought the beheading story from Canada was disturbing until more information came down yesterday about how the victim was partially eaten. Every time I think I should root for humanity, I remind myself that there's really no point. Lost cause.
_____

"The Dark Knight"

The hype surrounding "The Dark Knight" has become overbearing. Heath Ledger...a possible posthumous Academy Award nominee for his take on the Joker? A Batman movie...not just a superior comic book movie, but a superior film, as well? Roger Ebert gave it four stars?

I was never overly-excited to see the movie. I loved "Batman Begins," and I love the character of Batman, but all the trailers, advertising, and accordant buzz just felt flat to me. Regardless, I went to see the movie with an open mind. Like I said, I love Batman.

Two and half hours after walking into my local theater (three, if you count trailers and time spent buying nachos and a Diet Coke), I have to say that I walked out completely underwhelmed. Here's the dirty little secret of "The Dark Knight"--it's dull. Sure, lots of stuff gets blown up, but the movie is boring.

And stupid, too. The dialog in several scenes was completely unnatural, and conspicuously written to further the story. Conversely, transitions between scenes were choppy and confusing, and could've benefitted from some conspicuously-written dialog to advance our overall understanding.

Much effort was put into making Gotham City look like a "real" city (specifically, Chicago's Loop). For all that verisimilitude, the characters didn't behave in believable ways. Bruce Wayne was an absolute jagoff to Harvey Dent early in the film (jealousy over Maggie Gyllenhall's character is a nasty little thing). Without much explanation or motivation, Wayne suddenly canonized and feted the hotshot D.A.

(SPOILER WARNING--I'm serious)
At the end of the film, two absolutely ridiculous things happen. First, after Harvey / Two-Face kidnaps Commissioner Gordon's family and almost blows Gordon's young boy's head off, Gordon agrees with Batman that the city should remember Harvey as the "White Knight" inspiration he once was, going as far as to eulogize him in a public memorial. If Chris Nolan was shooting for making his characters feel more real, he should've asked a parent how he or she would've felt about saying nice things about a homicidal burn victim who tried to murder his family.

The other side of that was Gordon and Batman agreeing that Gotham should view Batman as an outlaw, ending the film with Batman on the run and the batsignal being hacked into shards. Yawn.

Christian Bale, when in cape and cowl, is just plain silly. The "grrr, scary" voice he uses as Batman is distractingly bad.

And what of Heath Ledger? Was he that good? He was good, sure, but I found his vision of the Joker to be so pornographically evil that I really didn't enjoy watching him in any of his scene-chewing moments.

There's no joy in "The Dark Knight;" nothing to hold on to, and nothing to make me want to see it again. It's an unpopular thing to say right now, but I'd take "Iron Man" or "Hellboy 2" over "The Dark Knight" any day of the week.

Taste shootings

I just watched WGN's first few headline stories on the 9 o'clock news tonight (and in saying that, I'm hoping that no one pieces together that it's a Saturday night on a holiday weekend). One of the lead stories concerned the recent Taste shootings. I hadn't heard anything about them, so, naturally, I was glued to the set.

The first shooting, likely gang-related, happened after the fireworks on Thursday...near Congress and Dearborn. The second happened yesterday...at Randolph and Wabash. Let's be fair, neither actually happened at the Taste. In fact, neither happened east of Michigan Avenue or in Grant Park.

Gang activity is nothing new to the Loop, especially after the 9-5 crowd makes it back to the relatively safe comforts of their homes after work. Just a couple of weeks ago, a drive-by shooting near Van Buren and State made news because it happened right on top of location filming for the new Johnny Depp movie about John Dillinger. The Loop, especially the South Loop, is predatory after hours. If you don't need to be there, don't be. And if you are there, keep your head up and move fast.

The fact that the Taste attracts the massive crowd it does, and that the yearly reports from the Taste campus proper are never more catastrophic than pickpockets, heat exhaustion, and gastic distress, is a minor miracle. Full credit to the city for another dirty bomb and crazed lunatic-free year. I don't want to trivialize the shootings, but I think it's important to let the Taste of Chicago off the hook for them. Bad people with guns will do bad things, whether it's a mile away from a pickle-on-a-stick kiosk or across the street from a schoolyard.

WGN made the story more dramatic by questioning the viability of Chicago's Olympic bid, in light of the recent shootings. Again, repeat after me...the shootings didn't happen at the Taste of Chicago. That's like blaming a homicide at Lake and Seeley on a United Center concert (though with George Michael and Neil Diamond shows on the horizon, a little more police presence in the area can only help). I wouldn't worry about Chicago's Olympic hopes simply because of crime statistics. Just Google "Rio de Janeiro" and "crime" to see how safe another 2016 city is. Start with Wikitravel.org, in fact...

Mister Bigpants

I was almost out the door, headed off to work, around 7 o’clock yesterday morning. Almost. Seconds before my exit, a family emergency stopped me in my tracks. It quickly became clear that I had to stick around the house for another three, maybe four, hours.

I called in to work to let them know I wouldn’t be able to make it in until the afternoon. Then I changed from my work-appropriate outfit of button-down shirt and dress pants into a home-appropriate ensemble of an old Rush t-shirt and running shorts.

Around 11:30, the crisis had passed, and I was able to go downtown. I changed back into my work-appropriate outfit, jumped in the aging-as-gracefully-as-it-can Toyota, and hit Lake Shore Drive.

A few minutes after I got to work I felt warm. Uncomfortably so. My lower back was sweating. I thought that maybe I was coming down with the summer flu that’s making some of my friends miserable. An hour later, I started to feel genuinely uncomfortable in my clothes. “Jesus Christ,” I mumbled, “it feels like I’m wearing a diaper.”

I went to the men’s room around 2:30. At that moment of partial disrobing, I realized to my absent-minded horror that I was still wearing the running shorts I put on at 7 a.m. In my haste to get to work, I never noticed that I was putting my pants on over my shorts. In hindsight, I remembered wondering why I had a harder time buttoning them only hours after my last attempt.

There’s no moral here. No clever wrap-up. I put my pants on over my shorts. That’s it.

Eating like a convict

The cupboards were bare tonight, the very antithesis of the stocked kitchen on "Hell's Kitchen" this evening (on a side note, I totally called Petrozza and Christine; so there).

I was desperate for one of life's simple pleasures--a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The only bread I had in the pantry was the kind that was pockmarked with fuzzy green circles. I opted for the easy solution and ran down the street to my local 7-11.

There was no Butternut, Wonder, or Roman Meal bread to be found. For that matter, the store was also sold out of the "radioactive green" Incredible Hulk Slurpee flavor, replacing it with some kind of half-assed fruit punch blend. Grrr. James smash.

The only bread to be found on the shelf was made by Kreamo. Yes, Kreamo. I've never had Kreamo bread. Somehow, the idea of salami on Kreamo could never sound right to me. As for tonight, I simply wasn't in a position to walk away. I had to have my PB&J. The Kreamo went home with me, along with a vitamin water and an instant lottery ticket (I didn't win, but there's always next time).

How was my Kreamo? Indistinguishable from Wonder or Butternut. Kreamo was practically dreamo. And the Smuckers and Jif that went on it? Transcendent.

Cold Storage

I got rid of all my vinyl in 1995. I'd moved my record collection one too many backbreaking times and at that point had completely thrown myself into the world of CDs. I didn't even shed a tear as a representative from the ALS Mammoth Music Mart hauled out thousands of scratchy old 33s from my east Rogers Park apartment. At least they went to charity.

Fast forward to last week. For Father's Day, I got a 1TB external drive for my computer. It's time to convert my wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling, CD collection into digital files. I've made peace with the fact that music is no longer something you necessarily need to hold or covet on a shelf. Technology marches on.

The danger of Iran

Maybe I'm too juvenile for my own good, but this piece from Yahoo News still has me giggling:

"If enemies especially Israelis and their supporters in the United States would want to use a language of force, they should rest assured that they will receive a strong blow in the mouth," senior cleric Ayatollah Ahmad Khatami said in his Friday prayers sermon.

Good morning, Fort Myers

I'm blogging on my Blackberry again, this time from the palm tree-framed Fort Myers. Not surprisingly, the O'Hare-bound flight is the only one in the airport that's delayed. Makes me ecstatic that I woke up at 4 a.m.(That's 3 a.m. Chicago time, kids). Nothing a lot of coffee won't fix.

I finally broke down and bought one of those primary colored squishy neck pillows to help me doze on the way home. As long as my economy class neighbor respects the understood spatial boundaries of the seats and doesn't muscle the armrest, I'll be good.

I've seen some gorgeous weather and beautiful areas on my brief (Thursday until this morning) stay, but I don't think I could ever live in Fort Myers...or Florida...ever.

Why? Gators and panthers, of course. Apparently, gators walk around near lakes and other bodies of water at night. For some reason, I find the thought of coyotes prowling around in suburbs like Carpentersville more appealing.

As for panthers, I didn't see one. But there was a sign on the road leading to the airport that said "panther crossing," so I'm guessing that the big boys like to hang out/mix it up with the common people.

I'm exhausted. Night night

RUSH!

RUSH

This is a first--I'm texting a blog from my semi-worldly Blackberry World.

I'm in O'Hare Terminal C,listening to Journey (really) on my iPod as I prepare for a trip to Tulsa.

I went to Rush last night, the wish fulfillment of my inner 13-year old. Some thoughts:

-Rush is, well, boring on stage. The majority of animation I saw on the stage came from cartoons playing on the three stage screens.
-There is no better opening song than "Limelight."
-Neil Peart drum solo. Cool. Impressive. Not spontaneous, though (video was synced to it).
-"2112 Overture" live. I mean, really...FUCK YEAH!
-They played from 7:45 until close to 11, including an intermission and encore. That's a lot of Rush. Stage presence aside, it's hard not to feel like you got your money's worth at a show of that length.
-Pyro and lasers. Rock's best friends.
-"Dreamline" and "Red Barchetta." Awesome.
-"Snakes and Arrows" material. Outside of "Far Cry" and possibly "Workin' Them Angels," the (fairly decent) new material didn't cut through.
-United Center. Impossible to find a cab after a show. My friend Robert and I walked east on Madison to Halsted to catch one. that was safe and smart...

Boarding soon...

Quick thoughts, 6/2/08

MOVIES

I just rejoined Netflix. The decision to jump back in came after renting "The Orphanage" on iTunes, and not actually finishing the movie within the allotted 24-hour window. I don't know if I'm all that interested in "Cloverfield," but when it arrives tomorrow, I feel good knowing that I have as long as I damn well please to watch it.

On a related note, the hour of "The Orphanage" I did watch was a snore. I was really excited to see it, especially after reading a dozen or so reviews proclaiming how pants-shittingly scary it was. Newsweek, in particular, said something like "You'll want to crawl back into the womb and stay there because of how upsetting this bad boy is." I'm paraphrasing. Retarded kids in masks playing around an old creepy orphanage? Disturbing. The movie (or the part I saw) just didn't do it for me, though.

I watched "Charlie Wilson's War" and thought it was well above average. It could've benefitted from another 30 minutes of exposition, but Philip Seymour Hoffman's portrayal of antisocial CIA agent Gust Avrakotos really made the film for me.

As for the future, I have yet to get truly excited about "The Dark Knight." I want to be excited. I love Batman. I love the cast. The trailers aren't much for enticement. There's no real "hook," other than Heath Ledger-by-way-of-Johnny-Rotten playing the Joker. I'll see it in the theater, but my expectations are low.

GEORGE W. BUSH

The worst president in the history of our nation. The damage he's done to...what's that? My economic stimulus check is scheduled to arrive by next week? Woo hoo! You da man, Dubya! Job well done!

FLEETWOOD MAC "TUSK"

The song. This is one of those songs that I've rediscovered after years of abandonment. I've probably played it twice a day for the past week. Tribal percussion. A marching band. Lindsey Buckingham flexing his creative muscle. Brilliance.

Recent reads

"Empire" Orson Scott Card
I picked this one up in paperback while waiting for a flight to Oklahoma City. The premise was catchy enough--what if America threw itself into a 21st Century Civil War? Good question, especially in our modern "Red State/Blue State" state of mind. The problem with "Empire" is that OSC (a very talented and heavyweight sci-fi novelist) is clearly biased towards the right...the far right. It's a fact that saturates the corners of every page of the book. The concept behind "Empire" warranted a much more sweeping sense of moral ambiguity.

"Seven Soldiers of Victory" Grant Morrison (graphic novel trade paperbacks)
Grant Morrison is a much-lauded comics scribe whose work I find more irritatingly dense than entertaining. I wrote off his six-title, 24-issue, connected miniseries opus when it first hit the stands a few years back. It was just too much work. Now that the material's been poured into tidy TPB form, I went back and read it all in order and found it immensely satisfying. Some comics are meant to be read in the trade format, and this maxi series of mini series is one of them.

Things that have been bothering me

1) That tile ad that pops up all over the web asking--no, begging--you to please...PLEASE...help children with cleft palates. As I innocently work away at my desktop, there's a sad and deformed face staring back at me. Dude, I just wanted to check the 7-Day forecast; I don't want to see poor Timmy's disconnected kisser. I get it...it's a horrible thing. Oh, f***, there's the ad on cnn.com, too. Okay, you got me...I'm in for $20. You take PayPal? Good. Put it towards a palatal obturator. Now go away.

2) Rush haters. Yes, I bought tickets to see them at the United Center in less than two weeks. Yes, I'm looking forward to it. No, you obviously don't understand the sheerawesomekickyourasswithasteeltoedbootedness of a Neil Peart drum solo.

3) "The Man." Your home can now be seized if you're accused of music piracy (I'm totally rethinking that Pablo Cruise grab from last March now). Damn the man. Here's a post-modern question--what if you're caught pirating Alestorm, the Scottish pirate metal band?

At Mice Breaking Point

Fooled again. I almost had myself believing that my house had seen the worst of things, and I wouldn't have to worry about mice anymore.

Yesterday morning, I came downstairs to find mouse turds under the fridge, by the stove, behind the family room couch, and in the pantry. They were green turds, which means that the little bastard(s) ingested the strategically-placed poison that I knew better than to get rid of, but they were turds nonetheless.

I laid out a snapper trap last night, which was empty this morning. There were also no turds to be found anywhere--and I looked. Maybe I got a "lone gunman" on Friday night. Perhaps one wayward mouse stumbled into my home, ate poison, and went back outside to die; case closed.

I think that's what I said last time...

Sock it to Shellhead

I saw "Iron Man" two weeks ago (opening weekend, natch). To echo much of what's been said already, it's a must-see action flick. The worst that can be said about the film is that the evolution of its "bad guy" is painfully obvious and an otherwise-weak plot point. Credit to Jeff Bridges for taking the balsa wood-strong storyline and using genuine acting talent to make it work.

As for Robert Downey Jr., I left "Iron Man" with the goal of being him when I grow up. Or something like him, minus the heroin and cocaine. And "Ally McBeal."

I'm also one of a growing legion of total dorks who had to stay through the credits for the 90-second bone they threw at the end. I knew what was coming (I seem to go out of my way to spoil these moments for myself), but I still got a hair-standing-on-end thrill from the cameo and what was said in it.

Looking forward to seeing my teammates in the Legion of Total Dorks at "The Dark Knight." And "The Incredible Hulk." And "Hellboy II."

...oh, and how about that trailer for the "Happening?" I can't imagine it'll be anywhere near as gripping as the trailer, which is easily the most tense and engaging trailer currently playing for a summer movie. I pray that Shyamalan has rediscovered his mojo.

Absence makes...

I haven't written in a while. I don't know why, really. I like writing. It's therapeutic for me.

Lately, my free "writing time" has been exclusively dedicated to my full-on rewrite of (the book formerly known as) "Chicago Rocked." I don't know if I'm still tracking to finish it by my self-imposed deadline of June 1, but I'm getting there.

I wouldn't say my life is "gotta-read-it" interesting, but I do plan on writing more here soon.

James, not Gym

After several months of absolute, shameless, inactivity, I've started to go to the gym in my office building again. Don't be too impressed--my "workouts" are laugh-out-loud free falls into embarrassment. Somewhere in Chicago, a logy second grader is turning in much more demanding training regimens.

The times I've gone to the gym before work, 7:30-ish, a heavily-muscled guy has been there, too. I don't understand gym etiquette, but I'm pretty sure that he's in direct violation of whatever laws exist. When I report to the locker room, his stuff is everywhere--pants hanging from curtain rods, dress shirts and socks spread akimbo across open lockers and the floor...he even has a steam iron plugged in next to the sink for the duration of his workout. What's worse, he places all of his personal items in the "good shower" area, which prevents anyone else from using it. To explain, there are two showers in the locker room. One is more spacious and has a bench for easy changing. The other? Well, it's a shower with a curtain. That's the one I usually get stuck with.

I walked into the locker room this morning as he was preparing to work out. Again, his s*** was EVERYWHERE. Opening the door to the locker room felt like I was breaking and entering into someone's home. I avoided eye contact, loaded my stuff into my locker (because that's what I understand to be proper etiquette), and walked next door to the gym.

The other problem with my early morning exercise nemesis is that he STINKS. Not random gym stink, mind you, we're talking overt, choke-a-horse, sweet-baby-Jesus-what-have-you-done, STINKS.

I noticed it the second he walked into the gym. I was chugging away on the exercise bike, listening to Nick Cave's new album on my iPod (on another note, how is it that everything Cave's done in the past five years has been that good?). I tried to stay focused. I tried to dismiss the reek of my own Lex Luthor. After some time on the elliptical trainer, he walked past me to get to the free weights. Right then, I was hit by one of those "scent fists" you see pummeling Bugs Bunny in the old Warner Brothers cartoons. He smelled like throw-up and cumin. I cut my time in the gym short. I had to, purely out of self-preservation.

I went to the "bad shower" and got cleaned up for work. After applying some form of hair product, I washed my hands in the sink, carefully maneuvering my way around the iron's electrical cord. I'd be more annoyed by his arrogance in taking over the locker room if I didn't know that he has to pay for his sins by smelling like a foot.

I'm going to be working out over lunch from now on...

Greetings from Pittsburgh, PA

I'm sitting at the Pittsburgh airport waiting for my flight back to Chicago. As I enjoy some spinach and artichoke dip from the Irish Pub Grille Restaurant at Concourse C, I thought I'd share some observations from my brief, six-hour, stay here:

-Pittsburgh is a hilly, tree-covered, town that's actually quite pretty as you drive downtown from the airport.
-The Pittsburgh airport may be the best airport I've ever been to. The center concourse is a mall with real stores(Brooks Brothers, Victoria's Secret, Nine West), and there's free wi-fi throughout.
-Lots of bridges here. Lots.

From the home of the Pirates,

James VanARRRsdol

Old Man-itis and music today

Last week, an old friend baited me into a conversation about "why music sucks today." "There isn’t anything good out there anymore," he insisted, "not like in the 90s." It’s a case of classic "Old Man-itis," an inflammation of age that causes the patient to dismiss and the icons and leanings of the up-and-coming youth culture.

His dismissal of modern music is, of course, unfair. Good music is always "out there." The difference between now and then is that today it’s almost imf***ingpossible to ferret out the good stuff.

Major labels were (and for the few hours they have left on this earth) diabolical. For decades, they pushed substandard, prefabricated, acts on radio, MTV, and the media. As a result, they (for the most part) set the national agenda for what music was consumed by culture.

It was easier in the days before the venerable MP3 to understand what was expected of us as music consumers. You either bought into the program and dutifully bought your Collective Soul and Silverchair albums, or you sought solace in the underground-approved channels of labels like Touch and Go, Dischord, or Sub Pop.

The problem that people face today is that music traffic has no guideposts or signs along the way that point in the right direction. The internet has truly changed everything. People over 30 (see also: me) who want to hear interesting new sounds have to troll the web for self-indulgent, grammar-poor, MP3 blogs for a taste of a potentially cool album. Finding good music has become an Easter egg hunt that would drive the Easter Bunny into a spastic, tongue-swallowing, fit. It requires a work ethic that’s not unlike taking on a second job.

National magazines like Rolling Stone and Spin are no help, which is no different than before. Good reviews are given to mediocre albums by "star" bands out of sheer politics. After all, what band would want to do a cover story for a magazine that doomed its new release with a one-star review?

It’s easy to understand why my friend thinks that music today is awful. He has no idea where to find it, and is stuck in the meantime bayonetting his way through the My Chemical Romance and Daughtry morass.

While I acknowledge that there’s a lot of great music floating around "out there," these days I’m too busy to spend hours in front of the computer and too proud to read Pitchfork. I’m fighting off the early stages of Old Man-itis, but it hasn’t been easy. Can anyone recommend a salve, ointment, or pill?

Outback where I belong

I had the need for steak--a man's dinner--over the weekend. The need came to me at the the start of dinner rush, so I knew my odds of getting in anywhere were slim. I figured the easiest and quickest way to send a T-Bone on its way to hardening my arteries was to pop into an Outback Steakhouse. I always liked Crocodile Dundee, and my kids like the Wiggles, so I figured something so overtly Australian had to be a good thing. How can you go wrong with menu items like "No-Rules Pasta" and "The Melbourne?" Ruth's Chris can suck the business end of a boomerang, I decided.

At 6:15, my dinner party and I had no problem sliding into a table. Before I opened my menu, I stopped to take the restaurant in. The decor was a kangaroo or two evolved from Bennigan's. There was no real personality or "vibe" to be found. In essence, it was exactly what I'd expected.

I'd be willing to bet that no one Down Under, from the surviving members of INXS to the surviving members of Steve Irwin's family, actually says "Shrimp on the Barbie" to describe grilled shrimp. Regardless, that's the way I had to order it...and I felt like a douchebag doing it.

I ordered a 7-ounce cut for my entree. Though the steak wasn't as tender as I'd like, there was a generous amount of garlic mashed potatoes on the plate to soak up the juices, and that made all things equal in my eyes. The meal overall? Not bad.

A kickass steak dinner in Chicago will set you back $80 per person, with drinks, appetizers, and tip. An average Outback dinner runs about $30 per person. Is it worthy of being a destination for a man's dinner? Maybe. It was this weekend.

Capsule reviews of things I've read, seen, and heard

Some things I've indulged in recently:

Hell's Kitchen
There was a time when I swore...SWORE...that I'd never follow a reality TV show. I used to turn my nose at the Hell's Kitchen promos for the first three seasons they ran on FOX. Then I caught a rerun on cable. Then I caught another. Then I DVR'd all of Season One. Then Season Two. I stayed home all last weekend to watch the marathon of Season Three to prepare for Season Four which began last night. Best show ever, you donkey.

"World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War" by Max Brooks
The zombies damn near brought the world to an end, and in this book, the survivors share their stories of fear, horror, human frailty, and global consequences. An immensely creative and chilling book.

REM "Accelerate"
Every time REM puts out a new album, critics all seem to tacitly agree to "go gentle" on the band. Few are the brave souls to say that REM has been average since 1990, and flat-out shitty since 1997. The last REM album I liked was "Monster" in '93. The last one I truly loved was "Document" in '87. I've wanted to love them over the past ten years, but there was nothing to love ("Up" is just a "Throw" away from accurate).

Every review of the new album that I'd read, from Spin to Blender, Esquire to Entertainment Weekly, positively raved about REM's "return to form." Naturally, I assumed that the reviewers had again conspired to be nice to the heritage band, much in the same way they insisted that U2's "How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb" was worth buying ("Vertigo" is a great song, but that's all I'm giving you on that one).

Still, "teenage James," the guy who grew up on "Fables of the Reconstruction" and "Murmur" wanted the album to not suck. So much so, I bought it from iTunes yesterday.

Is it as good as everyone says? Of course not. It is, however, better than everything since "Out of Time." It's been 20 years since they've packed an album with a top-heavy, rock-to-downtempo song ratio. All the things I love about REM--Peter Buck's guitar, Mike Mills' backup vocals, Michael Stipe's voice--are stronger than we've heard in some time, each element insisting that you forgive their recent artistic shortcomings. It's a play that for the most part works. The songs on the album aren't worthy of being placed alongside "classic" REM, but they're strong enough to help get rid of that awful taste in my mouth that the band's left me with for the past decade-plus.

Flight of Ick-arus

A bird s*** on my head today.

It wasn’t until after lunch that I noticed. I scratched the top of my head and felt a thick, crusty patch. I immediately assumed that I’d done something horrible with hair gel in my barely-awake, 5:30 a.m., state. I went to the bathroom to investigate. I pulled at the patch (more of a clump, really), looked at what I could pry off of my hair, and realized with horror that what I’d pulled out was colored green and white. I wasn’t sure whether to vomit, leave work to go home and shower, or suck it up and try and wash my hair in the bathroom sink at work. In case you’re wondering, my hair and shirt were pretty damp for most of the afternoon.

Worst band ever

I've listened to a lot of music in my lifetime. For every transcendent, life-affirming, artist I've heard, I've heard thousands of truly awful, shouldn't be allowed to buy an instrument, bands. The awfulness of many of the wretched masses isn't even subject to question or cross-examination. Nickelback? That's a given. Doobie Brothers? Try and come up with an argument for them. I promise you won't win. " Jesus is Just Alright"..."What a Fool Believes"..."Old Black Water"...The only positive thing I can say about the Doobie Brothers is, "at least they're not Bob Seger."

Trying to defend my opinions becomes more problematic when an artist is well-loved or well-received by critics. Take for example the Beastie Boys. They were a hugely successful act for 20 years. Critics still use the word "seminal" to describe 1989's "Paul's Boutique." And yet, I can't listen to them for more than a song without feeling as though I've been had. They're a scam...there's nothing there...as empty a listening experience as I can imagine (though I do like the first five seconds of "Sabotage").

Then there's Radiohead. Back when "O.K. Computer" came out, I boldly said on the air that the people who were calling it a "masterpiece" probably wouldn't be listening to it five, let alone ten, years later. Apparently I was wrong on that one. I took a lot of crap for it, too. People still love the band, even though their albums have long since hit the point of diminishing returns ("Hail to the Thief," anyone?). I've tried to listen on multiple occasions, and my conclusion remains: "O.K. Computer" is a torturous album to listen to.

What makes a horrible band horrible? If you're Nickelback, being horrible is what you are; you don't aspire to be anything more. A KIA will always be a KIA. It never pretends to offer the same luxuries as a Mercedes.

It's the truly terrible bands that have fooled the public into believing the opposite that I hold in greater contempt. For years, I believed that Sonic Youth was a great band. I was told they were. My friends said so. Fanzines said so. Rolling Stone and Spin said so. What did it matter if "Daydream Nation" was ungraspable noise? I told myself that I obviously didn't get it; the level Sonic Youth played at was beyond my understanding. Several years and a few emotional growth spurts later, I realize there was nothing to get. Sonic Youth has one of the greatest self-indulgent-noisemaking-to-critical-accolade ratios in the history of rock.

As I started to think more about this topic, I concluded that I needed a mathematical way to determine the worst band ever. Here's the formula I applied to over 50 artists I think are terrible (but the world doesn't), including Linkin Park, the Offspring, Hole, My Chemical Romance, Incubus, the Eagles, Duran Duran, Phish, Steely Dan, Poison, Weezer, and ZZ Top. I ranked them all as equal, assigning them all a round number of 10. I then added the total from this formula to each one to account for some of the mitigating factors I addressed above:
________________

(total years of releasing albums) + (total number of average-to-above-average albums) / (total number of albums) + (total number of top fifty singles on either the mainstream chart or a relevant genre chart)

Divided by:

(popularity index--determined by five factors including ticket sales, historical radio airplay, total mainstream magazine covers, MTV airplay, and "cultural vibe") + (total of 4 + 5 star reviews in three major music magazines, ten major alternative press titles, and five major market newspapers)

=Total

_______________

I spent the first two weeks of March crunching the numbers, and was surprised by the outcome.

The worst band ever?

The Red Hot Chili Peppers.

When you think about it, it just makes sense. There's nothing about them that's not cringeworthy. Their 80s material is tossed-off frat boy funk. Their 90s material is hilariously sincere. Their 00's albums are just cash-in repeats of what they did successfully in the 90s (specifically "Blood Sugar Sex Magik" and "Californication").

Can the result be argued? I don't think so. This is math and science at work. Can you build a right triangle and violate the Pythagorean Theorem? Can electrostatic force be explained without using Coulomb's Law?

Ah, Red Hot Chili Peppers. You've given us so much..."Party on Your P***y" (1987)...five different versions of "Under the Bridge" ("By the Way," "Scar Tissue," "Otherside," "Snow," "My Friends")...the eight minute-plus "Sir Psycho Sexy" (1991)...you've earned it. You really do suck.

...and for those in the math/physics/science communities who would post and correct me on my equation or my questioning Coulomb's Law, it's a joke. Allow me some flexibility so I can cleverly say that the Red Hot Chili Peppers are miserable.

"Chicago Rocked"

Time for a long-overdue update on the book I've been working on since 2005.

As of late last year, I parted ways with Lake Claremont Press, and the book's publishing date was accordingly postponed. I made a decision at that point to take a break from "Chicago Rocked," and put it on the shelf for a while.

I opened it back up this past January. After not looking at the manuscript for a few months, I had the benefit of diving in with a fresh outlook. That outlook drove me to start rewriting it in prose (as opposed to oral history) form. I was curious as to how it would read, and I suddenly had plenty of time to explore the idea. I knew almost from the moment I started that I'd made a good call--I'm extremely happy with the way it's been coming together, and I hope to have the new version done by July.

So what does this mean to you, the patient, occasional viewer of my blog? A few things:

1) The title "Chicago Rocked: An Oral History of Chicago Music in the 1990s" will likely change.
2) The publisher is unknown at this point. What's more, how this book gets published isn't even something I'm thinking about right now. I'll figure that out once this version is complete.
3) The insane amount of interviews I conducted for "Chicago Rocked" will still define the book. I've collected and transcribed a lot of amazing stories and quotes from 90s acts both large and small, and they're the backbone of my manuscript. Plan on reading about everyone from Albini to Zucker (Justin Zucker from Rock Star Club).
4) It'll be worth the wait. I swear.

Thanks for your continued support and patience. The '90s were an incredible time for music; especially so here in Chicago. The artists who created music during that time deserve a cultural epitaph. I'm carving it into stone as you read this.

Mondays

I had the kind of gluttonous dinner tonight that leaves you with a bloated, but happily sated, feeling. I went with friends to McCormick & Schmick's on Wacker, where we treated the menu like an adversary that had to be conquered. We went "300" on the menu, and emerged victorious.

Grilled swordfish on a bed of sweet potato hash. Clam chowder. A sundae and coffee for dessert. Magnificent.

On my way back to the parking garage, I felt as though I'd started the week in the best way possible. Mondays don't have to suck, I thought. Not if you do them right.

I took the garage elevator up to the sixth floor. My car was the only one still there (the garage is at Adams and Wabash, an area of the Loop that totally rolls up after sundown). As I approached the car, I noticed something odd by the driver's window; it was my side view mirror, dangling from wires. Someone had clipped my car on the way in or out of his space, taking the side view mirror with it. I ran to the car, and checked the windshield wipers for a note that should've read, "Sorry about your car. Here's my number-call me in the morning. I'll take care of my horrible mistake." There was no note. I was left to deal with the damage some jackass brought upon my car and didn't have the stones to own up to.

There's a tangent I could go on about how we live in an age of zero accountability, a society where deflection, obfuscation, and outright hypocritical behavior drive the masses (speaking to the latter, how about that Eliot Spitzer?), but I won't.

I tried to drive home on the Kennedy, but as the wind made the mirror bounce, I had to roll down my window and secure it with my hand. The wind was brutally cold on my hand as I was traveling 60 miles an hour, so much so that it forced me off the expressway. I turned off at Kimball and went to a CVS for (you were waiting for this)...duct tape.

Using the duct tape, I secured the mirror to the door in a pattern that resembled a shiny grey version of the logo on the Flash's costume and drove home.

Mondays don't have to suck, but sometimes they do.

Chicago's Red Light District

I came home on Monday to a letter from the City of Chicago. The giant, bold red, masthead spelled out the reason for the correspondence--it was a Red Light Violation notice. My car was tagged by one of the city's stationary crimecams, this one perched at the intersection of Hollywood and Sheridan (the superbusy crossroads that serve as the north entrance to Lake Shore Drive).

"What?" I said. "That's ridiculous." Then I looked closer at the notice. There were three pictures of my car: The first was of my car tripping the camera at the crossroad line. The second was of my car in the middle of the intersection while the light was red. The final one was an extreme close up of my license plate.

Things looked bad. But, I thought, maybe there was room to contest this. Maybe conditions demanded that I drive the way I did. Included with the notice was a flyer that read, "Video of your red light camera violation is available online at: www.cityofchicago.org/revenue." Not only were there pictures taken, they made a movie of my infraction. You Tube has nothing on the city of Chicago.

I clicked over to the city's site, plugged in my citation and license plate numbers, sat back, and prepared for the show.

As I watched the video, I became furious. Indignant. Angry to the point of slamming my fist down on my desk. My anger wasn't directed towards the city; I focused it all on myself. They had me dead to rights. I clearly ran the red. I was guilty as charged, with a clear-as-day video to back it up.

Two lessons that can be learned from my experience:

1) You're being watched. Nothing you do is confidential, private, or exempt from future exploitation or repercussion. Next time you're walking around the city, look up. There are cameras everywhere, recording your moves like a passive P.I.

2) Don't run a red light. It's not safe, and it'll likely set you back $100.

Worst Day Ever, PART TWO

With the attic door pulled shut and the morning's pest control visitation behind me, I decided to run out for an irresonsibly bad fast food lunch. Since I hadn't slept all night and had to deal with the unpleasantness of the VanOsdol attic petting zoo, I felt I deserved a meal whose order ended with "and a large shake, please."

I threw my coat on and went to the garage. As I put my keys in the ignition, I opened the garage door via remote. Then, without thinking (remember, I hadn't slept much in the past day), I threw the car into reverse and directly into the garage door, which was making its methodical climb up.

In one second's time, I knocked the door off the hinges. Wheels flew off the track. The track moved off center a good six inches or so. I then had a paralyzing moment of misery, the kind when one realizes they've done something horribly irresponsible which will soon suck the rest of the day into it, much like a "bad move black hole."

I called my much handier neighbor over to see if he could assist. After doing lots of things with hammers and pliers, his summary was a plain, "you really f***** this one up, man."

I thanked him for his time (he really needs to start billing me for every time I drag him next door to witness the detritus left in my wake), and went inside to Google a garage door repairman. Meanwhile, the weather report was threatening me to get things done in quick order, as a dramatic winter storm (or THE dramatic winter storm, if you prefer) was on the way.

Online, I found a local business who said they'd be out to my house within an hour or so. Problem solved. I sat in the living room, by the front door, waiting. Nervously passing time. Sending emails to coworkers and eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (my fast food plans would have to wait for another day).

After almost two hours, I called the service back at 3:40 p.m. I got their voice mail. Freezing rain was starting to fall. I tried back 20 minutes later and got through. The person on the other end said, "Oh yeah, you're next. The guys are about 15 minutes away from your place; you should see them soon."

What if they couldn't fix it when they got to my house, I wondered. Was it so close to the end of the business day that I might have to wait until the next business day to get it taken care of? I started to stress myself out to the point that my stomach actually hurt (a cool, refreshing shake would've done wonders for me then).

Finally, a white van pulled up in my alley at 4:15. It was like watching the tanks roll past the Arc de Triomphe during the liberation of Paris. They just had to be my salvation. I was counting on it.

Within seconds, I realized they would, in fact, be my salvation. The two-man crew included an acquaintance of mine who'd been over to the house a couple of times; a totally decent, honorable, man. He laughed when I saw him. "You should've just called me direct, man," he said.
"Direct? I didn't even know you worked for this company," I replied.
He laughed again. "What's the problem?"
"I drove my car into the garage door."
More laughter.
"It's, uh, really busted up," I continued.
"This is nothing," he assured me.

And to prove it, the two-man crew had the door back together and fully functioning within 15 minutes.

With that, I was able to put a coda on my symphony of suck.

Winter storm? Bring it on. I can take it.

Worst day ever PART ONE

Last night, at around 1 a.m., I started to hear steady "thuds" pounding down from the ceiling above me. Soon after, I heard frantic scuttling and what sounded like jumping. The noise went back and forth...one side of the house to the next. Something was in my attic, that ominous, accessible only by eight-foot ladder, place I've never dared to visit since I moved in. It was the middle of the night, and the thing in the attic sounded pissed.

I said out loud, "I don't know what to do." In reality, though, I knew all along. As any good coward would do, I sat upright in my bed, staring at the wall, praying that the invading creature would suddenly stroke out and drop dead on the floor. By 3 a.m., the noises started to come more sporadically. By 3:30, they'd pretty much stopped. I was too wired, and too nervously concerned about the intruder, to fall asleep right away. I estimate that I drifted off somewhere around 4:30.

When I woke up to start my day at 6, I could barely speak my name, let alone commit to higher brain functions like counting change and preparing food in a microwave. Sleep deprivation becomes more difficult to recover from with each new birthday; it's not recommended for anyone long-since removed from college. I watched the time limp forward to 8:30, when my local pest control pals would be in the office. I called and recounted the story. "I think it might be a squirrel," I said.
"Well, if it is, don't waste your time with us. Call your local Animal Control office," was the reply.
"Actually, it's probably a rat."
"Well, if that's the case, we can send someone over between 10 and noon."

I'm on a first-name basis with my pest control expert at this point. Because he's so in touch with my animal-murdering needs, he occupies a very warm and loving spot in my heart. I greeted him at the door like a lonely housewife greeting a pizza delivery guy in one of those movies I hear so much about. And then he got to work.

First of all, the attic isn't that scary. It's unfinished with way too much exposed insulation and an appalling amount of mouse turds, but not scary. My man jumped right up the ladder and did some investigating. He took out the flashlight, or the fabled "Light of Truth," and began to do a scan. First he saw the mouse turds. No shock. Been there, snapped that. Then he found more turds. "These are HUGE," he said. "Uh, how huge?" I asked.
"Much bigger than mouse droppings, that's for sure." He seemed almost excited, like he'd just discovered an extra "zero" on a $100 check.

"It's definitely something bigger than mice," he said.
"Like what?" I replied. "Squirrels? Rats? Horses?"
"Could be squirrels, but you never know. I don't think it's a rat. Definitely not a raccoon."
A raccoon? Shitbeans, I hadn't even considered that.
"So what do we do?" I asked.
"More glue traps. More poison. If it is a squirrel, you're going to have to call Animal Control."
"And if I catch something other than a squirrel?"
"Same deal."

As of right now, there's a daisychained group of glue traps with giant green poison cube centerpieces meant to entice unwelcome visitors. Should my intruder return (I'm treating it as a lone intruder, not a pack of ne'er-do-well creatures; it gives me better peace of mind), hopefully it will do so when I'm at work, unable to listen to the thrashing and mania that goes along with breaking into my attic and eating me out of poison and home.

Remarkably, that was the best part of my day.

To be continued...

Red Eye guy

Dateline: Chicago, somewhere between Belmont and Fullerton. This morning.

The Brown Line was packed. People were nervously avoiding eye contact, as their faces were close enough to kiss. I was one of the fortunate few who got on at the first stop, Kimball, meaning that I was able to grab a single seat all to myself. When I do manage to score the mass transit equivalent of a First Class seat, I immediately check out. I read or listen to my iPod and try to forget that there are dozens of people looming over me.

Today, it was impossible to mentally go off the grid. A fidgety, thirtysomething, business-type with an ill-fitting sportcoat decided that he'd try and read the latest "Red Eye" on the train while standing. Apparently, he'd never been on the El before, otherwise he'd have known that the train moves erratically and makes dramatic and unsettling starts and stops.

Rather than hold on to the pole, he had the Red Eye unfolded in front of his face, ready to read, while his briefcase sat on the floor. At the first unexpected jerk of the train, he lumbered forward, stopping himself just short of putting his hand somewhere inappropriate that would've forced me to respond with reflex violence.

After that, I logically assumed that his thirst for "news" (again, it was the "Red Eye") would be put on hold for the 15 or so minutes he had left on the train. Not so. He again tried to read the paper and again went stumbling forward, though this time he lost his footing and quickly fell backward into a disapproving hooded teen who was more hood than teen.
The teen shoulder-nudged the man back into place.

Once more, the man was jerked forward, and only then did he decide that it was perhaps best to give up his reading to focus on standing upright, a triumph of his homosapien-ness.

I'm sure that, early on in his trip, he thought, "Dammit, I'm not going to give up my morning newspaper just because the train's crowded. No one or situation tells me how to live my....whoa! Holy crap!"

Suck it up. Face forward. Hold on tight. And don't touch me again.

JVO's Book Club

I was thinking about the books I've read so far this year:

"Power Play" by Joseph Finder
"Capitol Conspiracy" by William Bernhardt
"Protect and Defend" by Vince Flynn
"Quantico" by Greg Bear

Three out of the four are about government conspiracies and/or the threat of terrorism on our soil. I'm clearly in a rut.

To balance things out, I just picked up "The Puppet Masters," by Robert Heinlein, which I've never read. I thought it would be nice to jump into a Cold War classic about terrorism committed by space slugs.

Sin and NPR

I just read "The Book of Vice: Very Naughty Things (and How to Do Them)," by Peter Sagal. Sagal’s the host of NPR’s “Wait, Wait…Don’t Tell Me.” I know that because I read his bio…I’ve never been much for NPR.

Maybe I’ve been turned off because of the shameless and desperate begging for money NPR does on air when they’re already bankrolled by huge underwriters, a fact made more embarrassing once one sees the mega state-of-the-art Chicago Public Radio facility at Navy Pier. Maybe I’ve been turned off by NPR enthusiasts who treat their listenership like an admittance letter from Harvard. Seriously, folks, it’s just radio. Admittedly, there’s more talk about Darfur and less T&A than what the rest of the world digests, but come on…

I do love “Sound Opinions,” of course. I maintain that it’s one of the best radio shows in the country, and I can’t help but feel affection for the show that gave me one of my first professional jobs (Producer, 1993-1995).

Back to Peter Sagal. “The Book of Vice” is whip-smart, clever, and fiercely entertaining. Sagal has fearlessly gone into the dark corners of both human mind and practice, popping in on a weekly swinger’s party, hanging out on the set of live porno television, and rolling bones across Sin City. His by-admission vanilla persona and gifted turns-of-phrase turn potentially seedy ventures like dining with porn stars and visiting a California sex club into incredibly funny sociological experiments.

I can’t recommend this book enough. On a related note, I’m planning on listening to his show on Saturday and subscribing to the podcast. Can’t wait.

The Mice is Right

How was my Winter vacation? Relaxing. Leisurely. I hung out, played "Guitar Hero 3," and saw a few movies (at some point I'll probably write about how much I hated the trying-way-too-hard and not-at-all-funny "Juno"). I also dealt with the dreaded, if not unexpected, return of mice to my home.

You know you have mice the day they drop anchor in your home. They're little shit factories. They can't scurry a half a foot without leaving their calling cards. I found the calling cards by the wall in my family room. In the pantry. Under the T.V. Pretty much everywhere on the main floor of my home that I consider sacred.

The immediate plan, obviously, was to destroy them. I called my pest control expert. He laid bait stations, snap traps, and issued a stern warning to potential mice saying they should stay away. Unfortunately, the mice confounded my pest control expert. They wouldn't take the bait...the delicious, tastes like birdseed and dog food, poison that sends their little bodies on a quick ride to rodent oblivion. Or "roblivion," if you prefer.

They eluded the well-peanut buttered snap traps, not once stepping foot onto the plywood spine snappers. Droppings traced the areas near both the poison centers and traps. It was like I was being taunted. The mice weren't so much avoiding their doom as they were mocking me.

With reluctance, I laid glue traps out. For some reason, the sight of a dead-on-contact mouse is more appealing to me than that of a mouse welded to cardboard, forced to contemplate its slow exit from this world. The sight of mouse turds next to my Ritz crackers was even worse, so glue traps, it was.

Within an hour of laying a glue trap down by the fridge, I caught one. He was flinching and twitching and giving me every reason to either throw up or call up any of my more manly friends to help. There wasn't time for that. The mouse had to go. With a broom and a shovel, I scooped him into a Hefty bag and tossed him in my trashcan in the alley, fast-tracking him to a miserable death by suffocation.

I haven't seen any droppings since. I want to believe that this mouse was working alone, a Lee Harvey Oswald mouse with the survival instincts of Jason Bourne. History has shown that mice don't fly solo. I'm going to cling to the hope that they do as I enjoy a slice of cheddar cheese on my Ritz tonight.

Newcity's Top 5 of Everything (2007) issue

I contributed a handful of "Top 5" lists to the year-end issue of Newcity. Check out the link here:
http://www.newcitychicago.com/chicago/7315.html

If you enjoy the feel of newsprint on your fingertips, you can also pick up a copy of the venerable free indie publication anywhere in the big city of Chicago.

Best of 2007-the Albums

I obsessed over this one for the past week. Here, at the very end of the year, are my TOP 10 of 2007:

1. LCD Soundsystem “Sound of Silver”
2. Grinderman “Grinderman”
3. Robert Plant and Alison Krauss “Raising Sand”
3. High on Fire “Death is This Communion”
4. Battles “Mirrored”
5. The 1900s “Cold and Kind”
6. Spoon “Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga”
7. Ben Weasel and His Iron String Quartet “These Ones Are Bitter”
8. The Apples in Stereo “New Magnificent Wonder”
9. Witchcraft “The Alchemist”
10. Stephen Marley “Mind Control”

...and I still hate Radiohead and the White Stripes.

Best of 2007-the METAL

Tonight, I again set out to work on my “Best of” album list for 2007. As I narrowed the list down, I couldn’t get around the fact that 2007 was an amazing year for metal. I have no doubt that Satan himself was pleased by what he heard.

Because it was such a great year for metal, I decided to do a metal-specific list for now. Here are 13 metal albums that earned repeat listens throughout the year:

BEST METAL ALBUMS OF 2007
Therion “Gothic Kabbalah”
Moonsorrow “V: Havitetty”
Witchcraft “The Alchemist”
Municipal Waste “The Art of Partying”
Fairyland “The Fall of an Empire”
Dark Tranquility “Fiction”
Symphony X “Paradise Lost”
High on Fire “Death is This Communion”
Down "Down III: Over the Under"
Nocturnal Rites “The 8th Sin”
Kamelot “Ghost Opera”
Pig Destroyer “Phantom Limb”
Machine Head “The Blackening”

The Best of 2007-the songs

I sat down to finalize my “Best of 2007” album list, and allowed myself to get distracted by some of the individual songs that moved me over the past 12 months.

While it’s true that we as a music-consuming culture have almost completely switched over to an “a la carte,” singles-based, society, I still believe (or want to believe) in the message and statement that an album makes. So, that being said, I’m still working on my album list. For now, though, here’s a list of songs that represent the Best of ’07—to me, at least. They’re in no particular order, with the exception of #1-LCD Soundsystem, “Someone Great.” It’s simply the best song I heard all year.

LCD Soundsystem “Someone Great”
Fountains of Wayne “Someone to Love”
Bonde do Role “James Bonde”
The Polyphonic Spree “Section 22 (Running Away)”
Rush “Far Cry”
Modest Mouse “Dashboard”
The Go! Team “Doing it Right”
The Eternals “The Origin of the Heatray”
The National “Fake Empire”
Art Brut “I Will Survive”
The Bravery “Time Won’t Let Me Go”
Spoon “Don’t Make Me a Target”
Hellyeah “You Wouldn’t Know”
The Rakes “When Tom Cruise Cries”
Okkervil River “Our Life is Not a Movie or Maybe”
Andrew Bird “Heretics”
Interpol “Pioneer to the Falls”
Arcade Fire “Black Mirror”
Marilyn Manson “If I Was Your Vampire”
Tim Armstrong “Into Action”
The 1900s “When I Say Go”
Against Me “Thrash Unreal”
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club “Berlin”
The Apples in Stereo “Skyway”
Sondre Lerche “Phantom Punch”
Super Furry Animals “Neo Consumer”

Ho, ho, ho.

In the past 24 hours, I've watched a surly, well-inked, jackass pull his SUV next to the car of an elderly driver who cut him off, roll down his window, and flip the confused oldster off while shouting inhuman things at him.

I've also bore witness to an embittered 50-something cat lady curse out an otherwise-polite Macy 's clerk because Macy's doesn't carry the same inventory Marshall Field's had. "What f****** use is Macy's anyway," she asked.

I've also seen a harried mother scream at her children at face-reddeningly loud levels for no discernible reason at a Boston Market.

It's starting to look a lot like Christmas...

Ikean't think of the right thing to say or River Deep, Mountain Sigh

He was an ex-con. A drug abuser. A well-storied (in film, no less) spouse abuser (though he's always denied it). Ike Turner checked out today at the age of 76.

I'm grateful for "Rocket 88" and all, but Ike was always a scumbag; the kind of performer who reinforces my belief that you can appreciate an artist's art, but shouldn't automatically appreciate that artist.

As it is in "real life," the world of entertainment is littered with self-important dicks, bozos, and people who should never be thought of as role models. I love David Bowie's "Station to Station" album, but when I heard an interview with him saying that he doesn't even remember recording it because he was so messed up on cocaine, my opinion of him dropped dramatically (later Bowie releases like "Never Let Me Down" and the two Tin Machine albums only made things worse).

Kurt Cobain was an extraordinarily gifted songwriter. He also did heroin and killed himself, knowingly leaving a child and shrew behind. Again--great art, not so much as a role model.

Motley Crue? Not even great art (though I'll cop to loving that riff from "Too Fast For Love" and most of the "Dr. Feelgood" album). While their autobiographical "The Dirt" reads like overblown parody, the stories are real, and those stories were told by arrogant, snotty, and aimless jerkoffs who should praise their personal gods daily for the fact that they're still alive.

Ike Turner's "Rocket 88" was etched into rock and roll's Rosetta Stone. His duets with Tina still manage to give me chills. But I still urge caution before we as a society canonize the man, now that he's passed.

Comic books

Comic books

I'm a 30-something professional adult with a basement filled with comic books. Silver Age, Bronze Age, Modern Age--I've got a bagged and boarded library that guys secretly appreciate and women revile. It's a hobby that I've never felt the need to apologize for or be embarrassed by. Instead, I've thrilled to the storytelling heights the medium's attained since I was a kid. Anyone who's spent five minutes with Vertigo's "Fables" or Image's "Walking Dead" knows full well that there are intelligent, thought-provoking, stories being told in illustrated form.

Fables and Walking Dead aside, I've always been more of a super-hero guy. I never outgrew the fantastic worlds of characters like Spider-Man, Batman, Thor, and Green Lantern. My voracious hobby demanded that I establish my own weekly "pull list" at Graham Crackers Comics in the Loop (managed by the legendary Patrick Brower). The list is updated monthly, as new titles are announced; and every Wednesday (or close to it), I have my stack of just-released comics handed to me by one of the friendly faces at the store.

Unfortunately, over the past several months (not coincidentally around the same time I stopped my "STUN" comics podcast), I've lost most of my interest in the medium. Books have become way too expensive ($2.99 being the average cover price), stories are getting more convoluted (if not altogether ridiculous), and there are few things on the racks that capture that sense of fun and excitement that sucked me in when I was very young.

I spent the past half hour contemplating dropping my pull list altogether. Perhaps not having a weekly stack would force me to go into the store and find things to get excited about. I wonder if other post-teen comics fans are going through the same considerations. I don't think I'm done with the hobby. I just think comics and I need a break from one another.

AM Radio + my morning commute

In my radio days, I worked with lots of guys who would make up travel times if they were running short on time. It wasn't difficult for them to improvise a quick "The Kennedy is 35 minutes in, 45 out. Express lanes will save you five." Bad form?
Sure. Abuse of the public trust? Maybe, to some extent. However, I've got to think that if you're getting your traffic information from a rock station, an implicit caveat emptor applies.

AM radio, however, has a reputation of being somewhat unassailable when it comes to delivering credible information. For years I've led myself to believe that news/talk stations applied lofty standards to their broadcasts that their FM stepchildren could aspire to, but never attain.

For the past few weeks, I've called that belief into question because of some horribly inaccurate traffic broadcasts I've heard scattered across the AM dial ("dial" being a figurative term in the 21st century). When I'm in my car, I dutifully respond to Pavlovian benchmarks like "Traffic on the Eights." When I need to make critical decisions, like "The Drive vs. the Kennedy" or "Express vs. Locals," I need up-to-the-minute accuracy. Lately, drive-time traffic reports on a variety of different "credible" stations have been way off. A favorite from a few weeks ago said to avoid the Express lanes because of an accident in the right lane. "That's not going to clear up anytime soon," the announcer said. Ten minutes later, minutes after I made the decision to take the locals, the traffic read, "The outbound Kennedy's all tied up because of an accident in the left lane. Take the Reversibles instead." By that point, I was already at a dead stop at Division, cursing traffic, other drivers, and anyone responsible for pushing the bad intel through to the air.

Yesterday morning, I was faced with a "Drive vs. Kennedy" decision. I was running late, and couldn't afford to make a wrong decision. "13 minutes in the Express Lanes," WBBM told me at 7:18. I was on the Express Lanes within ten minutes of the report. I was at the Circle 35 minutes later. Traffic patterns can change by the minute--I understand that. That being said, travel times can't jump up in 20 minute increments in 10 minutes time, especially without an accident, gaper's block, or similar distraction impeding the inbound flow.

I took matters into my own hands today. I took the Brown Line in from Kimball. I scored a single seat and read more of "The Stand" by Stephen King. 50 minutes inbound, Purple Line will save you 10.

Because tofu sucks...

After close to 20 years, I walked away from a
vegetarian lifestyle a few months back.

When I originally stopped eating meat, it was for
health reasons--I just didn't feel good after I ate
it. Red meat was the first to go. Then foul. Then
fish and seafood. In the years that followed, I
committed myself to being a healthy vegetarian,
whipping up all sorts of great recipes with seitan and
tofu. It worked great for me, and I probably was
pretty healthy for a majority of that time.

As I got older, new demands were placed on my time,
both work and personal. Suddenly, I wasn't able to
spend an hour in the kitchen preparing smart dinners.
In the increasingly brief amount of free time I'd find
myself with at night, I would default to something
like a grilled cheese sandwich or cheese pizza for
dinner, something that required no effort. My sole
criteria for meals were that they had to be
quick, easy, and meat-free. The results were meals
that were carb- and fat-heavy, not to mention pretty
damn dull after a while.

Necessity forced me to reconsider meat. Instead of a
grilled cheese sandwich, I reasoned, I could grill a
chicken breast in a comparable amount of time, which
would give me more of what my body actually needs.

I dipped my toes back into the carniverous lifestyle
back in August, starting with fish. Chicken soon
followed. Then came hot dogs. Burgers. Steaks. Wet
Italian beef with hot and sweet peppers. Veal. Holy
Christ, it didn't stop.

I went on a meat bender for a while (and, yes, that is
the gayest thing I've ever committed to print), to
make up for lost time. Now that my caveman needs have
levelled out a bit, I've settled into a pretty normal
(and less excessive) carniverous routine.

Earlier tonight, I enjoyed the Filet Trio at Wildfire,
three encrusted pieces of Filet Mignon. The meal was
so good, it made me want to write Richard Melman at
Lettuce Entertain You a letter of gratitude.

The good news of my new culinary outlook is that I can
look at the menu of any restaurant and order anything
off it, a luxury I'd long since forgot. The bad news,
of course, is that if I keep having Filet Mignon and
hot dogs for every meal, I'll probably die 20 years
earlier than planned.

Quick thoughts

I spent last week in Austin, Texas on business. I've always thought Austin was a cool town—kind of a cross between Boulder, CO and Lawrence, KS. It was very humid there, like underpants-glued-to-buttocks humid, though I far prefer that to any weather situation which can be described with the words "windchill factor."

At a friend's suggestion, I spent time at Waterloo Records and Bookpeople. Waterloo had aisles of temptations, though my need to hear new music "NOW, NOW, NOW" would have gone unfulfilled all week without a CD player. Instead, I loaded up on books and things at Bookpeople, the best indie bookstore ever (like Border's, only with a better floor layout and much more interesting choices).

I went to see "Michael Clayton" (by myself, sad as it sounds) at the Alamo Drafthouse in Austin. It started strong, but totally dragged in the middle. I was getting close to writing it off altogether, but the end was nothing but payoff. Love that Clooney.
____________________

I rented "Transformers" and only got halfway through it. I had no idea it'd be THAT awful.
____________________

Just finished this week's Newsweek cover story on the Amazon Kindle. I resisted digital books at first, but this is probably the device that'll pull me in. Like the iPod when it first launched, I'm sure the technology and price will only improve as months and years go on. No rush, but it's pretty cool.
___________________

I was one of the many who didn't pay for the Radiohead album. Money well spent.

MiceSpace

You know that part in a slasher movie when the victimized female eludes the bad guy and then crouches in a corner to catch her breath? She gets a false sense of security as she calms her body down, hearing and seeing nothing around her. Then, without warning, the bad guy comes ripping through the wall with a chainsaw, hell-bent on ripping her head off.

That false sense of security is similar to what I felt regarding mice in my home. It looked for several days like everything was clear and rodent-free. Then, last Thursday night, I spotted a green turd in front of my couch. Green is a good color in that it means the mouse has digested poison. Even so, I'm cringing over the fact that there's at least one (there's never just one) mouse in my house. Orkin is coming by later to bring their weapons of mouse destruction. This time, I mean it...

Mice, Mice Baby

The change of seasons is marked by many things—the leaves change from green to a rich autumnal variety of colors, jackets and sweaters are moved back upstairs from their basement caves, and mice seek the warmer comforts of the great indoors.

Mice decided to target the VanOsdol house a couple of weeks ago. Mice have made similar transgressions in the past, though their efforts have always been met with blue poison pellets and quick, merciless, life-taking, wooden snap traps.

The first time I saw a mouse in the house, I shrieked. And by “shrieked,” I mean like a four year-old girl. Once I tiptoed off the couch I’d jumped onto, I rebuilt the mouse killing fields of years past.

Before bedtime, I’d laid several traps--By the oven. Next to the fridge. Behind the couch. The goal was to rack up a body count to rival the total of the entire “Friday the 13th” franchise.

When I woke the next morning, I discovered only one dead mouse by the oven, his little rodent neck snapped on the wooden trap. After putting on hazmat gloves (or in this case, dishwashing gloves), I tried to slide the trap out from between the oven and the wall. Because of the angle of the trap and mouse, I couldn’t do it. They were jammed in there. The only way to remove the trap was to pull it through the bottom corner of the stove, mouse and all. After begging my stomach to restrain the previous night’s pizza and somehow finding Jesus in a flash of anxiety, I pulled the trap quick and hard. The good news was that the trap came out. The bad news was that some of the mouse was left behind. I took the head, but not the body with me. There was a trail of mouse gore on the floor and the oven that I used bleach, CLR, Windex, soap, and any other cleaner I could find to remove.

A few days later, the entire kitchen and downstairs area reeked of death. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find the offending corpse for a day or two. Finally, with the help of my much more macho and handy neighbor, we pulled the refrigerator from the wall. Once we pulled it out, a mouse ran right past my feet, causing me to again shriek like a four year-old girl.

We instantly figured out where the smell was coming from. There was a tail sticking out from under the fridge that led to a dead body. A mouse had died next to the refrigerator vent, presumably from whacking his head into the fan. Because he died where he did, the smell of his decomposing body had been blown for two days throughout the first floor of my house.

With the dead body pinpointed, we (okay, my neighbor) had to surgically remove the bottom panels of the refrigerator to extract the body. Once the body was bagged and disposed of in the alley, the house started to smell better almost immediately.

As of today, almost a week after the refrigerator horror, it looks like (knock wood, or at least wood trap) I’m rolling mouse-free. I’m going to buy a bag of cement from Home Depot this weekend and seal any crack I can find outside. The only thing that scares me about that is that I’m not at all handy, meaning that I run the risk of encasing my hand in concrete by accident.

Annoyances

Two things that I've found irksome over the past week:

Spitters

Walking around downtown Chicago, I've discovered that I may be the only adult male who doesn't spit in public. Apparently I've been blessed with much lower amounts of phlegm and saliva than my gender peers.

Every time I travel the Loop on foot, I'm shocked to see guys stopping as they walk to hock and then torpedo lugees onto the cement.

I can't imagine a reason to spit in public. Ever. It's just plain gross.

If the same guys stopped to hike up their shirts and dig for bellybutton lint, I'd find that somehow less repulsive.

Parking Garage Etiquette

I've driven to work a lot lately, financial implications of parking downtown be damned.

It's fascinating to see how people treat yellow parking spot lines as more of a recommendation than a directive. The most offensive abuses are committed by those drivers who intentionally straddle two spaces to protect their cars from harm. The 16 year-old in me desperately wants to key the 2007 Lexus whose driver is so frightened of getting dinged that he prevents others from accessing a great spot during peak times . Here's an idea--if you're afraid of damaging your car by taking it into the city, get on Metra or work in Schaumburg. Easy for me to say--my '98 Toyota looks every bit like a "city beater." The passenger side, in particular, looks like it's been pelted with hammers.

Just plain bad driving prevents other garage users from accurately pulling between the lines. I have to cut them a bit more slack than Lance Lexus, though. Maybe they have a legit reason. Like blindness in one eye. Or perhaps they have hooves instead of hands.

Newcity Best of Chicago 2007

One of my favorite features in local media is Newcity's "Best of Chicago." For the second year in a row, they were gracious enough to include me in their mostly-irreverent look at the City by the Lake. If you're looking for what I specifically wrote, I'll leave that to your sleuthing. The "Best of" is byline-free, which I think is done to allow for more freewheeling and spirited editorial from the paper's contributors. For the record, my name is dropped at the very beginning of the feature, under "With additional contributions by...".

I only got one submission in this year's issue, but it's one I'm really glad Newcity chose to publish. Check "Best of 2007" out sometime this week--it's a really fun read:

http://www.newcitycgi.com/cgi-bin/boc/boc2007.cgi

Lord of the Wings, Book Four

I flew on United recently for a quick trip out West. Flying Economy Class, it became immediately clear to me that I was on the dung-heap end of social stratification, consigned to a humiliating corner of the plane, devoid of leg room or any perceived honor.

When United boards its flights, their "preferred" customers not only board first, they enter the runway by means of a red carpet and (not-so-velvet) rope. We plebians board only after Bob Blackberry and the other patricians are safely tucked into their La-z-Boys in the sky.

Economy class is tight; that's a given. What makes it worse is when the person in front of you decides to tilt their seat back in full recline. That action crushes--literally--your tenuous hold on leg room, as the seat in front of you becomes molded around the shape of your knees. Sure, you can tilt your seat back in a means of retreat, but while that frees your upper body a bit, it does nothing for your legs.

I treat reclining in Economy class with the same basic tenets of El-riding etiquette. Everyone around you has been folded into the same shit sandwich. Because of that, you need to respect everyone's boundaries and not overstretch yours. No man is an island. Especially in Economy class.

To be continued...

Bowie bootleg

Just stumbled upon this...it's a dress rehearsal for 1983's "Serious Moonlight" tour, complete with Stevie Ray on guitar. Spectacular soundboard recording, and some really great selections from Bowie's career/that tour.

http://www.captainsdead.com/2007/09/21/this-is-my-boomstick/

I'll blog more soon. I promise.

No fun! "STUN" done!

As of today, “STUN,” the comic book podcast I’ve hosted since October, 2006, is no more.

It was tough to come to this conclusion, but inevitably I decided to quit while I was ahead. As I try to balance a personal life with a career, work on “STUN” has become a huge frustration. Booking a show like this has been, and remains, incredibly difficult. None of the major companies have responded to my calls or email, nor have a vast majority of the creators I reached out to. Given that, I’m incredibly indebted to those who played along and agreed to be on “STUN.” I greatly enjoyed spending time with each and every one of my guests, and I hope they had fun being on. The roll call:

Abbinanti, Sal
Akins, Tony (2x)
Anderson, Matt (2x)
Andrews, Kaare
Blaylock, Josh
Bloom, Eric (Blue Oyster Cult)
Breyfogle, Norm
Brubaker, Ed
Caramagna, Joe
Castellucci, Cecil
Cooke, Darwyn
Farritor, Micah
Grogan, Walt
Hall, Jason
Hutchins, Eric
Irvine, Alex
Lawson, Jim
Licina, Scott
McCloud, Scott
McLauchlin, Jim
Meltzer, Brad
Miller, John Jackson
Mitten, Chris
Palmiotti, Jimmy
Pandav, Kaustubh (Shock Stars)
Pool, Josh
Ross, Alex
Rude, Steve “The Dude”
Seeley, Tim
T.J. (Spitalfield)
Truman, Timothy
Wight, Eric
Wolfman, Marv
Young, Skottie

Thanks also to Jaime Black, who did an exceptional job as reviewer/correspondent for the show.

Huge, huge, huge, HUGE thanks to Executive Producer Patrick Brower. Patrick appeared multiple times as a guest on the show, helped book guests, designed the logo, built stunpodcast.com and maintained the MySpace page, and evangelized the podcast far beyond any means I was capable of. If there’s a “hero” to be named from this comic book podcast, Patrick’s the guy.

Thanks to everyone who listened and gave “STUN” a chance. Given the show’s very niche appeal, the fact that anyone listened (and at times, there were a lot of you), is incredible. Thank you for your support.

http://stun.mypodcast.com will stay live for the foreseeable future, as I can’t see any real reason to take it down.

As for me, I’m taking the free time I have and throwing it into writing. I hope to have a progress report on “Chicago Rocked” soon, and I’m actively working on a few other projects.

Thanks for listening,
James VanOsdol

More than a Wheeling

I bought my first bike in over twenty years last week.

I've always enjoyed cycling, but never really thought much about it once I started working in radio in the early '90s. There's a cycling culture that never fails to turn me off, starting with bike shorts and ending with high-speed snobbery on the Lake Michigan bike trail. I've seen far too many Type A jagoffs indignantly blast past runners and--God forbid--families on bike trails to make the idea of cycling all that attractive to me.

A few things changed my mind recently. First was the fact that I hate public transportation. I've avoided taking the El more than my pocketbook can forgive lately, leaving me in great need of another communting option. Second was the fact that I actually do enjoy getting on a bike and riding. It's a fantastic, zen-like, feeling, and I can't believe I've lived without it for quite some time. Finally, I wanted to be able to go to my local bike shop and say the words "saddlebags," "pump," and "kickstand" without a trace of self-amusement.

I ordered the bike two Sundays ago and picked it up last Wednesday. After wrestling with the front wheel detachment for a solid 30 minutes in implausibly brutal humidity, I vaselined my new ride into my old ride, a reasonably-sized station wagon. Feeling like I'd just mastered advanced-level Physics, I slid my sweaty self into my car and took my bike home.

It was way too hot to ride when I took it out, but I was still anxious to give it a spin. Sweating to the point where I looked less than human and more like an extra from "The Devil's Rejects," I reattached the front wheel and got jumped on. Something was wrong. The wheel wasn't "true." It was totally cockeyed. Except it wasn't the wheel. It was the handlebars. In jamming the bike into my station wagon, I somehow cranked the handlebars out of alignment. What I needed was a wrench; a huge freaking wrench. As previously mentioned in my blog, I'm not very handy. I own no such wrench. I went inside, showered, and vowed to get a wrench later in the week.

I never got the wrench. Instead, I got hold of a handy neighbor who set my bike straight. As soon as it was fixed, I hit the road.

Days later, I rode the bike downtown to work; many miles from home. Keep in mind, I hadn't been on a bike in many years. By the time I hit the lakefront trail, I was praying for death. By the time I hit Navy Pier, I was willing to speed the process up by riding into oncoming traffic. Somehow only minutes later, I'd made it to work. My ass felt like it had been on a belt sander for an hour and my thighs felt like they had tensed up, post-mortem style, but I made it all the way to work.

Bring on the bike shorts. I'm ready to be a "ON YOUR LEFT" yelling, type-A, jagoff.

Lord of the Wings, Book Three

Back when I ordered my ticket, I'd requested a window seat. For some reason, I had it in my head that the window seat was the most desirable of the three-across configuration.

I realized once I walked into the plane cabin that I had it all reversed--aisle seats are absolutely the way to go. Unless you're flying first class, the coach seats are about as spacious as those on the Red Line. For the entire flight, I had to make a conscious effort not to brush knees with the person next to me (who was stuck in the Grand Suck of all seats, the fearsome middle seat). Had I been in the aisle, my left leg could've gone exploring a bit. Lesson learned for next time.

The view out the window was, of course, breathtaking. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of staring out the window during (and right after) takeoff, which left me feeling as though my pancreas had jumped into my throat and my colon had dropped to my feet.

to be continued...

Lord of the Wings Book Two

Some of that post-9/11 paranoia popped back into my head when I walked down the terminal aisle. As I saw people with wide, honest smiles on their faces rush from the gate into the arms of loved ones, I cynically concluded that the smiles weren't triggered by the sight of people they knew. Instead, I assumed the visible glee stemmed from a sudden "Holy crap, I'm still alive" realization.

The physics of air travel still confuse me. The fact that something as large and heavy as an airplane can stay aloft for hours on end is no less understandable to me than mind-reading or shape-shifting. Rather than dwell on that fact, I distracted myself with a book I'd meant to read for years, Michael Moorcock's "Behold the Man." Time travel--now that makes sense to me.

To be continued...

Lord of the Wings Book One

I went out of town for a few days this past week, which marked the first time I'd been on a plane since about a week prior to 9/11.

It wasn't fear of terrorism that kept me away from air travel. Okay, maybe I was a little concerned for that first year about being strapped into a guided missle aimed at the Sears Tower. But after that, it was work and life that kept me away.

The O'Hare Airport I walked into a few days ago was radically different from the one I remember from six years ago. The first thing I noticed was that access to the innards of the airport was completely cut off by security screening. Six years ago, you could get a neck massager, a copy of "Oui," and a cinammon scone from the concourse long before you even considered de-shoeing.

The security screening line looked like something out of a third world country. The beaten-down faces and body language of the people trolling through the line more resembled a village of sickly natives waiting for an immunization than cross-continental thrill-seekers.

I went through the brief indignity of rolling my Converses on the track and sharing my preferred brands of three ounce toiletries with the TSA staff on-duty. 40 minutes from the end of the line to unfettered concourse access. Not bad.

To be continued...

My iTunes

Have you seen the new iTunes widget that allows you to share your iTunes history with the world-at-large? Here's the idea:
http://www.apple.com/itunes/myitunes/

The concept's pretty cool, in a "Last FM" sort of way, though I'm not sure there's an upside to people seeing that I've downloaded three Eddie Money songs and Snow "Informer."

I did, however, just buy a long-forgotten favorite which was recently added to the iTunes library: Jerry Harrison "Man With a Gun." That's one of those songs I used to have on vinyl and have waited forever to own again. I still kind of love it.

Perhaps someday I'll share my iTunes history. For now, the volume of symphonic metal and 70s Top 40 songs I've spent my hard-earned money on remains a sad question mark.

Car crisis

My Saturday was pretty "Old School," in that it was a full day of errands that was just shy of a trip to Bed, Bath, and Beyond.

After a $200+ trip to Target which included, among other things, an 8-pack of Bounty and hazelnut syrup for my iced coffee, I ran into a neighboring Best Buy. Like most people, I'm a sucker for the big box charm of disaffected, not-all-that-knowledgable, 18-year old salespeople and a big selection of washing machines. Seconds after walking in, I found myself walking out with "Batman: the Animated Series Volume Three" on DVD. A fool and his $37.99 are soon parted.

As I walked toward my car in the parking lot, I froze at the sight of a neon blue puddle growing underneath my rear driver's side tire. Crap, I thought. My ten-year old car was falling apart. Maybe the coolant was leaking. Or maybe it was something even more dramatic. I drove back home to drop off my Target haul (didn't want the frozen Home Run Inn pizza to go bad), and make plans from there.

I obsessed all the way home. What if this was the end of the car? Could I even afford to take on a monthly car payment again? More immediately, how could I get it to my mechanic and still get myself to work on Monday? If it was a repair job, how much would it set me back? And, Jesus Christ, why did I have to buy that Batman DVD set? What if I needed that $37.99 to help pay down the price of a new engine or transmission?

I pulled in front of my house and started to unload my Target bags. After my second trip into the house, I went back to the car to bring in the last two items--the detergent and milk. As I reached in the trunk to pull out the detergent, I noticed a huge puddle underneath it. A huge blue puddle. The cap on the Tide container wasn't fully closed. Tons of detergent had poured out over the bottom panel of the trunk. And over into the sides of the trunk. And through a hole. And onto the ground. My leaking fluid problem was soap-based. And I was an idiot.

When it comes to cars, I'm one helmet short of being completely retarded. I probably should've known that nothing essential to the life of the car could've been leaking from where the Tide was pouring out. I'm just not handy, and it's something I've long since learned to accept. My scope of knowledge is mostly based in things that can't help me in the real world. For instance, I can tell you what year "For Your Pleasure" by Roxy Music was released (1973), or which comic book Black Bolt first appeared in (Fantastic Four #45); I just can't tell the difference between coolant and soap.

Dead or "Alive?"

Pearl Jam's "Contempt for the Non-Hardcore fan" tour rolled into the Vic last night. I wasn't there--I was much too busy eating pizza and reading the latest issue of "Thor" at home--but man, I would've wanted to kill myself had I been there. Check out the setlist:

"All or None"
"Education"
"Sad"
"In Hiding"
"Parachutes"
"I'm Open"
"Wishlist"
"Down"
"Undone"
"Off He Goes"
"Hard To Imagine"
"Gods' Dice"
"World Wide Suicide"
"Rats"
"Gone"
"Why Go"

Encore 1:
"No More"
"Inside Job"
"Low Light"
"Love Reign O'er Me"

Encore 2:
"Comatose"
"Black Diamond"
"Sonic Reducer"
"Indifference" (w/ Ben Harper)

Woof. Even the most enthusiastic, B-side collecting, Pearl Jam superfan had to have thought that setlist was brutal.

Every setlist has to have a handful of palate-cleaners; last night's featured "Wishlist." I'm not even suggesting that they should've played "big hits" like "Even Flow" or "Daughter." Something like "Rearview Mirror" or "Hail Hail" would've been enough of a treat in the context of last night's show.

There's a chance that the band will roll out something more...palatable...for their Lollapalooza-closing set on Sunday, though I doubt it. Pearl Jam has always done whatever they've wanted, regardless of expectations placed upon them.

Sunday's weather calls for sun, humidity, and a heat index that could peak out near 104. Ticket prices for Lollapalooza are just short of a fleecing. If you're just going to the festival to see Pearl Jam, consider this post your caveat emptor.

Stuff

Recent reads
I just finished “Takedown” by Brad Thor, a jingoistic novel about a terrorist attack in…New York City. The characters were as good as created by the United States Marines Publicity Department. Retarded plot twists, terrible premise, awful characters (including a sinister dwarf named “THE TROLL”). I read the whole thing. I suck.

I also re-read “I Am Legend,” something I haven’t touched since high school. I wanted to read it again to prepare for Will Smith’s cinematic turn as Robert Neville. Simply put, “I Am Legend” is one of my favorite books ever, a bleak story of the last man “alive,” struggling to exist in a world gone vampiric. From its well-thought out apocalyptic concepts to its story-defining ending, there’s no way Hollywood can’t ruin it.

STUN!
I’ve had major computer trouble at home, which has totally inhibited my ability to create a new episode. Things should be fixed by mid-August. In the meantime, correspondent Jaime Black may guest-host an episode. When I do return to the show, I will finally post a long-overdue interview with mystery/thriller author J.A. Konrath.

The Simpsons
I’m going on Saturday.

Chicago Rocked
New information coming soon.

RUSH
I loved Rush when I was in junior high. I thought Alex Lifeson was a guitar god. And Neil Peart…he was the supreme ruler of the drum kit, and those lyrics about all things mystic and far-flung made my pre-teen mind reel. By the time I was in high school, I became more interested in “alternative” bands like R.E.M. and the Smiths. My too-cool-for-school attitude prevented me from looking back at Rush with anything other than a derisive sneer. Over the past few years, I very slowly and secretly have started buying back the Rush catalog. In my private time, I’ve marveled at “Hemispheres” and “Xanadu.” I even downloaded the new album, “Snakes & Arrows.” I feel no shame. I already have plans to listen to “Jacob’s Ladder” on my way home tonight.

You want Freys with that shake?

I made my weekly trip to the library on Sunday, loading up on new books, graphic novels, and CD's. As I headed out the door, anvil-heavy book bag under my arm, the front alarm sounded. Apparently, I'd walked out with something that wasn't properly checked out. People stared. I walked sheepishly back to the checkout desk. "Did you check out 'Eagles Greatest Hits, Volume 2'," the librarian asked. Ummmm...crap. The answer was "yes." I instantly realized that I'd left the disc in my book bag by accident. "Yeah, sorry," I said, producing the CD.

Not only do I have to live with the sad, dark, shame of taking out an Eagles CD for some deep-rooted desire to own "The Long Run," there are now others who are aware of my shame. Yes, I also took out the new Megadeth album, "United Abominations," in the same visit, but that wasn't the disc that tripped an alarm.

"Cause all the debutantes in Houston, baby, couldn't hold a candle to you." I know, I know. It's awful.

Taste of Chicago

I'm not a fan of the Taste. I'm a huge fan of food, mind you, but the thought of standing shoulder-to-tank-top-exposed-sweaty-shoulder with the unwashed masses as I angle for an overpriced kabob leaves me cold. While it was going on, I watched from the front door of my office building as thousands migrated east to Grant Park to devour obscene quantities of food. The list of what one could buy at the Taste was impressive. In particular, one place offered "pizza in a cone," which was almost enough to make me to rethink my position. When the Taste wrapped up, I breathed a sigh of relief. No more Taste talk or crowds for another year, I thought.

And then the salmonella news came over. Pars Cove, the long-standing Middle Eastern haunt on Diversey, landed in the public health crosshairs. As of today, 126 people claim salmonella illness that can be traced back not only to Pars Cove, but specifically to their hummus. Some of the Tahini used in the hummus apparently went rogue, and subsequently turned on the diarrhea valve for over 100 unfortunate Taste enthusiasts.

When it comes to salmonella, I'd expect it to come from something meaty, not beany. As a vegetarian who would've likely zeroed in on food like hummus at the Taste, I remain confident in my decision to avoid the festival like the, um, plague.

Sucks to be the salmonella victims. According to about-salmonella.com, symptoms include "the sudden onset of nausea, abdominal cramping, and bloody diarrhea with mucous." Hope they didn't have to pay extra for pita bread; that would be adding insult to injury.

STUN and STUFF

Some updates and thoughts:

STUN!
It's on a bit of a forced break right now, as I wait to resolve some home computer issues. I hope to have a new episode up with a week or two (okay, maybe three). I'll post here when there's something new to listen to! Thanks for your patience

ALONG THOSE LINES...
I've toyed with the idea of expanding STUN beyond being exclusively about comics to being a bit more of a pop culture interview podcast (comics, music, books, t.v., etc.). I'd love to know your thoughts--stunpodcast@yahoo.com

EVEN MORE ALONG THOSE LINES...
You wouldn't believe how difficult it is to get interviews with comic creators these days, even close to a year after "STUN" first launched. With the sole exceptions of Dark Horse and Devil's Due, I've yet to be taken seriously by any comic book company, large or small. I've left voice mails and/or emails with the following: D.C., Marvel, Image, Dynamite, Aspen, Virgin, Top Cow, Kitchen Sink, Avatar, even Ape Entertainment. Nothing. It adds to the challenge, for sure. I've been completely blown off by people like Peter David, Jill Thompson, and Bill Sienkiewicz. As popular as the podcasting medium has become, there's still a great deal of old school thinking out there. All the more reason to appreciate it when comic "names" like Alex Ross, Ed Brubaker, Marv Wolfman, Brad Meltzer, and Norm Breyfogle come on the show. And all the more reason to appreciate having the able-bodied behind-the-scenes help of Executive Producer Patrick Brower.

AMY JACOBSON
As a parent, I can safely say that I'd never take a child to a potential murderer's home for a pool party. Furthermore, I wouldn't wear my fetching two-piece bikini when there. I'm sure there's a great deal more to the Amy Jacobson story that we simply don't know. At the very least, she's an awful parent.

THERION "GOTHIC KABBALAH"
I finally got the two disc Swedish metal magnum opus. It won't convince metal-haters to rethink their position, but I just love this album. Recommended: "Son at the Staves of Time."

Internot

My modem up and died on me yesterday, meaning my home is running internet-free for the near future. Instead of emailing people, I have to…call them up on the phone. Instead of pulling up the news online, I have to…read a newspaper.

It’s all so archaic. I feel like I’m one bubonic plague removed from the Dark Ages.

Black Monday

I finished “Black Monday” by R. Scott Reiss earlier this week, a newish novel about total societal breakdown after a nanovirus corrupts—and renders useless—the world’s oil supply. The science and politics of the book are secondary to its main concern-- man’s fragilie hold on civility and right and wrong.

Very quickly in “Black Monday,” good intentions give way to desperate measures. When faced with dire consequences such as the inability to find food and adequately provide security for family and self, people turn to much more base behaviors. Rioting, looting, cruelty, rape, homicide, and cannibalism (referred to in the book as “imaginative eating”) are all part of the horrors in the apocalyptic story.

“Black Monday” reminded me of two key things:

1. We humans are just glorified monkeys. We’re all just one really bad
experience away from very ugly behavior.

2. I need to go to CostCo and load up on survival supplies.

BOOM!

I find myself writing the same thing every year, but the white trash practice of blowing off fireworks late into the night is one of those “thrills” that’s never appealed to me.

Last night, my neighborhood came alive with what was likely the yield of a day trip to Indiana’s finest explosives shops.

Just so I have it straight…light fireworks. Run away. Wait for the boom. Giggle nervously. Repeat. Yeah, not for me.

Not for my dog, either. She spent much of the night cowering in the back corner of my home office. When I woke up this morning, she shot me a look that said, “When the 4th of July week is finally over, you and I are going for a walk through the neighborhood. Only this time, Dad, don’t bring the poop bags. Time to teach them sonsabitches a lesson.”

Movies, music, books, T.V., and more--some quick thoughts

"Ocean's Thirteen"-Saw it over the weekend. I enjoy "caper" movies, and loved the original(remake) "Ocean's Eleven." "Thirteen" wasn't nearly as good as "Eleven." It wasn't as good as "Twelve," for that matter. It really wasn't good at all. And yet, I liked it.

"Dirty Martini" by J.A. Konrath-I just finished an advance copy (it comes out next week) of the latest "Jack Daniels" mystery. J.A. has an almost unnerving way of mixing humor and sociopathic villains. "Martini'"s bad guy, the Chemist, is as frightening as any serial killer James Patterson's dreamed up. Some of the characters are too over-the-top for my taste (recurring anti-hero Harry McGlade, Jack Daniel's girly-girl partner, the records keeper), but most are in and out quick enough to not leave a mark.

"Dean Koontz's Frankenstein, Book One: Prodigal Son"-I loved it. Doctor Frankenstein lives (in New Orleans, no less)! The monster lives (bouncing around from circuses to monasteries, of course)!. Fun update of the Frankenstein legend.

Smashing Pumpkins MySpace tribute CD-No, no, no.

Guadalcanal Diary "2x4"-I loved my vinyl copy in the late '80s, which ended up lost over the course of who-knows-how-many moves. The CD version has been out of print forever, and I'd resisted the $40+ prices I'd seen on Ebay for an original pressing. "2x4" was just released by iTunes, and I instantly clicked to buy once I saw it there. Nostalgia's a funny thing--things you thought you loved tend to disappoint when you revisit them after many years apart. This album is a perfect example. Ho hum.

The El-Sat next to a derelict yesterday who reeked of grain alcohol. Squeezed myself in a seat shared by the Grimace today. Commuting is a delight.

"Traveler" on ABC-I've been told that I need to watch it. I DVR'd it last night.

New STUN episodes

Just posted at http://stun.mypodcast.com (and soon to appear on http://stunpodcast.com):

Patrick Brower with a Wizard World Philadelphia recap

"It seemed small. It felt small."
-Patrick Brower on Wizard World Philadelphia

"STUN" Executive Producer Patrick Brower returned from Wizard World Philadelphia with a complete rundown of this year's (lackluster) convention.

As "STUN" listened to Patrick's report, we couldn't help but wonder...in a day and age when you can buy commissions and original art direct from the artists and key issues straight from places like Ebay and grahamcrakers.com, is it all that necessary to even attend cons? "STUN" thinks that any alternative to paying for parking, getting crammed into a space with hundreds of sweaty fans over a hot summer weekend, and seeing Lou Ferrigno's career in rapid freefall from close up is worth investigating. True, not going to a convention means you don't get to hear hilarious creator interplay on panels or have the opportunity to dress as the Scarlet Witch for all to see, but...

________________

Also posted this week:

Matt Anderson of "White Picket Fences"

We follow up with Matt Anderson, co-creator of the fantastic "White Picket Fences" mini from Ape. We learn whether his expectations were met when the title was released, what's in store for he and "White Picket Fences" in the future, and how an independent book should be marketed.

This is a rare chance to follow the paths of a creator and a new title from the very beginning, and STUN! is thrilled to offer the play-by-play.

Today is June 22, 2007, and

I start work on Monday, meaning my Summer vacation of reading, grilling my lunches, and lounging outside is at an end. As luxurious as it's been to have fewer demands on my time and life, truth is I prefer working. It's not even a money thing; I just like working--that feeling that I'm being productive in a regular routine, and aiming towards goals both personal and professional. I'm looking forward to the next stage of my career; the morning drive commute on the El, not so much.

To wrap up my two-month, off-the-grid, experience, I'll be heading to U.S. Cellular Field for the Crosstown Classic later this afternoon.

As for what I've been doing lately, well...nothing all that exciting. I finished a few books. I'm halfway through an end-of-society-as-we-know-it book called "Black Monday" by R. Scott Reiss. I went to the batting cages yesterday. In the interest of full disclosure, regardless of perceptual damage to myself, my arms and sides are a little sore today because of the batting cages. Perhaps I'm not as fit as I should be.

For those who follow "STUN," I posted two new episodes this week: a follow-up with Matt Anderson, co-creator of "White Picket Fences," and a Wizard World Philadelphia recap with Patrick Brower. In just over a week, I'll publish an episode that will feature Model Operandi co-creator and prolific Marvel Comics letterer Joe Caramagna. Recent comics I've enjoyed include the Sub-Mariner mini, Justice League/Justice Society, and Shadowpact. Countdown isn't as bad as I've read some people say on various message boards. World War Hulk, however...

I'm toying with the idea of doing a podcast around the release of "Chicago Rocked." I have a few concepts in mind, and will think more about it in a month or so.

Musically, I've been listening to Polyphonic Spree, Only Crime, the National, the Rakes, and lots more metal like Nocturnal Rites and Impious. The new Velvet Revolver stuff sounds awful. I still hate the White Stripes. And anything that needs to be explained with the words "American" and "Idol" should be wiped clean from the face of the earth.

One final note: I watched "American Inventor" on ABC a couple nights ago. Maybe my mind has atrophed over these past couple months, but I got to the end of it and said, "this is the best show ever."

Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer

Well, at least "Iron Man" looks like it's going to be cool.

For those keeping track: Marvel movies in 2007 are 0 for 3. And strangely, "Ghost Rider" is still probably the best of the bunch.

Spoiler warnings apply from this point forward.

I'll start with what worked in FF2:
-The Thing and the Human Torch. Individually and together, the characterizations are faithful to the comics. Both were fun to watch on screen.
-The Silver Surfer. Impressive technology at work--he looked really, really, cool. Laurence Fishburne's voice didn't sound right to me, though.
-The movie's run time. After the six-hour "Spider-Man 3," "FF2" felt more like a sitcom. At only 90 minutes, "Fantastic Four" breezed by. I'm a fan of brevity, especially if filmmakers have nothing much of interest to say.
-The Fantasticar. Totally cool, though its product placement for Dodge made me choke on my Slurpee (another benefactor of egregious product placement moment in the movie).
-The sequel is better than the original. Take that at face value.

Here's what didn't work in FF2:
-Ioan Gruffudd. Worst acting ever. Maybe it was just the result of a bad script, but this makes two movies in a row he's stunk up.
-...which leads me to Mr. Fantastic's bachelor party. It was a great premise for a scene, shot into oblivion with a retarded silliness that makes the "Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head" scene in "Spider-Man 2" look like the beach-storming opening of "Saving Private Ryan."
-Andre Braugher. Okay, we get it...the military is humorless. Now take that stick out of your ass so we can beat you with it.
-Jessica Alba. I'm still not buying her as Sue Storm/the Invisible Girl.
-Dr. Doom's return. Huh?
-Dr. Doom being endorsed by the U.S. government. Huh? Apparently, no one in charge of our military could be bothered to see the last awful "FF" movie to know what an evil prick Doc Doom is.
-Galactus. A legendary Stan Lee/Jack Kirby creation--one who means so much to the history of the Fantastic Four, depicted here as a really shitty weather pattern. I felt ripped off in the same way I did as a kid, watching "Spider-Man" on Electric Company, wondering why Spidey never actually talked.
-The Silver Surfer's "Gitmo" moment. 95% of "FF2" is lightweight fluff, which makes the politcal statement of having the Surfer shackled and tortured in an off-the-grid Siberian facility incongruous and insulting.
-The PG-level profanity. Words like "crap," "hell," and "nuts," seemed totally unnecessary and forced. And this is coming from a guy who complained that there wasn't enough swearing in either "Scarface" or "Glengarry Glen Ross."
-The wacky exchange of powers. Annoying once. Infuriating twice. Ridiculous to see as a plot device that inevitably helps saves the planet from the evil storm cloud known as Galactus.
-The Japanese wedding. Words fail me.

As a comic book reader, enthusiast, and fan, I take poorly-made comic adaptations as an affront. The more shitty comic movies that are made, the greater the chance that the genre will lose steam. I pray that "The Dark Knight" is every bit as good as "Batman Begins." I'm trusting Jon Favreau's vision for "Iron Man." I'm confident that another round of "Sin City" will be amazing. I'm guardedly optimistic about "Hulk 2," now that Ed Norton's on board. "Hellboy 2" should be okay. There's still life in the comics-to-film genre, but this year's done nothing to help.

Good night, and good luck

I just recently and enthusiastically accepted a position as Affiliate Relations Manager with Emmis Interactive, a division of Emmis Communications (the company that also owns both the Loop and Q101).

Emmis Interactive is a truly visionary company, run and staffed by creative and amazing people. The job is exactly what I was looking for, and I can't wait to start working there in just over a week.

Moving my career forward means leaving my role as "radio D.J." behind. I'm very proud of the work I've done on the air (and even more proud that people listened, responded, and took the time to call and/or write me over the years), but it's clearly time for me to move on.

Thank you for listening...whether it was on Q101 the first time around, 'XRT for the nine months I was there, at any point during my four-year stay at WZZN, Q101 for the second go-round, or my recent run at WTMX (which I think is over, though I'm waiting to see if they still need me to work this weekend). I had a great time, and am indebted to the people of this city and to all the mighty Chicago stations who were kind enough to employ me.

I have three books to finish reading and one to start writing before I begin my new job. Summer vacation's almost over!

Onward and upward...

JVO

Join the club: How to podcast!

A friend of mine asked today how to record phone calls for a podcast. It's much easier than people think, and I passed on some basic info to her in an email. After I sent the email, I thought that I should share some startup podcasting information here. The future of broadcasting is on the web, and the podcasting world can only benefit from more enthusiastic participants.

1) Recording software. You need a program to record your show. I'm a Mac guy, and depend on Garageband for my sessions. The software isn't all that intuitive, but once you figure out its nuances it's a breeze. I'm sure that Pro Tools or any of the various freeware audio programs would work just as well for PC users.

2) Microphone and headphones. You'll need headphones. Any will do, really, though my years in radio have made me a headphone snob who swears by Sennheiser products. As for a microphone, there's a great one that's custom-made for podcasting, "The Snowball" (thanks to my friend Mike for turning me on to it):
http://www.bluemic.com/modules.php?op=modload&name=Products&file=index&prod_id=18

The Snowball (pictured) plugs right into a USB port and is perfect for home recording. I've been using it for all my podcasts. There are occasional voice distorts, but overall I'm very pleased with the sound quality of a microphone that's being used in my living room.

3) Phone calls. Skype is the gold standard. You can dial people up right from your computer with total ease. Skype's reliability was sketchy when I started using it (and I have the choppy podcast audio to prove it), but the latest version for Mac is a home run. I heard it's even better for PC's. It's $30 for a year of unlimited outgoing domestic calls, which is a steal:
http://www.skype.com/products/skypeout/

If you want your own Skype number for people to call,
it's $18 for three months, $60 for a year. I just signed up for the three month deal a few weeks ago:
http://www.skype.com/products/skypein/

4. Recording calls. I'm not sure about PC software, but the Ecamm Call Recorder is essential for the Mac. The software is designed to integrate with Skype and automatically record every call made or received. There are easy-to-use tools within the call recorder which allow you to separate the caller and host feeds and convert files into MP3s. Once files are in MP3 form, they can be dropped into Garageband or your audio software of choice and edited from there. The call recorder runs $15.
http://www.ecamm.com/mac/callrecorder/

5. Putting the podcasts on the web. The easiest to use free site I've found so far is the one I'm currently using, http://www.mypodcast.com. Publishing podcasts is ridiculously easy, and Mypodcast makes submission of feeds to iTunes absolutely idiot-proof.

Is there money in podcasting? No. Is it fun? Hell yeah. There's no shame, no rules, and no reason to not do one. Get yours going and send me a link--I'd love to hear it!

JVO

Gotham Police and downtown parking

I leave early for work on Saturday and Sunday nights in the vain hope of finding a street parking spot. The Prudential Building offers a weekend rate of $13--a steal by downtown standards, but when you're only working twice a week, every dollar counts.

I drove up and down every area street before my 8 p.m. airshift. Some of the old reliable street spots had been transformed into No Parking zones for the next week, due to filming going on in the area. On my final pass, I drove down to Lower Wacker and Stetson and saw a long line of movie crew trucks. Seconds later, I saw a rack of costumes that clued me in to what exactly was being filmed. The black costumes read
"Gotham Police." Motherfucking Batman is in the neighborhood!

I'm suddenly in no hurry to go home at 12 a.m.

Blue Oyster Cult podcast now online

http://stunpodcast.com
http://stun.mypodcast.com

THIS WEEK:
Because "STUN" needed "more cowbell"...

Consider "STUN" humbled and awed by the fact that Eric Bloom of Blue Oyster Cult wanted to be part of the show.

For 35 years, Blue Oyster Cult has occupied a unique and exclusive position in rock history; that of being a smart and literate hard rock band whose transparent love of science fiction and the paranormal helped define their sound and image. And speaking of image, the "Kronos" hook-and-cross symbol has just gotta be one of rock's coolest icons ever. "STUN" spent most of its junior high and high school years scribbling it onto notebooks and carving it into wooden desktops.

Of course, Blue Oyster Cult secured their place in history by writing one of the greatest rock and roll songs of all time ("Don't Fear the Reaper," natch). Going beyond "Reaper," there are the riffs...those fist-pumping guitar sounds that provide the backbone to B.O.C. standards like "E.T.I.," "Godzilla," and "Cities on Flame." "STUN" is equally excited by Blue Oyster Cult songs whose lyrics tell stories with great, thought-provoking images. See "Veteran of the Psychic Wars," "Astronomy," and "Transmaniacon M.C." for further study.

Blue Oyster Cult will be all over the U.S. this summer. If you happen to be in range of the "STUN" studios in the Chicago area, B.O.C. will be at the Naperville Ribfest on 7/1 and doing a handful of dates in Wisconsin (including Summerfest).

Bloom talked with "STUN" about the band's longevity, science fiction, Doctor Strange, current reads, and that "SNL" sketch that brought the band to the top of the 21st century pop culture buzz phrase elite.

Also this week: Executive Producer Patrick Brower, General Manager of Graham Crackers Comics in Chicago's Loop, gives a retail update. Is "Countdown" selling like "52?" Are people excited about the post-"Civil War" Marvel Universe? Booster Gold? World War Hulk?

Thanks for listening!

Feedback:
stunpodcast@yahoo.com

What's new? Um...nothing, really.

Theoretically, I should be blogging lots more these days because I have tons of extra time on my hands. Theoretically.

These days, I'm keeping a very low profile and trying to stay away from things that cost me money. That combination has left me with scant few stories or worldly observations.

Some thoughts and experiences from the past week:

Blue Oyster Cult-I interviewed B.O.C. lead singer Eric Bloom this week for next week's episode of my web-only dorkfest, "STUN!" If only you could flash back to see the 12-year old James VanOsdol, sitting in his bedroom spinning "Fire of Unknown Origin" for the first time, you'd know how excited I was to do the interview.

Paris Hilton-She and other US Magazine favorites like Britney Spears are exactly why the terrorists hate us. And while it pains me to sympathize for the stuck-up snatch, the drama of going home one day and then being dragged back to prison the next is as close to hell on earth as I can imagine.

Music-I've been listening to lots of frightening metal lately. Lots. Dark Tranquility tops this week's list.

Sun and books-Getting fired has provided me with a wonderful summer vacation (though it's been a vacation without the petty cash to buy souvenirs with). My yard and lawn chair have played host to an almost-daily book reading routine. I'm almost done with Vince Flynn's latest and have a few cool apocalyptic fiction titles waiting in the wings.

Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip-I was a fan when it debuted. After the past few episodes, its cancellation makes perfect sense.

More as it comes to me...

STUN! update (cool news about next week, too)!

THIS WEEK: Norm Breyfogle
http://stunpodcast.com
http://stun.mypodcast.com

(iTunes)
http://phobos.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?id=252760811

Though Batman's been around for almost 70 years, the list of artists who helped define him is shockingly small: Neal Adams. Jim Aparo. Marshall Rogers. Add to the list one Norm Breyfogle, whose work on Detective, Batman, and Shadow of the Bat stands as some of the best Batman storytelling of the past 25 years (with extra special credit going to Breyfogle's frequent collaborator, writer Alan Grant).

Breyfogle's broad list of credits also includes "Prime" for the Malibu Ultraverse and the criminally underrated "Hellcat" mini for Marvel. STUN! is a huge fan of Norm's and remains perplexed as to why the "big two" aren't stumbling over themselves to give him work.

Breyfogle talks this week about Batman, working with Alan Grant, and the sad reality of work drying up for him at the onset of the 21st century. Go to Norm's website to learn more (and buy some of his art while you're there, too)!:
http://www.normbreyfogle.com

NEXT WEEK:
BLUE OYSTER CULT's ERIC BLOOM!!!

STUN news

A few things:

1) THIS WEEK: CHRIS MITTEN ("WASTELAND")
"Wasteland" is one of those books you might've seen, but chose to pass up in favor of another overblown, commerce over art, weekly or monthly superhero title. Next time you visit your local comic book shop, "STUN!" urges you to reconsider.

The post-apocalyptic (or post-"Big Wet," if you prefer) title presents a tense, broadly-conceived, and darkly-imagined America. Writer Antony Johnston has come up with some big ideas, and Illinois artist Chris Mitten has provided indelible images to back them up.

This week on the show, "STUN!" talks with Mitten about "Wasteland," his technique, and the not-so-subtle music fandom behind "Wasteland."

For those new to the title, Oni Press has the first issue available for free download:

http://www.onipress.com/thebigwet/downloads/freeissue1.php

Also: Jaime Black with another "One Shot Review!"

To subscribe on iTunes:
http://phobos.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?id=252760811

To hear a sample of the Chris Mitten podcast:
http://www.myspace.com/stunpodcast

2)STUN's web presence
Executive Producer Patrick Brower has designed a new, easy-to-use, site for STUN:
http://stunpodcast.com

Also, I just learned that my old MP3 host, Odeo, is working again. Because the old STUN site still shows up in Google searches, I've decided to bring it back up to speed as a "mirror site":
http://stunpodcast.wordpress.com

3)NEXT WEEK
Artist Norm Breyfogle!

All up in my grill

I bought a new grill on Saturday, after two years of being frightened to again own one (more on that shortly). As a vegetarian, I'll probably never know the primitive man thrill of searing flesh at temperatures topping 500 degrees. For what it's worth, I did enjoy flipping veggie burgers and asparagus yesterday and today.

I hadn't showered in between last night's grilled dinner and today's lunch. At the very beginning of my pre-work shower this afternoon, it became immediately clear that I stunk...like propane. Maybe more of a combination of burnt hair and butane. I'm not sure if that's common in barbecue culture, but I felt lucky and relieved that no one had lit a match around me in the previous 24 hours.

Why did I wait two years to become the backyard Bobby Flay of my neighborhood? Here's my blog from Thursday, September 1, 2005:

I decided that I just wanted a quiet, peaceful night of nothingness. The plan was to stay home and grill out with a couple of people. What a perfectly harmless, perfectly pleasant, idea. I turned the gas on and ignited the flames just like I always do, then let the grill heat up for ten minutes or so. During that time, I husked corn and let it soak in a sinkful of water. When that was done, I gathered the cobs on a plate, and went back outside to strategically place them on the grill. When I got outside, I almost dropped the plate when I saw the entire gas grill consumed by flames. I called back into the house, "Holy $*&@!The grill's on fire!"
Someone from inside said, "Good, then put the corn on."
"No, I mean the entire grill's on fire."
"Then turn it off!"
"I can't.The knobs have melted off."

Everyone then scrambled throughout the house to find a fire extinguisher. I knew there had to be one somewhere, I bought a 2-pack of extinguishers at Sam's Club years ago...you know, just in case. After five minutes, we finally found the extinguisher, hidden underneath a pile of long-forgotten old clothes and action figures. I ran back outside, extinguisher in hand, pulled the pin, and hauled off on the grill. That seemed to do the trick, but I was afraid of a possible gas leak/further carnage--so I called 911. Meanwhile, I'd inhaled enough chemical dust from the extinguisher that I almost vomited twice. That is vile, vile stuff.

Less than five minutes after I placed my 911 call, three screaming fire trucks pulled up in front of my place. Firefighters in full gear marched over to my back door to inspect the scene, while neighbors poured out of their homes to see what that nice white trash boy on the corner had done. After five minutes, the firemen gave the "all clear" verdict--Everything and everyone was safe. I didn't get to flame-broil the corn, but I didn't blow up my home either. I pulled the dust-covered, burnt-out, grill into the alley, not sure what else to do with it. Conveniently, some deranged, inviting-disaster, person spirited off with it in the middle of the night. I think it's kinda hard to work a grill without a faceplate or knobs, but maybe the person who took it knows something I don't.

5 new songs I like:

Posted here for no other reason than I listened to them on my way to work tonight:

Tim Armstrong "Into Action" (album pictured)
The National "Slow Show"
Spoon "Eddie's Ragga" (thanks, world wide web)
Rock Plaza Central "Sexyback"
Bill Callahan "Sycamore"

"24

I wanted to let a few days pass before I posted about the season finale of "24." The temporal distance from the show's conclusion has done nothing to change my initial thoughts:
Horrible. Awful. I can't believe I wasted those two hours--let alone the 22 prior.

I knew when to jump off of "X-Files." I've never once regretted walking away from "Smallville." And now, another once-great genre favorite has crossed over to the realm of the unforgivable.

Any doubt of 24's "jump the sharkness" was put to rest with two simple words from Chloe: "I'm pregnant." I'm sure the blessed event will occur in the back of a speeding, terrorist-driven, taxicab. Who can save her and her newborn child? Jack freaking Bauer, that's who.

Bah.

The Joker from the Batman sequel-FIRST PIC

After lots of fakes had circulated over the past week, Warner Brothers has finally released the first official shot of Heath Ledger as the Joker. The verdict? Give me a "D!" Give me an "Isturbing!" In other words, they got it right.

CD-E-A-D

CD-E-A-D

Virgin Megastore on Michigan Avenue will soon be joining Tower Records in retail oblivion. The 21st Century just hasn't been kind to record stores. Not helping matters, of course, is the fact that "record stores" is a term that's already 25 years out-of-date.

The end of Tower was a warning shot. The digital revolution has moved swiftly and without mercy, and music retailers are collateral damage. It's hard to get excited about walking into a retail outlet when iTunes offers instant gratification for much less money. And while iTunes doesn't offer every title under the sun ("Gothic Kabbalah" by Therion, where are you?), they have more than enough to satisfy mainstream America.

I never thought much of the Virgin Megastore. They did seem to have some depth to their shelves, but the prices were well in line with its Michigan Avenue address. Selfishly, I'm glad to see it go because that particular store was the focus of one of my most fevered work nightmares. I've bolted upright many a night in fear that my career would spiral down so earth's crust-low that I'd have to take a gig as the in-store D.J. at Virgin. "Thanks for shopping Virgin. Don't forget, the new Fergie album is on sale for $11.99. I'm James VanOsdol, and what am I going to do with all that junk, all that junk inside my trunk? I'm going to play more hits on Virgin Megaradio, that's what!"

New STUN!-The Hero Initiative

The Hero Initiative is an incredible, admirable, much-needed charity for comic creators in need. This week on STUN!, I talk with Jim McLauchlin, President of Hero. What does Hero do? Who does it help? Why isn't D.C. Comics officially involved? Find out...

http://stun.mypodcast.com

Subscribe via iTunes:
http://phobos.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?id=252760811

Listen to a sample:
http://www.myspace.com/stunpodcast

Thanks for listening!

James VanOsdol

Fire in the sky

One of my least-favorite recurring nightmares is the one where I'm stuck on the expressway and suddenly I see a mushroom cloud envelop the Chicago skyline. I blame years of reading apocalyptic literature and watching end-of-the-world movies. I blame this season of "24," for that matter.

I was stuck in traffic tonight because of a giant cloud of smoke which overtook the otherwise perfectly-clear sky. It wasn't a casual trail of grey plumage--this was a "holy crap, what on earth is that all about, and am I safe?" sort of thing.

Turns out, it was from a 4-11 blaze at a building on Knox near Montrose which housed a business called Chicago Imports, Inc. I don't know much more, other than it's been dubbed a Level 1 Hazmat situation (and no, I don't know what that means).

What was most interesting was that I saw the blaze at 5:15, when I first got in my car. The news reports I've read so far said that firefighters were called at 5:30. What happened in that quarter hour? I was nowhere near the scene--maybe six miles away--and the blaze couldn't be missed. What of the people in the immediate vicinity? No one picked up a phone for 15 minutes?

How a man with lots of new found free time spends it

Monday
I decided that the weather was too perfect to ignore, so I laid out and dozed on a lawn chair. I woke up every 20 minutes or so and tried on those occasions to read some more of "Black Order" by James Rollins. After two and a half hours, I peeled myself off the chair and took myself inside for a shower. By nightfall, my skin was virtually smoking, like it had been massaged by the Man-Thing ("Whatever knows fear burns at the Man-Thing's touch"). Yes, I used sunblock. No, not nearly enough. Lesson learned. I'm not going outside in anything less than a hoodie and corduroys for the rest of the Spring and Summer.

Tuesday
"The Hills Have Eyes" on DVR!

Wednesday
Another perfect weather day. I knew better than to lay out, so I decided to do something "fitness-y." My idea? An uber-walk. I used to love going for long walks when I had the time. When I did nights at Q101 in the late '90s, I'd walk to the Merchandise Mart from my Ravenswood apartment at least once a week in the summertime. I haven't gone on many long walks since then, so I took advantage of my open schedule to take one on Wednesday. I created a nice long iPod playlist with incongruous bands like the Afghan Whigs and Fairyland, and got walking. And walking. I realized once I decided to turn around that I'd already gone too far. As I got to the end of my walk, a mile or so from home, the balls of my feet felt like they were being gnawed on by weasels. When I got home, I (gently) removed my shoes and walked on my tippytoes to the kitchen, where I grabbed a vitamin water (Dragonfruit). It took me a good 30 minutes to cool down enough to shower. Before the day was over, I logged on to mapmyrun.com to get an idea of how far I'd walked. 10.5 miles. Impressive and utterly stupid all at the same time.

Today
My shins and feet took turns aching for most of the day. Drove to Wisconsin and got squeezed into single-lane road construction hell just past Gurnee.

Most common conversation starter of the past two days: "So, James...you got some color this week, huh?"

Tonight
"Casino Royale" on DVD! Awesome!

(Picture) Man-Thing #1, Marvel Comics

Dirty pizza, dirty place, dirty t-shirt

On my way in to the Mix tonight, I realized that I was starving and there was no way I'd be able to make it from 7 p.m.-12 a.m. without having something dinnerish.

In cutting over to Lake Shore Drive, I found myself at the intersection of Foster and Broadway--more specifically, at the threshold of Laurie's Pizzeria. I've probably seen or driven by the place for most of my life, but have never once set foot inside or tried their pizza. The sign outside said "Pizza by the Slice." That was all I needed.

I parked in right in front of the Foster entrance and walked into a sparse and filthy retail space which felt as welcoming as the pawnshop in "Pulp Fiction" (though Laurie's seemed blissfully Gimp-free). The storefront is essentially a skid row liquor store with a convenience store rotisserie of who-knows-how-old-they-are-pizzas spinning under heating lamps. Rather than go with my gut instinct to run away and avoid botulism and/or a bullet, I did the next logical thing--I bought a slice of cheese and a Diet Coke.

The pizza was no better than the Tombstone I have tucked away in my home freezer. Worse, it was dripping with grease. Before I even made it to Lake Shore Drive, a mere three blocks east of Laurie's, I'd already left a trail of unerasable grease spots down my t-shirt. In some karmic way, I was being made to answer for my fast food transgressions.

It's 9:30 p.m. as I type this, and the "treasure trail" of grease defiantly remains on my person. I feel like a six-year old with a five o'clock shadow.

Spider-Man 3 reviewed on STUN!

New today:

A live-to-internet review of the first major blockbuster of the year with Executive Producer (and G.M. of Graham Crackers Comics in the Loop) Patrick Brower.

Is Spider-Man 3 worth seeing on opening weekend? Is it worth seeing at all? Will purists like it? Will anyone with an I.Q. like it? Listen and find out:

http://stun.mypodcast.com

Subscribe to STUN through the new iTunes link:
http://phobos.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?id=252760811

Befriend STUN on Myspace:
http://www.myspace.com/stunpodcast

Dewey Decimal System of a Down

I love going to the library. In fact, I probably go once or twice a week. While I love to read, I just don't think it makes sense to buy a new hardcover book for $15-$25 if I never plan on reading it again. That's where the library saves the day. On a related note: My book will be softcover, and well worth the cover price.

This week I picked up "I Killed," by Ritch Shydner and Mark Schiff, a collection of road stories from America's top stand-up comics. There are some extremely funny stories and lines in there. For instance, Bob Saget offers this:
"The owner told me I was going to follow the last stripper. So I was in the wings watching this girl, and suddenly she set her ***** **** and her ******* on fire. I don't think she actually lit anything on fire--she had some kind of a prothetic ***** shield, like Lee Marvin's nose in Cat Ballou."

It's funnier without the asterisks, but you get the idea.

The main problem I've found with library books is the mongrels who read them before me. I'd have to guess that one out of every four books I read has something that most certainly is a booger plastered to one of the pages. When I see a foreign object like that, I pick my rented book up with hazmat tongs, take it to the bathroom, and remove said object with a tissue. I can't for the life of me figure out why people feel the need to mark their territory like that. Maybe it's the anonymity of it all, kinda how all bets are off in an airport bathroom.

Boogers and desecrated books aside, there's nothing better than the library. I'm in my second renewal period for "Black Order," by James Rollins, and I swear this is going to be the week I finish it!

Another great secret about libraries is the CD section. There's no better way to stock your computer up with guilty pleasures than the free CD rentals your library offers. Not-so-guilty pleasure are readily available, too. I just borrowed discs by Bob Mould, Feist, and the Kinks in the past month or so.

See you in the stacks.

Hit the road

I made plans this past Tuesday to meet two old friends for lunch who I haven't seen much over the past couple of years because of my overnight schedule. I was excited to see them...I was excited just to have an excuse to get out of the house.

I hit Lake Shore Drive just as my iPod shuffle made an uncomfortable transition from "Holy Tears" by Isis into "Adult Education" from Hall and Oates. Within seconds I heard an even more unsettling sound, like something scraping my car. I thought I'd somehow sideswiped another car, but quickly realized that there weren't any cars within striking distance. The driver two lanes over pointed to me and mouthed something through his window, telling me in his pantomime way what I'd already figured out--something not-so-good had just happened to my car.

I quickly changed lanes and got off at Lawrence, parking my car in the first available spot on Marine Drive. When I got out, I learned that my tailpipe and muffler had broken free and were hanging by a rusty thread. I cancelled lunch and called my mechanic.

After getting fired two weeks ago and having my car fall apart on me this week, I await with great anticipation what next week will bring.

By the way, I wanted to find a picture of a tailpipe to accompany my posting on Blogger.com, so I searched Google for "tailpipe picture." Please don't make the same mistake. In clicking a few links, I discovered an entire world of disturbing images previously unknown to me.

"Blades of Glory"

I saw "Blades of Glory" last night and loved it. I've long been a Will Ferrell apologist, even through his awful "Wedding Crashers" cameo and the turgid "Talladega Nights."

"Subtle" comedies have never done much for me. Okay, I'll cop to a love for the Cohen Brothers, but that's pretty much it. In the land of the less-than-subtle, Will Ferrell is king and I am a loyal subject.

In a week where I was in anxious need of amusement, I saw "Blades of Glory" at the exact right time. I'm still giggling over a remark Will Ferrell's character made to skating pro Nancy Kerrigan and belly-laughing about a beheading scene which easily ranks as one of the funniest things I've ever seen on film.

Next week I'll be dissecting "Spider-Man 3" beyond what's appropriate. This week, I was more than sated by the base pleasures of "Blades of Glory."

The Mix tonight

In a last minute addition to the Mix weekend schedule, I'm on the air from 7 p.m-12 a.m. tonight (Sunday). As I'm still new and familiarizing myself with the station's technology and rhythm, there's a great chance I may mess up at some point tonight. Come for the possible JVO trainwreck, stay for Barenaked Ladies tickets...tonight on the Mix (101.9 FM).

The Mix

I snuck on the air two nights ago and had a great time. I'm working again tonight at midnight (12-6 a.m.) and then Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night (7 p.m.-12 a.m.) next week. Thanks for listening!

New STUN! with Tony Akins (Jack of Fables)

Tony Akins, artist for the Eisner-nominated "Jack of Fables," returns to the studio for another lengthy go-round on "STUN!"

Joining me in the studio to co-host this week is Executive Producer Patrick Brower, industry-respected General Manager of the downtown Chicago location of Graham Crackers Comics.

Akins talks about Jack of Fables, the Zeus-like Bill Willingham, science fiction, inspiration, and his past as a military man. In addition, Patrick brought in a stack of books for me the night we recorded the show because I'd been a couple weeks behind in my reading (weeks 49 & 50, to you "52" enthusiasts). He and I went book by book, making unreasonable and sweeping criticisms of each, while Tony politely bit his lip (and chimed in on occasion to praise the likes of Frank Quitely and Mike Allred).

http://stun.mypodcast.com

(NEW iTUNES LINK):
http://phobos.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?id=252760811

James VanOsdol-the update

So...what's new with you?

Here's a quick summary of what I've had going on and been working on since Thursday:

1) Q101. I was cut loose on Friday.

2) WTMX. As of next weekend, I'll be doing some weekend shifts there. The Mix was very quick, very gracious, and very awesome to add me to their part-time line-up. From the Chicago Sun-Times this morning:

"Forced out last week were Todd Fooks, who used the name "Fook" as afternoon host, and James VanOsdol, veteran overnight host and one of the city's most respected rock jocks.

How respected? As soon as word spread about his firing, Van Osdol was grabbed by Bonneville International to host 7 p.m. to midnight Saturdays on hot adult-contemporary WTMX-FM (101.9). He'll also do fill-in work."

Thanks to Robert Feder for the kind words.

3) "Chicago Rocked." Still coming out in August. I'm working on a "book release concert." Seriously. Visit my publisher at:
http://www.lakeclaremont.com

4) STUN! My little vanity comics podcast moves forward this week with Cecil Castellucci, author of "The Plain Janes." You can listen and download at:
http://stun.mypodcast.com
Coming not-too-long after that, like later in the week, is the return of Tony Akins ("Jack of Fables").
You can add STUN! as a Myspace friend, too:
http://www.myspace.com/stunpodcast

5) Correspondence. Needless to say, there's nothing glamorous about getting fired. I got lots of messages and calls since Friday which were incredibly kind and most appreciated. Thank you.

6) Lunches. To everyone who's asked me over the past year and a half, "Hey, when are we doing lunch?" Well, I'm free now. And I'm awake during the day, which should make it easier.

7) Heard of any great M-F job openings?

Thanks for reading,

JVO

Q101

As of 5:30 this morning, I no longer work for Q101. Thanks to everyone who listened for the past year and a half I was there!

Transmitter Maintenance, 4/18/07

1000 Homo DJ’s “Supernaut” (request)
The Narrator “Son of the Son of the Kiss of Death”
Air “Kelly Watch the Stars”
The Auteurs “Chinese Bakery”
Waco Brothers “Pigsville”
Ministry “The Land of Rape and Honey” (On Demand Request)
System of a Down “The Metro”
P.M. Dawn “Downtown Venus”
Afghan Whigs “Honky’s Ladder”
Dandy Warhols “Bohemian Like You” (On Demand Request)
Sondre Lerche (pictured) “Phantom Punch”
Shriekback “Nemesis”

Transmitter Maintenance 4/17/07

Yeti Girls “Don’t Bring Me Down”
Motherhips “White Headphones”
The Jesus Lizard “the Associate”
Peter Murphy “Deep Ocean, Vast Sea” (On Demand Request)
Marilyn Manson “If I Was Your Vampire”
The Mr. T Experience “Crash”
Tuesday “So Awake”
P.J. Harvey “Good Fortune”
Faith No More “Easy” (On Demand Request)
Asobi Seksu “Thursday”
The Cinematics “A Strange Education”
XTC “Dear God” (On Demand Request)
My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult “13 Above the Night”
Iggy Pop “Nightclubbing”

Scott McCloud on STUN!

This week on STUN!:
Scott McCloud, comics scholar and the man responsible for "Understanding Comics" checks in from his 50-state road trip for an interview with me.

Check out the all-new STUN! website:
http://stun.mypodcast.com

Check out the STUN! website's pal:
http://www.myspace.com/stunpodcast

Coming soon!
Cecil Castellucci (Plain Janes/Minx)
Tony Akins (Jack of Fables/Vertigo)

Thanks for listening!

Virginia Tech

Awful, horrible, unthinkable. I was chilled to the bone when I first read the details online yesterday afternoon.

After all these years of being on high alert for bomb and Ebola-carrying terrorists, yesterday's massacre provided a ham-fisted reminder of the reckless evil that can be found within our borders.

I had just finished re-reading "The Plain Janes," a graphic novel by author Cecil Castellucci whom I'm interviewing later today for Stun, when I heard the news. In the book is a Thoreau quote that stuck with me for the rest of the day:
"What's the use of a fine house if you haven't got a tolerable planet to put it on?"

Jamesvanosdol.com

I just overhauled the site with one of the quickie Yahoo templates. I hadn't been able to update the site in its past incarnation, so this was probably long overdue. It's not flashy, sexy, or deep, but it's nifty in its own utilitarian way.

http://www.jamesvanosdol.com

Transmitter Maintenance, 4/13/07

Art Brut “Good Weekend”
Spinanes “Noel, Jonah, and Me”
Travis “Closer”
Plain White T’s “Hey There Delilah” (On Demand Request)
Bob Mould “It’s Too Late”
In Flames “The Quiet Place”
Radiohead “Packd Like Sardines…”
Suicidal Tendencies “Institutionalized” (On Demand Request)
Rocket From the Crypt “On a Rope”
Andrew W.K. Party Hard”
Fishbone “Party at Ground Zero”
Shiny Toy Guns “Le Disko” (On Demand Request)
Knife in the Water “Rene”

Labels: TM

Transmitter Maintenance, 4/12/07

Fiona Apple “Better Version of Me” (On Demand Request)
Placebo “Meds”
Less than Jake “The Science of Selling Yourself Short”
Timo Maas “To Get Down”
Foetus “Butterfly Potion”
Local H “Do You Feel Like I Do”
Life of Agony “Hope”
Grinderman “Depth Charge Ethyl”
Sisters of Mercy “Lucretia My Reflection” (On Demand Request)
Professor Murder “Free Stress Test”

IRON MAN!

The first pic from the Robert Downey movie revealed. It's his first, clunky, grey armor. It looks awesome.

TMNT

I read comic books. Because of that, I tend to see every half-baked, style-over-substance, big budget movie adaptation of a comic or graphic novel. Okay, I haven't seen "300" yet, but I've never been much for gladiator movies.

Because of my weakness, I found myself in a cold theater this afternoon watching "TMNT." I confess to a love of the Ninja Turtles. They're giant turtles who know martial arts and fight crime--impossible to hate, by my estimation.

The movie was an awkward mess. It was too violent and dark (even dark looking; the whole damn movie looked like it was animated in mud) for kids and too unfunny and uninspired for adults. The plot was certainly more convoluted than any kid under ten could possibly grasp and one Foot Clan too many for any other movie-goer.

I wanted to love it. Unfortunately my fondest memory from the film is of an extended Turtle belch, which was already a key selling point in the trailer.

Transmitter Maintenance, 4/11/07

Grinderman “Set Me Free”
Triple Fast Action “Heroes”
Foo Fighters “Learn to Fly” (request)
U2 “Bad” (On Demand Request)
Soft Cell “Sex Dwarf”
Wumpscut “Soylent Green”
Ted Leo “A Bottle of Bucky”
Kate Bush “Love and Anger” (On Demand Request)
Naked Raygun “Rat Patrol”
Queens of the Stone Age “The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret”
Swervedriver “Last Train to Satansville”

New music--Grinderman

Nick Cave's been around so long that his creepy outsider status of the '80s has almost given way to an elder statesman role. Fortunately for us, he just took a giant step backwards.

His new project, Grinderman, is reckless, loose, drunken, dark, and just short of amazing. Forget the piano, Nick's plugged in a guitar, and he's up to his usual misanthropic tricks (including the insistent ode to a junkie prostitute, "Depth Charge Ethyl").

I like my Nick Cave filthy and unsettling. I also miss the arty chaos of the Birthday Party. Grinderman offers up teases of both.

Transmitter Maintenance, 4/10/07

Bjork “Earth Intruders”
LCD Soundsystem “Someone Great”
Helmet with David Yow “Custard Pie”
Yeah Yeah Yeahs “Maps (On Demand Request)
Pretenders “Mystery Achievement”
LL Cool J “Mama Said Knock You Out”
B-52’s “Channel Z”
Umphreys McGee “Bright Lights, Big City”
Mudvayne “Happy” (request)
At the Drive-In “Pattern Against User”
Gym Class Heroes “The Queen and I” (request)
Kings of Leon “Charmer”
Pond “Sideroad”

I'm done with "24"...who's with me?

"24" hasn't been content to merely jump the shark; it's now actively taunting the shark, poking at it with a sharp, briny, stick.

Last night's episode was bad to the point of being funny. I swear, Jack Bauer must've been drinking protein shakes while in that Chinese prison. How else to explain his ability to call CTU while clinging to the undercarriage of a truck that's speeding down the road at 60 mph?

Other lowlights? Here are my bullet points (appropriate for a show with such a huge body count):
-Milo (pictured). Suck it up and get to work. And how about a shave? Grunge is dead.
-CTU sure put together that "fake terrorist rescue" plan in a stunning amount of time.
-Palmer's gamble. Wait a minute, he was able to imagine and implement the fake warhead nuclear brinksmanship ploy only a couple hours after being revived from a coma and only an hour after he was almost removed from office? Really?
-The end of the nuclear suitcase story. Talk about an anti-climax.

Now that the nuclear plotline has wrapped up, the season is twisting back to where we all assumed it was going to start in the first place--with the Chinese. Ooooh, Audrey's still alive! Uh-oh, Jack's gotta go it alone against the scheming Chinese!

I'm going to DVR the rest of the season, but I'm no longer in a hurry to make sure I see "24" live on Monday night anymore.

IN YOUR FACE!

My friend Keith has spent tireless hours compiling a long-overdue website:
http://www.notsoextreme.com

Keith has been working like a CNN-caliber photojournalist, exposing the many misuses of one of the most inappropriately used words in the English language...EXTREME.

The site is brand-new, and will undoubtedly get bigger...and more EXTREME...from here. Hopefully, you'll find it amusing.

Transmitter Maintenance, 4/5/07 & 4/6/07

4/5/07
Verbena “Baby Got Shot”
Midnight Oil “Best of Both Worlds”
Illinois “One on One”
Piebald “American Hearts” (request)
Dinosaur Jr. “Freak Scene”
Chris Connelly “What’s Left But Solid Gold?”
David Bowie “Ashes to Ashes”
Compulsion “Delivery”
Shoplifting “M. Sally”
Superdrag “Sucked Out”
Marilyn Manson “mOBSCENE” (request)
KMFDM “Juke Joint Jezebel” (request)
Tom McRae “Hidden Camera Show”
Galaxie 500 “Strange”

4/6/07
Bittersweet “The Mating Game”
Nash Kato “Born in the Eighties”
Stereophonics “Pick a Part That’s New”
Foo Fighters “Darling Nikki” (On Demand Request)
Pavement “Cut Your Hair”
Corrosion of Conformity “Wiseblood”
Tricky “Black Steel” (On Demand Request)
Beta Band “Dry the Rain”
Hoodoo Gurus “Come Anytime”
Tenacious D “Tribute” (On Demand Request)
Burning Brides “Waring Street”
Guided By Voices “I Am a Scientist”
Bryan Ferry “Kiss and Tell”

Labels: TM

New on STUN!: We're being fleeced!

I just posted a quickie rant about the "big two" companies. D.C. and Marvel are glutting the market with substandard product and we're allowing them to do it.

How much would it cost you to buy all the new D.C. and Marvel original titles next week? Would you believe over $100?

For this episode, I take a hard look at how we've all been suckered in by hype, and how the "big two" are laughing all the way to the bank.

ALSO: Don't forget the recently-posted interview with the creative team behind "White Picket Fences" (Ape Entertainment).

http://stun.mypodcast.com
NEW SITE! IT'S COLORFUL AND FUN!

Labels: STUN

Negligent dancing

Chicago makes national headlines again:

http://www.cnn.com/2007/LAW/04/03/negligent.dancing.ap/index.html

I don't mean to snicker, but...

Was she dancing with the Hulk? Honestly...I can't lift a 50-pound bag of dog food without feeling like I'm going to violently extrude my lower intestine. What sort of training regimen must one go through in order to toss another human being that high in the air?

Labels: People are stoopid

Transmitter Maintenance, 4/4/07

The Clientele “Bookshop Casanova”
Amy Winehouse “Back to Black”
Psychedelic Furs “Sister Europe”
Dropkick Murphys “The Dirty Glass” (On Demand Request)
Dead Milkmen “Instant Club Hit” (request)
Big Stick “Panther”
The Hold Steady “Take Me Out to the Ball Game”
Catherine Wheel “Black Metallic”
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club “Weapon of Choice”
Rob Zombie “Living Dead Girl” (On Demand Request)
Skinny Puppy “Chainsaw” (request)
Nosferatu “Lucy is Red”

Labels: TM

"24": Awful.

I grudgingly played along with a lot of the "you've gotta be kidding me" ridiculousness of the past few weeks of "24," but it was last week's "Very Special Episode" that effectively killed the rest of the season for me. To recap, that was the episode where Jack had to befriend a mentally handicapped savant in order to capture Gredenko. It was like watching "What's Eating Gilbert Grape" and "the Peacemaker" at the same time--only without the benefit of Leonardo DiCaprio or Nicole Kidman.

The awfulness of that episode forced me to look at the season and last night's episode more critically, and last night's episode was another clunker. The power struggle between Palmer and Daniels doesn't make any sense, nor does the about-face from Palmer at the end of the episode. And furthermore, Palmer was in a coma TWO HOURS AGO in "24" time. That's like being in a Chinese prison and only hours later cheating death, torturing your brother, and breaking into the Russian Embassy.

I've had enough of the interrogation scenes, too. At this point, when I hear Jack say, "You're going to tell me what I need to know," I roll my eyes and wait for the "SAW" moment to be over.

I thought for sure when the suitcase nuke went off early in the season that this was going to be the season. I was wrong. Like the interrogation scenes, I'm now starting to think that "24" has overstayed its welcome. Bring on the movie prequels.

Transmitter Maintenance, 4/3/07

Linkin Park “What I’ve Done”
Mando Diao “Long Before Rock and Roll”
Curve “Superblaster”
Jarvis Cocker “Fat Children”
Pop Will Eat Itself “Can U Dig It?”
Public Image Limited “This is Not a Love Song” (On Demand Request)
Jane’s Addiction “Mountain Song”
Dynamite Hack “Boyz n the Hood” (request)
The Gossip “Arkansas Heat”
Arwin “Meant to Be”
Bouncing Souls “Ole” (request)
The Raincoats “No One’s Little Girl”
Velvet Revolver “Sucker Train Blues”
Elastica “Connection”
Firewater “Dropping Like Flies”

Take the Money and Run

I ordered Domino's pizza the other night. Before I continue, I'll let you get it out of your system ("Blasphemy!" "Of all the pizza delivery at your disposal, that's what you went with?" "Heinous, flavorless, cardboard, vomit pie!"). Feel better? Let me continue.

The price of my order was $22 (which included cheesy bread and cinnamon stix, both of which are delightful). I handed the driver a $20 and a $10 and said "Can I have three dollars back?" He smiled and waved his hand. Then he started walking back to his car. Maybe he kept his change in the front seat, I thought. As he was halfway down my walk, I was convinced that wasn't the case. Then I said in a more stern voice, "Can I have...THREE...DOLLARS...back please?" He waved again, then got in his car and drove away.

I called my local Domino's and spoke with a manager who said he'd have the driver come back with my money. I told him I didn't want the driver to come back, and asked that he just "credit" my phone number for my next order. He said he couldn't do that, though after some back and forth, he agreed to it.

Obviously it's not the fact that I'm out three bucks. It's the fact that the grinning jackass driver smiled as he took my money, netting an $8 tip for a $22 delivery.

This is my punishment for ordering heinous, flavorless, cardboard, vomit pie.

Labels: The evil that men do

Transmitter Maintenance, 3/30/07

Blonde Redhead “Spring and By Summer”
Gay Dad “Dimstar”
Waterboys “Glastonbury Song”
Korn “Shoots and Ladders” (On Demand Request)
Reverend Horton Heat “One Time for Me”
Oasis “Supersonic”
Devo “Peek-a-Boo” (On Demand Request)
Say Hi to Your Mom “Blah Blah Blah”
Replacements “Alex Chilton” (request)
Archer Prewitt “Good Man”
She Wants Revenge “Tear You Apart” (request)
Radiohead “I Might Be Wrong”
Wellwater Conspiracy “Felicity’s Surprise”

Labels: TM

Transmitter Maintenance, 3/29/07

The Dollyrots “My Best Friend’s Hot”
Ringo Deathstarr “Some Kind of Sad”
Siouxsie and the Banshees “Cities in Dust”
Posies “Dream All Day”
Ponys “1209 Seminary”
Jim Carroll Band “People Who Died” (On Demand Request)
Jim Carroll Band “It’s Too Late”
Muse “Muscle Museum”
Soundtrack of Our Lives “Sister Surround”
Time Zone “World Destruction”
Shiny Toy Guns “You Are the One” (On Demand Request)
Pere Ubu “Say Goodbye”
Meat Puppets “Backwater” (request)
Stooges “I Wanna Be Your Dog”

Labels: TM

STUN update

I think I'm in love with the ease of the new website:

http://stun.mypodcast.com

I'm still loading in all the old interviews, and that may take a while. For now, though, marvel at the mere fact that pictures accompany the episodes--a STUN first!

If anyone knows how to switch iTunes feeds, please email me (stunpodcast@yahoo.com). That's one piece of the puzzle I desperately need to take care of soon.

In the coming weeks, listen for interviews with Kaare Andrews, the crew behind White Picket Fences, and the return of the gregarious Tony Akins. I've been moving slowly on booking guests for STUN during the web host transition, but that'll pick back up soon.

Labels: STUN

Spam

I have to give full credit to the spammers of today. They continue to find new ways to get me to take the bait. For instance, I just got an email at my Q101.com account with the subject header "Modest Mouse and Johnny Marr." I fully expected it to be a disgruntled long-time Modest Mouse fan decrying the influence of the former Smiths guitarist. I wasn't even close. Here's what followed:

<industry right now? It's called VOIP and it's taking the
sector by Storm. We are bringing you an Amazing Play that
is Right in the Thick of the business.

This winner is Peopleline Telecom (PPTM). As with all Tech
plays it's about Catching that Rising Star on the Ground
floor and riding it Up.

PPTM is in just such a position. Trading at around 30
cents with Astounding news on the way, this is one play you
can't afford to miss! The Upcoming news and Promotion is
going to see this one at around $1.00 in no time!>>

Bravo. While I wasn't convinved to invest in Peopleline Telecom, I totally admire the backdoor way they got their message to me.

Of course, only seconds later, I got a spam email that read:

T*** f****** and gets f***** c******.

I love you, world wide web.

Labels: The evil that men do

Transmitter Maintenance, 3/28/07

Mudhoney “Judgment, Rage, Retibution, and Thyme”
Soul Asylum “Misery” (On Demand Request)
Old ‘97s “Jagged”
The Rakes “When Tom Cruise Cries”
My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult “Devil Bunnies”
This is Me Smiling “Goodbye to Each New Day”
Social Distortion “Ball and Chain” (On Demand Request)
Bob Marley “No Woman, No Cry” (On Demand Request)
Broken West “Down in the Valley”
Ted Leo “Bomb.Repeat.Bomb”
System of a Down “B.Y.O.B.”
The Jesus and Mary Chain “Upside Down” (request)
Therapy? “Screamager”

Labels: TM

New home for STUN!

The short version of this post: http://stun.mypodcast.com

The long version:

The way STUN! is strung together is a huge headache. Follow along, if you will:

-I record the interview on Garageband, then upload it to iTunes. Once in iTunes, I convert the file to MP3.

-I then take the MP3 and upload it to Odeo, which takes forever. Making matters worse, it's not dependable. I've tried for the past two days to upload something to Odeo, and it simply won't register. Worse, Odeo support hasn't responded to my emails.

-Once in Odeo, I take the code from the MP3 location and open up Wordpress. Once there, I take the Odeo code and embed it into a post. I then duplicate that post and create a separate page on Wordpress.

It's a pain, and enough to drive me into the arms of another. Enter Mypodcast. Another free service, they've created a streamlined, "one stop" site that allows listeners to listen and download from the same site. On the back end, they make lots of things easier for the not-so-tech savvy, including an iTunes submission form that makes dressing up a podcast for iTunes a breeze.

I'm slowly--and I mean slowly--going to transition over to Mypodcast. It's just going to be simpler for both you and I. I'll continue to update http://stunpodcast.wordpress.com, provided I can ever get Odeo to update again. I have no idea how to switch iTunes RSS feeds, but it's on my "list" of things to do. Thanks for your patience and continued support.

http://stun.mypodcast.com

Labels: STUN

Transmitter Maintenance, 3/27/07

Kara’s Flowers “Myself”
Maroon 5 “Makes Me Wonder”
Bloodhound Gang “Fire Water Burn” (On Demand Request)
B-52’s “Channel Z”
Arcade Fire “Black Mirror”
Badly Drawn Boy “Nothing’s Gonna Change My Mind”
Not Rebecca “Nothing Is Forever”
System of a Down “Aerials” (request)
Killswitch Engage “Rose of Sharyn”
Elanors “She Had a Dream”
Nine Inch Nails “Sin” (On Demand Request)
Interpol “PDA”
Roots “The Seed”

Labels: TM

Best webpage ever

Click this link to read an absolutely hysterical list of the most unintentionally funny comics panels ever. It's hard to pick a favorite, though I'm leaning towards the Betty & Me cover and the Justice League panel (#1).

http://www.yesbutnobutyes.com/archives/2007/03/top_15_unintent.html

Transmitter Maintenance, 3/23/07

Screeching Weasel “Static” (request)
Pennywise “Same Old Story”
The National “Fake Empire”
Specials “Concrete Jungle”
Catherine Wheel “Waydown”
Slipknot “Before I Forget” (request)
Pearl Jam “Hail Hail”
The Rakes “When Tom Cruise Cries”
Paul Weller “Uh Huh Oh Yeh”
Alkaline Trio “Stupid Kid” (request)
New Wet Kojak “Do the Math”
Fine Young Cannibals “Johnny Come Home”
Incubus “Drive” (acoustic, request)
Shock Stars “Baby Baby”

America's Next Cop Model

Anthony Abbate--drunk with power. Just plain drunk.

I tried to watch the video footage of the Chicago cop wailing on a 115-pound bartender, but I couldn't get past the first few seconds. From the beating through the alleged hush money offered to the victim, this is classic Chicago corruption.

But what of the man with the cell phone at the bar who didn't jump in to try and help the bartender? Should he have jumped in? In theory, sure. However, most people don't have the "interference gene" that takes them from "observer" to "hero." In fact, most people when confronted with criminal behavior often act in absolute denial. Self-preservation tends to be a strong motivator.

I witnessed a drive-by last year. It was truly the most frightening thing I've ever seen. Other bystanders laughed it off--"It's probably a toy gun;" "I'm sure someone else called the cops." It wasn't a toy gun, and that not-toy gun was fired into a public park where children were playing. People just can't be bothered. Everyone hopes that whatever crisis intersects with their lives will pass quickly.

I'm not at all surprised by the cell phone guy. It's perhaps unfair to make him a "bad guy" in a story that already has such an obvious antagonist. And honestly, I'm not convinced I'd have jumped in front of a 200+ pound drunken cop either.

Abbate went into a substance abuse program after the incident. I hope he got the help he needs. The Chicago Police Department doesn't have the benefit of a month's cleansing--the blemish from this incident will haunt their perceptual image for a while.

James vs. stomach (stomach wins)

I went out for a kickass Mexican dinner on Tuesday night. Mexican food, especially when done well, remains a favorite of mine. Cheese! Hot stuff! Bottomless chips! I'm in!

Almost immediately after the meal (which didn't conclude with the customary flan), my stomach started feeling kinda strange. Maybe I'd had too much to eat? Well, that was a given, but I wasn't feeling the way I usually do after a good binge eating.

Heading into my airshift, I felt...strange. I couldn't shake the discomfort that was coming from my abdomen. I started to get periodic rushes of saliva to the back of my throat which reminded me of some extreme bedspin moments in college. I felt periodic chills. I chalked everything up to fatigue. I never sleep, and because of that, my body tends to rebel against me at any opportunity.

By 4 a.m., I felt queasy and seriously uncomfortable. By 5, I was feeling full-on sick and couldn’t wait to bolt out the station door. I started to get the cold sweats and chills in the car on my way home. Fatigue had nothing to do with what was going on with me. I was barfy. No doubt about it.

I tried to throw up when I walked in the door, but I was apparently jumping the gun. I sprawled out on the couch, basically waiting for the flood. My stomach's voice grew louder by the minute, making noises like the death rattle of a German Shepherd.

By 7 a.m., I dove into the bathroom and hit the dirt. Within seconds, my stomach was pumping out a fiesta of undigested Mexican food. I’d forgotten how truly miserable vomiting is. You can’t stop it from coming—your body works totally independent of your mind. I went a few rounds and then tucked myself in to bed, where I instantly fell asleep.

Then I woke up at 8:15 to throw up. Then 9:30. I also woke up at 11 and 12 feeling nauseous, but not nauseous enough to hurl. I stayed in bed for the rest of the day, which was a good 17 hours or so.

I feel better today--though by "better," I mean "not barfy."

Transmitter Maintenance, 3/21/07

Andrew Bird "Heretics"
Catherine "Songs About Girls"
Tripping Daisy "I Got a Girl" (request)
The Village Green "When the Creepers Creep"
Hot Hot Heat "Middle of Nowhere"
Dead Kennedys "Rawhide"
Static-X "Push It" (request)
Alice In Chains "Again"
Faith No More "We Care A Lot"
I'm From Barcelona "Collection of Stamps"
Sloan "People of the Sky"
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds "Red Right Hand"
Filter "Welcome to the Fold" (request)

Transmitter Maintenance, 3/20/07

The Ponys "Double Vision"
Was (Not Was) "Dad I'm In Jail"
Karate "There Are Ghosts"
Naked Raygun "Home of the Brave" (On Demand Request)
AFI "Leaving Song Pt.2"
Sufjan Stevens "Chicago"
Ministry "Just One Fix" (On Demand Request)
Anthrax/Public Enemy "Bring the Noise"
The Jesus Lizard "Mailman"
X "Johnny Hit and Run Pauline"
Shiny Toy Guns "Le Disko" (On Demand Request)
Goldfrapp "Ooh La La"
Vandals "Summer Nights"
Metric "Too Little Too Late"

New STUN! episode

I just added another podcast to the STUN! website (http://stunpodcast.wordpress.com):

Just added: KAUSTUBH PANDAV

His voice guided Lucky Boys Confusion through close to ten years of music, including two major label releases for Elektra Records. These days, singer Kaustubh Pandav has dropped anchor in a new band called Shock Stars (http://www.myspace.com/shockstars). In this episode, Kaustubh joined James in the studio to talk music and superhero comics.

Labels: STUN

"Chicago Rocked" update

August, 2007.

Keep an eye on this space for information about a huge event planned to coincide with the book's release date!

Labels: Chicago Rocked

New iMix on Q101.com

I just submitted my latest iMix to the Q101.com iTunes Music Store curator. It should be up within 48 hours.

Stripped down and ready for Spring
So long, Winter, and thanks for a suckfest of a February. Spring's here, and with it a breezy mix of acoustic-based songs to aid in your lakefront jog or patio chair lounging.

Nick Drake "Pink Moon"
The Shins "New Slang"
Nirvana "Where Did You Sleep Last Night"
Ani Di Franco "Outta Me, Onto You"
Elliott Smith "Waltz, No. 2"
Iron & Wine "Naked As..."
The Jam "That's Entertainment"
Incubus "Drive"
Johnny Cash "Folsom Prison Blues"
Mazzy Star "Halah"
Guster "Fa Fa"
Sublime "What I Got"
Billy Bragg "Waiting for the Great Leap Forward"

Labels: Q101

By Od's blood

Eric Adams of Manowar was quoted recently about the band's forthcoming concept album about Norse legends:

"At the very end, all of the fallen warriors are risen from the dead by Odin and brought into Valhalla. I can tell you this much...anybody who comes to see this show will be taken to Valhalla. We're bringing the whole audience there."

Critics and music fans think it's cute when an emo singer talks about a life lived by the throw of an eight-sided die. When a metal band gets all Wagner and "Thor," it's a giggleworthy affair.

Total hypocrisy. Bring on the valkyries, I say.

Felons love my podcast!

One of the nifty features of STUN is that I can see what word or words people are Googling or Yahooing to find the podcast.

Ever since Captain America was 86'd, I've had a lot of searches for Ed Brubaker come my way. Most days, I'll also see hits trickle in from fans of creators like Alex Ross and Brad Meltzer. Today, however, I saw a search come to my e-door that chilled me cold:

"how to stun a person in one shot"

Clearly, this person landed in the wrong place. But I do hope that, before clicking off my podcast site, he or she took the time to listen to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles podcast with Jim Lawson. It's a delight.

Labels: STUN

Transmitter Maintenance, 3/16/07

Dropkick Murphys “The Dirty Glass”
Flogging Molly “Rebels of the Sacred Heart”
Black 47 “Funky Ceili”
The Pogues “Tuesday Morning”
Sinead O’Connor “Mandinka”
Public Enemy “911 is a Joke”
Harvey Danger “Flagpole Sitta” (On Demand Request)
Art Brut “Good Weekend”
Grandaddy “Now It’s On”
Iggy Pop “Some Weird Sin” (request)
Pegboy “Never a Question”
NOFX “Bottles to the Ground” (request)
Oblivion “Bob and Weave”
Inspiral Carpets “Two Worlds Collide” (request)

Skype

For the past two months, Skype has thwarted me in every phoner I recorded for "STUN!" The VOIP service mangled, stretched out, and interrupted my interviewees' words in horrible ways that required hours in post-production to clean up.

In need of help, I'd searched the Skype forums, which aren't all that busy or helpful. I searched the internet and found endless jargon-heavy blogs that pushed me into complete intellectual shutdown. Finally, I ran across a blog this morning that mentioned a packet number (found in advanced preferences) that Skype should be running with. I checked mine and realized that it was way off. Worse, I couldn't change it. Out of ideas, my last ditch effort was to upgrade my Skype to the version released two months ago. Sometimes the simplest solutions are the best--it instantly solved my problem.

I recorded my Jim Lawson interview one hour later, and the call was crystal clear and without a single setback. After hanging up, I cursed the fact that I had to endure hideous phone quality for interviews with Eric Wight, Marv Wolfman, and John Jackson Miller. At least things will be better in the future.

Ninja Turtles podcast with Jim Lawson

Um, Cowabunga, dude.

Just released: An all-new episode of STUN!
http://stunpodcast.wordpress.com

The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are returning to the silver screen this month, so it’s a perfect time to check in with Mirage Studios and writer/artist Jim Lawson. Lawson’s been with Mirage since the very early days, and since then his work has been a constant presence on the Turtles books, including TMNT and Tales of the TMNT. He’s also put his talents into a handful of other fine Mirage projects (Dino Island, Paleo, Planet Racers).

Lawson talks about his longevity, the Turtles, and the strange inconsistencies with the TMNT publishing schedule in a year of heightened Turtles awareness.

Thanks for listening,
James "Shredder? I hardly know 'er" VanOsdol

A vegetarian walks into Chili's...

I went to Chili's for dinner tonight, proving once again that FM radio D.J.'s are hard-living, urban warrior, rockstars.

While my friend and I waited for a table, I strained to hear their house system. The song was familiar, but difficult to identify over the sound of middle America plowing through bottomless bowls of tortilla chips. "Wait a minute," I said, "that's the Stranglers."
"Huh?" he said.
"The Stranglers. 'Skin Deep.'"
"So?"
"I dunno. I'd expect something different from Chili's. Like Rob Thomas. Or Fall Out Boy."
My friend rolled his eyes. "I'm sure it's just some syndicated muzak thing."
"I'm sure it is," I said, "but isn't that cool?"
"Sure."
"I mean, it's no 'Golden Brown' or 'No More Heroes,' but it's still the Stranglers."
"Whatever, James."
"Come on...humor me."

Even though I'm a vegetarian, I can usually find something to eat at any restaurant I go to (in a world where even Burger King has a veggie burger, it's not as far-fetched as you'd expect). Chili's was slim pickin's for me; the only menu option being a black bean burger substitution for their regular meatwiches. The black bean burger was strangely kickass. For that matter, I was strangely comfortable at Chili's.

Maybe it's the fact that I have Indiana genes embedded into my body chemistry, but I've never been interested in Chicago's trendy restaurants. The thought of waiting more than 30 minutes for a seat, then spending $40 a person to sit three inches away from a neighboring table is a complete turn-off for me. Don't get me wrong...I like good food. I love dozens of different cuisines, from Indian to Italian, Persian to Thai. I appreciate inventive recipes and off-the-wall culinary blends. It's the culture of dining I have no use for. Besides, why should I wait in line at a "cool" Randolph Street restaurant when my local Chili's is playing the Stranglers?

Lock Mess

The lock on my driver's side door has turned on me. Last week, I was unable to open it from inside or outside my car. I had to enter and exit through the passenger side, which was a comedic blend of kicking the cup holder, smashing into the steering wheel, and getting footprints on the windshield. After a few days of hilarity, the lock started working again.

Cut to last night on my way to work. After stopping for coffee at the Caribou by Clark and Diversey, I got back in my car and the door wouldn't close. It bounced open. After some fidgeting, I got it closed and then drove to the Merchandise Mart. Once parked, I realized that my door was again unopenable, leading me to kick the cup holder, smash into the steering wheel, and put my footprints on the windshield.

I'd love to be a responsible car owner and say that I'm going to the mechanic as soon as he opens, but it's 4 a.m. right now and I've been up for the better part of the past 24 hours. I may be kicking the cup holder for a few more days.

Transmitter Maintenance, 3/15/07

Stranglers “Skin Deep”
Ministry “Every Day is Halloween” (On Demand Request)
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah “Satan Said Dance”
KMFDM “Light” (On Demand Request)
Dictators “I Got You Babe”
Rise Against “Swing Life Away”
HORSE the Band “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles”
Robyn Hitchcock “Driving Aloud (Radio Storm)”
Stereolab “Ping Pong”
Grant Lee Buffalo “Mockingbirds”
Von Bondies “C’mon C’mon”

Transmitter Maintenance, 3/14/07

Smashing Pumpkins “Siva” (request)
The Prodigy “Spitfire”
Girls Against Boys “She’s Lost Control”
That Petrol Emotion “Hey Venus”
Thunderwing “The Pickup”
The White Stripes “The Hardest Button to Button”
Mercury Rev “Holes”
Cake “Comfort Eagle”
Stone Temple Pil

JVO

2/13/2009

I'm never here.

1/22/2009

New at blog.jamesvanosdol.com-Social Networking and Clear Channel

1/19/2009

Radio's State of the Union

website

1/16/2009

Numb

1/12/2009

Good morning, Chicago (thoughts about stuff)

1/02/2009

Operation Music Digitization

12/18/2008

Good morning, Chicago

12/17/2008

Return to Kuma's Corner

12/16/2008

Trapped in downtown Chicago

12/12/2008

Spare the Rod...

12/07/2008

Steve Dahl

Catching up on odds and ends...

JVO in Newcity again

10/29/2008

JVO in Newcity this week

10/27/2008

Non-crime scene

10/23/2008

The economy's in ruin? Don't tell comic collectors.

10/15/2008

Greetings from Terminal E

10/14/2008

The right to shoes

10/11/2008

"Along Came a Spider" review

10/02/2008

Dear Sarah Palin,

10/01/2008

The city by the lake

9/18/2008

Star Wars

9/17/2008

Georg-au revoir

9/16/2008

How the other half lives...

9/15/2008

ORD2ATL

Waterlog, 9/15/08

9/10/2008

Stuff, 9/10/08

9/08/2008

White Sox, Bleak VMAs, Pink Face

9/07/2008

Costco

9/03/2008

A Bullet Dodged

8/30/2008

Alice Cooper at the Genessee

8/26/2008

And now, a word from the Cook County Circuit Court

8/25/2008

Back to Work

8/20/2008

Notes from an at-home vacation

8/05/2008

Hello from Jacksonville, FL--miscellaneous thoughts

7/22/2008

"The Dark Knight"

7/05/2008

Taste shootings

7/01/2008

Mister Bigpants

6/24/2008

Eating like a convict

Cold Storage

6/20/2008

The danger of Iran