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Paige Davis Versus the Barcalounger
What I thought was just a serious case of pennant fever, turned into a debilitating and sense depriving head cold yesterday. But the Twins won again last night so I feel much better. I started the day by giving the immune system a serious pep talk. I’m expecting nothing short of a stellar rebound of my health, but just in case I’ve got the kleenex box riding shotgun.

Yesterday I started moving boxes twenty blocks south to the new abode. All I can say is. . . screened in porch – where have you been all my life? The screened in porch is fast becoming my new favorite reason for putting in a wireless hub ASAP. The former dwellers of the house left this hideous looking
Slumberland-special recliner, which I was anxious to get rid of the first chance I got. Then I sat in it. Then I reclined in it. Then I took a mid-day delirious sickness nap in it. Falling asleep to the gentle sound of the pear tree’s creaking branches, I dreamt that Paige Davis was throwing a fit because I had decided to go with a caribbean pirate theme when decorating the screened in porch. I saw a giant stuffed blue marlin hanging confidently from the wood paneling.

But back to the Slumberland Special. It stays. Oh. Yes. Baby. It stays. Ikea and modern design got nothin’ on a phat overstuffed barcalounger.

Today I’ll be bringing more stuff over and beginning to empty out the storage locker. Lurking in the basement and the garage, i’ve already run across three or four ancient products with some incredible package design and typography choices. I’ll snap some pictures and see if I can’t get around to posting them some time later today. No promises tho, I might get caught in the tractor beam of the Barcalounger again and then all bets are off.

Three is the Magic Number
As if I needed one more thing to stress about this month, the Twins took over sole possession of first place last night, delivering a dominating boot to the head to all of Cleveland’s Cavalry. Now I’m clutching onto the safety bar of a pennant race roller-coaster that I don’t have the time for, let alone the stomach. But this is how the game works and usually it works pretty good.

I’ve been taking a few lessons from baseball lately. Important, deep, plain-clothed lessons about success, failure and expectation. I’m sure I’m not the first to write about this old tired metaphor but I’ll add my squawk to the pile just to smell it later.

In these last do-or-die days of the 2003 AL Central pennant race, when the summer daylight hours are shorter and the idea of a ball game being on is as reliable as the sun rising, the notion that ‘tomorrow is another day’ speaks volumes in its truth and unshakable hopefulness. On any given day, the only predictable outcome you can bet on is that no matter what the score of todays game may be, tomorrow does indeed offer another shot at redemption. Everyday is an opportunity for loss just as much as it is for a win. Sure you may have your streaks. You make take 20 in a row, like last years Oakland A’s, but when the odds shake out, you got to be happy if you’re riding anywhere over five hundred.

Shannon Stewart is at the top of his game coming into these last days of summer. Yet, being on top of his game means he’s batting .312. That means for every ten attempts he gets a whopping three hits. Ten attempts. Three are good. And Stewart is probably very happy with that. The Twins management, I know are happy with this.

Now here is the thing that gets me. Stewart is a professional. He’s one of the very best, an elite in the world at hitting baseballs. But still, even in his best hours he can only get a hit three out of ten times. So, I’m trying to get happy with that stat and I think you should too. If you make ten meals and three are good? You’re the best. Make four good ones and you’re an all-star. Make ten decisions at work and three are good and the other seven are strike outs? You should be promoted immediately. Make ten movies and seven bomb while three bring you rave reviews and untold riches? Then you’re on the cover of Vanity Fair. George Clooney is hip to this wisdom. He knows the game and appreciates how the law of averages will sometimes throw him a meat ball pitch that he can hit out of the park (Oh, Brother Where Art Thou, Three Kings), but he also appreciates that sometimes you just go down swinging (Batman, Solaris), and sometimes you find dumb luck and reach on an error (Confessions of a Dangerous Mind). Speaking of ‘Dangerous Mind’, did you watch the screen tests for Sam Rockwell on the DVD, when he’s doing a dancing Chuck Barris? That guy’s a white James Brown. I’m putting all my money on him to bat .500 next season. That man has the skills to pay the bills. But there I go again, raising my expectations of Sam Rockwell based solely on his performance in ‘Dangerous’. Sure I’d like him to make ten groundbreaking performances but I should be happy with the three that are sure to come if he continues to play the game.

So, yes, like Stewart, Clooney and De La, remember, ‘Three is the Magic Number’. Don’t sweat the strikeouts, just show up to the game.

Strange Place Blues
Everything is in perfect outlaw harmony this morning. The rain has return after a month of drought, the Twins have made a triumphant return to first place in the AL Central pennant race, and that browbeaten nihilist Johnny has been returned to his beloved June. If ever there was a day for playing sensual minor thirds over an E-major chord – today is it.

Stop it Already
I’m trying to get my work on for the day but it is being impeded by a monumental battle taking shape between myself and some piss-ant punk kid who is picking up loose pieces of asphalt from our crumbling back ally and throwing them at squirrels, the foundation, and on top of our roof. The roof thing put me over the edge. I put down my plate of eggo waffles, threw open the window and barked my disapproval at this child, who looks like he walked straight off the pages of a Bloom County comic strip. The response I got back from the kid was a sharp high pitched, “WHERRN!”. Great. Now I’m dealing with a kid who thinks he’s a pterodactyl. I don’t even know where this monster came from. I’ve never seen him before. This doesn’t bode well for the rest of my day.

Mornings in Amsterdam
I just got back from Amsterdam this morning. Har, har. Ok, I just really wanted to write that in a wishful thinking kinda way. But seriously, I did just spend a large chunk of the morning cruising the beautiful Amsterdam web site and as far as virtual tourism can go – I went. More cities should be inspired by this approach and aesthetic for showcasing and frankly – showing off all that their city has to offer. I first went to the site on news that Amsterdam had chosen Avenir as it’s official typography for the city. So the type tempted me and pretty soon I was happily clicking on links like ‘Hip Guide to Amsterdam – Cheese‘. They’ve also got great link names like ‘Simply Amsterdam’ and ‘Let’s go Amsterdam’. Tons of info on the money exchange, restaurant guides, 360 degree photos and a whole slew of screen savers so you can look and dream about visiting amster-damn! all the time.

After my visit to Amsterdam I cruised on over to the Hall of Technical Documentation Weirdness.

Homeward Bound

In a whirlwind of South Side wheeling and dealing this weekend, the misses and I came away with a phat piece of property that we will be renting for the foreseeable future. Needless to say a whole freaking house will be a monster upgrade from the tiny one bedroom we currently co-habitat and defend against a freakish world of renegade street urinators, hot-tub renting busy-bodies, and over-sexed landlords with too much time on their hands.

It’s a serious renters market out there right now. Over the last week, the misses and I have felt like prized athletes. Folks were calling us with offers, rents were dropping, round table negotiations came into play. In the end, the house we really wanted came down in price to match that of similar priced duplexes we were looking at. so we took the house. We got along well with the sweet old lady who is now our landlord. She must be around 70 and this is the house she grew up in. She was very emotional. We held firm on our price, and lobbied and won full “decoration control”. There is some pretty hideous wallpaper that will have to be dealt with. I will be emptying my beloved storage unit this weekend and after we blast the place with some new paint and rip down some wallpaper, we’ll be moving sometime next week. The first order of business will be to go buy a nice cord of wood and start work on my fall woodpile. The fireplace will be well loved and well used.

Cup of Sand
Superchunks new album of rarities and b-sides called, Cup of Sand, is a fan’s delight. The music, although not always polished fills in all the holes in the bands history. Like Jawbreaker’s ETC record, Cup of Sand comes with great liner notes written in reflection by the band. I thought I’d share some of Laura’s (Bass Guitar) comments here today:

“Oh my, really hard to play! I drop out so that I can shake a cramp out of my hand.”

“I sewed a dress during this session.”

“I used to smoke, I really enjoyed it, but now I’m allergic to it. . .”

“I have never seen any of the movies that our songs have been associated with, I know I should but, you know, my time is at a premium.”

“I consider myself the resident Adam and the Ants expert here. They were in full swashbuckling mode when they let this one fly, and oh lord, they were beautiful. What is it about men dressed up as pirates in drag that made the heart of a thirteen year-old girl flutter so? Totally my fault we did this. Thanks for humoring me, guys. I lack the skills required to go free form.”

“I was a horse girl, so I like galloping, jamming, however, is not a favorite activity of mine.”

“I like playing the Moog but it gives me the sweats.”

I Dream in Technicolor Duck Wash
I woke up two days ago to the discomforting sound of Fall bagging at my window. He had arrived to tell me that he had kidnapped summer and I had no choice but to start re-prioritizing my wardrobe choices immediately. No problem, I thought. This kinda thing seems to happen every year about this time. I was prepared. I knew what to do. I quickly knelt down and opened the bottom drawer of my dresser. There they were, lined up and at attention like an orderly army brigade, the full spectrum of my Carhartt Duck Wash Dungarees. They were ready to be called up for another season of comforting my soul and lining my loins.

For me, all good fashion begins and ends with the Carhartt Duck Wash. It’s the perfect pant. Durable yet undemanding, the Duck Wash is versatile and valuable for almost every occasion. Underrated yet imitated its design continues to be copied by others and codified to niche fashion markets. It’s earthbound color pallet and simple design make me The Man when I’m struttin’ around town in my Ducks. The right leg tool pocket makes a perfect home for a pack of cigarettes or, as I’ve found out recently, a cell phone (who, I have named ‘phoney’ btw). Shuddering (nay, gaging) at the thought that I might have to buy some sorta clip on device to hold the mobile telephony, I now relax knowing that when my right quad is being gently messaged, someone wants to talk to me. I know this has some really bad Pavlov implications but I can’t tell what they are yet. So as fall approaches, I’m comforted in knowing that I have all my Ducks in row. And to the coming seasons that I know are hiding just around the corner, I can warmly bellow from the top of the IDS building, – ‘bring ‘it on’.

Software Idea Number 428
How many times have you read a posting for a band or musician looking for others to jam with where the musician(s) list ‘their sound’ as a blend of bands ‘x’, ‘y’ and ‘z’? And, after reading such a posting how many times have you wondered, – “damn I wonder what the hell an actual blending of bands ‘x’, ‘y’ and ‘z’ would sound like???

Well wonder no more my friends!! Thanks to my newly patented “Music Blending Generation Software” you can now listen to what a musician or band sounds like when they say they play a “contemporary blend of The Mahavishnu Orchestra and the Gorilla Biscuits“. With my revolutionary platform based on the newest musical algorithm software, no band influences are too disparate for exact prediction and subsequent listening. You say your friend plays a smooth blend of Sid Barrett meets Toots and The Maytals meets Peaches and Herb? No problem. Our growing database of over ten million artists will work overtime to churn out a brand new song based on the musical elements you put into it. Music will never be the same. You are in total control of creating music that is personally tailored to your own musical choices. It’s like monogrammed bath towels but better.

OK, for realz. I haven’t really invented this software (no. really?) but I sure wish someone would. I’ve gotten a few emails from friends lately and while reading the latest Rolling Stone magazine last night, it all came to a head and I thought, it would be darn swell for someone to develop some sorta program that I could plug into my itunes that would take two or more mp3’s and actually mix them together to produce a new song that sounds like a true blending of those songs and not just sound like crap. This is something I hope to see in my lifetime.

The Vanguard of the US Army will soon to be led by Bert, Ernie and Oscar the Grouch.

Part-time Pirate, part-time Las Vegas vagrent, full-time ex-pat., Johnny Depp calls US a “Stupid Puppy”.

As for me, I’m still trying to figure out how my new mobile phone works. Last night at the bar, while watching the Twins spoliate the Angels, my mobile started vibrating in my pocket. I jumped from my stool and started flailing about like I was being attacked by a horde of mad wasps. I was not prepared for that.

Nice article on the Oral History of First Avenue in the current edition of the City Pages.