Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Hey I can post from work

Lookie here people. I am still figuring out the cheapest internet cost for the apartment but I now know the blog is not blocked by corporate. Longstory short, a new reason to stay late or come in early. By the way, hi Tiffany. Let me know how you came across the blog. To everyone else a real blog is coming soon.

Coming tomorrow... The A.M. Grand Prix

Thursday, March 24, 2005

Thanks Woodridge

Tonight is my last post while residing in the bustling apathy of Woodridge. I look forward to being apart of the on place that people give the broad name to and yet is understood. The city. There is something wonderful about the move. No one expects you to come to them for the next two months. There is so much effort in moving that we all understand the plight that comes to leaving where you just busted tail to get to.

I have way to much crap. I am about neck deep in nostalgia and fraternal glassware. The pain of exhaustion is something wonderful. I really would like to write more but I am beat.

Next posting will most likely be the first post from my own place. Salvation, Mr. Dufrane comes from within.

Sunday, March 20, 2005

Move Over Betty

Holy cow do I have a lot of crap. The whole moving would be much quicker if I had alzheimers. I think the worst part of it all is awakening the dust demons. Photo albums always seem to get another life when the move comes. There are a lot of people that I have not been in touch with, whether intentional or not- I am still managing.

By this time next week I will be in the new digs and it should be something short of wonderful. Nothing like taking a day from work to move on Friday and Saturday and then rest for like five hours of sleep only to have to return to the same house I just moved from for Easter brunch.

I don't mind the brunch, I love it. On a purely selfish level I would like to meet the week after I movet. What can you do? How about if you go to church less than ten times a year you can't celebrate the holidays. I believe in God, I believe in the sacraments, but I also believe God wants the relationship to be more than the twice a year charade of faith.

I think most people celebrate the holidays because they fear the surfacing of their own religious apathy. When I go to the brunches, dinners- at like 3 in the afternoon (that's a late lunch but I digress)the only time we discuss the holiday is when we say "happy Easter." The rest of the day is about the prospective summer plans, and the best of all - the ol' family grudges. Now that's not how the whole day is but those are the highlights.


I went to practice softball on Saturday and well that was fun. Cold but fun. Initially, my diving was at mid-season futility, but then I committed to the task moreover and dove, snagged the ball, summersaulted, and popped up to through the ball back in. My batting was a whole other story. It's spring training for a reason folks.


My friend got into the Phd program and called me at work about it. I almost got fired. Upon telling me that he got in I almost slipped and said "dude, that's fucking tits!" Fortunately I had some tact left over from when I chose not to use it when talking to my boss.

So I had two shows this weekend that were not the stellar shows you all pay boku bucks for. However, I did have some shining moments which only keeps me focused on the task at hand and reluctant to get into a monogomous relationship.

Saturday, March 19, 2005

Blackout 2

(old man and two kids sitting around table)

kid 1: Wow Grandpa that's a cool story.

Grandpa: Well it's just one of many-

kid 2: Is that how you hurt your knee?

Grandpa: No, I'm fat.


3 Hour Notice

Show @ the Cornservatory Theater
4210 N. Lincoln
$8 BYOB (yeah it's that classy)

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Blackout 1

(man 1 on phone)

Man 1: ...yeah I know that will never happen.
(enter Man 2)

Man 2: what's going on?

Man 1: ...are you kidding? That's going to ruin everything!

Man 2: what? what is it?

Man 1: ...hold on. Hey, why are you all up in my business, grandpa?

Man 2: I'm a part of your life too.

Man 1: Well, why don't you act like the silent partner and shut the fuck up! - So, you were saying?


Tuesday, March 15, 2005

The Numbers Game

Somewhere somebody is counting on the trivial to make it all worth while. The life of staticians is one that I simply don't follow. They have the uncanny sense of insight. In a way they kind of are like welcomed psychics. How does somebody know that they should be recognizing the number of attempts one makes while there is a Kentucky blue grass beneath them?

My own conspiracy theory is that whenever the commentator to an event says "has _ consecutive conversions" I know there is a miss coming. For that I believe the game is fixed. There is a line of necessity for numbers. I see no sense in telling me stats that are not in the boxscore. When will I care how many times a player shoots threes after coming off whooping cough? Never.

We have run out of things to talk about because the true stats are tainted so now we look to the gym class stats that make heros look like gods and scrubs look like heros. The inflation of success is an issue all on its own. We have become so set on surpassing the past that we simply look for the quickest way to piss on the image of persaverance.

Sure there are some pure numbers being made right now. I honestly have eaten pizza for six straight days. The longest I have gone is thirteen. So this could happen but like a hitting streak let's not let the media taint my efforts with questions of scandals like an eating disorder or high cholesterol.

College was wonderful since we would go for either consecutive days, hours, or minutes of drinking and that judged our level of clout on campus* (*all clout was contigent upon class attendance and gpa).

Somewhere out there a numbers fiend is keeping tally of their office job. No one cares, but once there is the happy hour the statician reveals their power. The brute control over numbers and their necessity to link life to a random stat that will 97% of the time do one thing, kill the conversation. I wish there were some way to show appreciation to the statician for all their hard work. I guess I will just have to work on my blank stare and "Oh Really?!:

Monday, March 14, 2005

Pre-Paid Pain

I got my direct deposit notice today. Swell. Not so much they switched something. I made less money while working the same hours. Then with my Columbo capabilities, I noticed it was the benefits. My pre-tax deductions set in. Just when I thought life had some form of compassion.

Damn near $200 off my check. That's almost another eight weeks at second city. Lost, or until I get hit by a bus, or retire to Milwaukee- not everyone can afford the Hamptons. I told my mom of the burden and she tried to calm me down with, "it's only once a month." I then reminded her that I only get two checks a month.

Are we almost at the age where celebrations are more resisted than accepted. There are way too many people being happy and throwing parties. See if you don't throw parties- not all like that deal, then you get caught giving 90% of the time. Nothing wrong with it as long as you get more than two checks a month.

I walked past a Dunkin Donuts in the city that is closed per the request of the Mayor's Dumpster Patrol. Two things worry me. One, for Mayor Daley to acknowledge corruption before it goes page 1, that's amazing. Two, to what degree of flunkie is a dumpster patrol person? I now know who is below the crossing guard.

Today I used whipped wax instead of hair gel. Although my hair remained manageable and shiny, it did have a wax coating that smeared onto my forehead. My mom mentioned that it has a minor scent that I wouldn't notice. True, the scent of women's hair product is minor after the first four hours of predominate feminity scents coming from my scalp.

I went to the gym to ruun and got all the way to the locker room of crazy old naked men only to realize I had forgotten my white socks. If I ran in black argyles and then walked around for fifteen minutes naked in the locker room, I would unofficially qualify for social security.

Sunday, March 13, 2005

Toys in the Attic

Coming to an open mic near you...the revised material from my college showcase. I don't know why I sat on it for so long but, what better time than now.

Friday, March 11, 2005


There are certain thresholds that people cross that simply ruin their credibility. I was listening to the radio and there was actually an Aerosmith song that at one point Steven says..."GUITAR!!!" and then the GUITAR wails out. Thank you Steven Tyler for making me realize that behind monumental success there stands a boy, a very akward one with beer bought friends.

The whole concept of announcing something that is already there is crazy. How is this even cool to the band? No one goes rocking out and screams ..."KEYBOARD!!" If 3/4 of the band is comfortable with the audience recognizing the instrument what makes the guitar so freaking special? Maybe if it were used as much as the triangle I could see the necessity in the announcement.

Playing the guitar is something most people try. These are the people trying to rehab their lonely nights into busy ones. I think it woud be a sight to meet the one guitar playing virgin. It's understood. A guitar equals sex. No one argues, no one asks questions. Once that guitar is left out for someone to see the foreplay has begun.

Why? Maybe it's the multi-tasking capabilities with having both hands moving and grooving together. Maybe it's that for 3.5 minutes someone is not directly focusing on anyone in particular. Attention is power. When we take it or give it people notice. Some of them even derobe.

When women take their clothes off at a concert what are they expecting to happen? First of all, if I am paying x ammount of dollars, I want the show to be on stage. If some box is taking her top off and it affects the band, just imagine the repercussions that will insue once they realize how scuzzy she really is.

Is flashing really the ultimate sign of approval. Are the nipples that high on the scale of bodily justification. The nips must be at least the polar opposite of the middle finger. No one shows their chest unless life is euphoric. At the same time, you really can tell what someone has been up to when they lift that shirt. Either way we all look to see.

Thursday, March 10, 2005

A New Lease on Life

It's over. The apartment search has concluded and yes people it is possible to find a one bedroom that is nice, affordable, and not in a government housing project. I was growing horribly tired of the crapholes I was visiting. Many fit the shoebox size comparison, and a few were more like the shoebox the dead hamster was put in.

I almost went studio but didn't because I would never leave my bed. It would be this catch all for activity that should not be had in a bed. The day I no longer dine in my bed I will finally reach that potential my teachers spoke of.

Never will I trust the words of the newspaper. When reading a classified without a photo I started to give the benefit of the doubt to the owners. People who don't use a photo are frankly cheaper than ten cent Ramen they eat on Thanksgiving. The concept behind the garden apartment is a strange one. The garden is an ideal segue between mom's basement and an actual apartment. Personally, my decision came from realizing I have more head room in my Malibu.

Features are what get us to sign, right? Some of the less fortunate places were throwing anything but decency at me. My favorite line a realitor said was "it will look much better before you move in, so just keep that in mind." One of my concerns is that it is near an L stop. When asked about the nearest locale, the woman said "there is one really close to here. All you have to do is walk about two blocks east, grab a cab or the bus and take it a mile to Division." Everyone has their own definition of close I guess.

There was one place that was an old hotel. It was pretty sweet but at the same time the mystique of dirty politicians bootleg brandy is more than stale for my liking. The owner was walking around with some death scented stogie and he walked with the swager of one that knows the shit smell is coming from their own shoe. His kitchen rivaled the easy bake oven, the sink looked like an Alabama lawn ornament. In the bathroom, the color scheme was asylum white with grout black. The toilet was something out of the Alcatraz section of Pottery Barn. To top it off the place came with the Murphy's bed. You know the one that comes out of the wall. I sure think it was called a herpes bed with the general apperance of a spotted uncooked processed grey government meat.

I like my new place because it is well, in the city, near the L, and most of all the gas station will actually allow you to enter the building to pay for gas- I think. Incase you're looking to move here's my guide to staying out of the ghetto.

1. If there are more Currency Exchanges than Starbucks in a mile - no go
2. If you have to pay for gas by sliding the money in the drawer as the 1st generation employee shudders in fear - no go
3. If the nicest car on the block doesn't have THAT much rust - no go.

Happy Hunting.

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

News Flash

Ok first the good news. This past Saturday the two man debut of The Inseam Asylum went well. There was 16 people there to see us alone plus the other guests. Nice job on the byob policy.

Now the even better news. I will be performing stand up at Donny's Sky Box @ Second City next Sunday at 6pm. Then on the 20th The Inseam Asylum will be performing at Donny's Sky Box @ Second City. $5 at the door. Alcohol served too. This is big so hopefully you can make it. The theater is on the 3rd floor of Piper's Alley.


I think I understand why the european culture refrains from moving out until marriage. The search for an apartment is as fun as trying to determine the sexual history of an one night stand. You can take it at face value but it's in your best interest to listen to your gut.

Many people compare a small apartment to that of a shoebox. Well, I recently have seen the one that I put my dead hamster in when I was ten. Never can you have the chance to control unless you build it up yourself. If there are old folks homes why can't we have the youth movement centers? I just wish that I could walk to a bar, the L, and get to a highway with relative ease and not have to worry about people that have never lived in Chicago telling me where the bad people live. Which for anyone outside of suburbia bad people commonly are known as minorities.

If I were to ever fall for one minority which I could see only because of sheer posibility, it would be a wonderful life with a soundrack of whispers. Why do I even discuss this matter? There is now a bounty that I will marry in the next 5 years. SImply because my brother and sister married 5 years apart. Mathematics aside, I know that I have an eight week policy that I am still staying good on.


I ate lunch at Denny's and now have a desire to file for government assistance. Typically a meal out makes you feel special and then you return to the obscure with blind hope renewed. I feel like I should be either on my death bed or on my way to an early morning church service.

I wonder what is the typical age most people become more religious? Is it once they retire? That whole concept of retiring has completely inflated the life expectancy rate. Centuries ago, people dying in their thirties was normal, but then once some nitwit wanted a pension all America wanted to keep up with the Joneses. Now we have pills that simply help us take up prime real estate on the highway and beach for people who could actually maneuver around it. I am not planning on busting my tail down the court of life only to pass the ball to someone else. Selfish, maybe, but until I hear the 401k transfers over then I will buy the craze of conservation.