In Which I Scream

7am is a little early to be accosted on the street by a crazy person.

I've lived in Uptown for a year now, next to what I variously describe as a halfway house or a transient hotel, but the residents of which are basically not the most savory characters. I've been called assorted names and leered at, but not one of those guys has ever done anything worse than what you might get on any urban street corner. But this morning, as I was headed out to the train, not particularly paying attention to anything except how nice and springy it is, suddenly someone's hand was on my back.

I screamed.

Not shouted. Not made a little "eek" noise of surprise. I full on fucking screamed.

I turned around and there was a frail old white guy with that blank happy look of a senile man, who did not make eye contact with me but said, "Good morning."

And I went off. In the middle of all the commuters I just freaked out at him. "What the fuck? Keep your hands off me!" If he had made one motion towards me, my knee would have been in his groin and my hands would have been throwing his scrawny head to the ground.

Which is a little odd, I guess, because he didn't do anything awful. He didn't try to snatch my bag. He didn't grab my ass. He didn't grab me at all, or do anything in any kind of way that would make me think he was trying to hurt me. He wanted to wish me good morning, but of course he's crazy and doesn't know that the correct way to wish a neighbor good morning does not involve sneaking up behind them and touching their back.

He kept walking down the sidewalk. I went into the station. The girl walking next to me gave me a little look, like, "You OK?" I gave her the look that sane people give each other when in the presence of the crazy. I stood down at the far end of the platform and watched the guy walk around to Broadway. I felt embarassed about screaming, that high-pitched yippy girl noise I'd made, but what the fuck? It's too early for that sort of thing.

The Dudes in Cicero Are Not Gonna Like This

Pink? Really?

More Bad Advertising

For those of you who've seen the ads on the bus shelters and thought that followthefinger.com might be some kind of portal into a world of conspiracy, or perhaps just some weird porno, I'm here to tell you that it is, in fact, a Monty-Pythonesque time-waster site geared toward us working slobs who have nothing better to do than play with monkeys sponsored by Butterfinger candy bars. (Mmm doesn't that sound good? Why not go buy one right now? Have three for breakfast!)

Ok, truth be told, you can't really tell it's a gigantic Butterfinger ad unless you search around. If you're the kind of person who likes to spend time at work watching "funny" videos, this is the spot for you.

I Can Sorta See His Point

By now, I'm sure everyone knows about the husband on strike. It seems like every few months, some spouse or parental unit decides to go "on strike" because they're not appreciated. They get handmade signs. People honk when they drive by. This guy's camping out on the roof, which is a nice touch. Usually, I think it's pretty lame. No one's appreciated as much as they should be. It's just life. But this particular husband may have a point.

Now I have to paraphrase, because I wasn't quick enough with the pen and I can't find this clip online. But last night I came across the WGN News report about this guy where they interviewed his wife. The man's main complaint is that the wife lets the kids sleep with them. Which is a little off to begin with. And then, to defend herself, the woman said something like this:

It's important to bond with your kids. What better place than in the bedroom?

Gee, I dunno. The park, maybe? Over a nice family dinner? Take them to the zoo? You want to bond with your kids, great. But do it someplace where it won't scar them for life.

Nyah Nyah

Perhaps Visa should have thought more carefully about their latest ad campaign.

I already think that their billboards featuring a kid with his tongue stuck to a lamppost a la "A Christmas Story" are a little weird. Is that what you get when you use Visa? Half your tongue ripped off in the bitter cold? "Life takes curiosity," sure, but it also takes a lack of utter stupidity if you want to survive, tongue intact.

Anyway, I saw the latest version of these ads as I was riding home yesterday. As I (on the Red Line) pulled into Belmont, the Brown Line train was just leaving. Its doors closed, and on the doors was printed: Life Takes Timing. Life Takes Visa.

Life takes timing. Which you, sucker, clearly don't have because you just missed your train. Now you gotta stand out here in the wind and wait like an asshole. Ha ha. Love, Visa.

Is that the message they want to send? That you've got to stand around on a platform in the rain with half your tongue missing because you don't have Visa? I don't know if that's really an effective line to use. Anybody have a better interpretation? Because right now I feel like Visa's a threatening little bastard and I'm glad I don't have their credit card.

Looking Forward to Summer

There are lots of great things about summer in Chicago: lounging at the beach amongst the alewives, sitting outside at the Pontiac and watching the hipsters stroll by, drinking gallons of 312.

But this is by far my favorite. I'm already mentally packing my picnic.

A Whole New Stupid Word

Blook.

It's an annoying and not totally necessary word, much like vlog. It means, apparently, a book based on a blog. Can you imagine an entire book (sorry, blook) based on the crap I write here? I shudder to think. But now these blooks have their very own prize. It's seems like a semi-clever marketing vehicle for the print-on-demand people who run the thing, but only semi.

Hooray!

I have a new apartment! Well, I will have a new apartment May 1, anyway. I thought my old apartment was the best apartment in Chicago. And then I met the new one. And now I rejoice. The kitchen is HUGE, like probably the total size of my current apartment. The bedrooms are a little small and, oddly, tiled, while the rest of the apartment is hardwood, but it's not a problem. Rugs can cover that up. It's got a backyard and a porch and a dining room for my long-lost dining room table and a ton of windows and a great view. And it's ridiculously cheap. The sweet Polish landlady has no idea what things are worth, and I almost feel bad and want to tell her she should charge us more. But she wouldn't even if we asked her to, so I'm not going to bother. Will now continue doing my little dance of joy.

Eavesdropping

"Thank you for your inconvenience." -- delayed Red Line train

"We're real sorry about that persecution. Here's a couple bucks. Buy yourselves a cup of coffee. Nice working with you." --Prudential Building elevator

Coffee Fix

Next month, those of us cursed with downtown jobs will have another delicious option for feeding our caffeine addiction: Intelligentsia is opening a cafe on East Randolph, which just happens to sit directly between where I get off the El and where I sit in a cube. I've been enjoying the coffee from Centro in the ground level of the Prudential Building for several months now, but it's got nothing on hometown favorite Intelligentsia. I'll be interested to see how the relaxed indie vibe of the North Side cafe translates to the bustle of the Loop.

SXSW 2006: Extracurriculars

Bats:
This year I managed to see quite a few bats doing their creepy swoosh-out-from-under-the-bridge thing at sunset. Apparently, SXSW is held before bat season really gets underway (they're still vacationing in Mexico this early in the year) but several brave souls were home and flying around. We also encountered an injured one flopping around on 6th St., and could do nothing for him. We couldn't really pick the thing up, for fear we'd be bitten and get rabies and/or vampirism, and we had no other way to help. So it just flopped there looking sad and about to die.

BBQ:
Stubb's did not disappoint. I went for the Stubb's Major (I split it with someone, I didn't want to explode) and enjoyed fine brisket (the real deal), ribs (nothing quite as nice as tearing meat from a bone), and chicken (juicy and delicious although not as good as the red meat), along with the spicy spinach and mashed yams. I would eat this once a week if it were available to me.

Beer:
Dear Shiner Bock Brewery: Please please please start selling your wares in Chicago. I can't do with it just once a year. I read your FAQ, I know you're not going to listen to me, but please please please...

Steak:
Texas likes its beef, that's for sure. I have to say, though, I was less than impressed with the New York strip I got at one of those steakhouse places. Perhaps, you say, I should not have gotten a New York steak in Austin. Perhaps you are correct. But it was the cheapest steak on the menu, and even at that price, came close to breaking the bank.

Vintage:
Austin, being a college town and a artsy town, has a ton of vintage stores. Last year we dug up a few great finds, including a blue velvet jacket that completed my friend's rockstar look. This year I stumbled across a western-style buttondown blue flowered shirt, which happened to fit perfectly. In fact, I'm wearing it right now. It would look much better with jeans than the khakis that I have to put on for work, but still, it's a statement I'm proud of.

SXSW 2006: Best-Of Review Dump

The Octopus Project

It took me a few songs to realize that, hey, there’s four of them, so that means… eight arms! I get it. And seriously, this experimental Austin favorite performs as though they were eight appendages with one brain. They’re as locked-in as a professional orchestra or a drill team. Even when they’re all facing in opposite directions, they seem to know exactly what each other is going to do at every moment, something that comes from having played together for years (although the guitarist is apparently a fairly new recruit). They switch instruments and tempos in what appears a chaotic fashion (racing across the stage, bringing out new guitars, etc.) but in reality is perfectly timed and never misses a beat.

In general, instrumental music doesn’t keep my attention, but I was focused on Octopus Project because you never know precisely where their song is going to go. They segue from moody to rawk-out and back again without seeming either jarring or obvious. It seems more like they said, Hey, let’s form a rock band, instead of Hey, let’s form an experimental band. And then they took fairly straightforward rock structure and fucked with the guts of it.

And for god’s sake, they have a theremin. I’d never seen one played before, and damn that’s cool. She’s playing air. Air! Amazing. And not at all lame and new-agey. They’re headed up to Chicago this weekend and I’m psyched to see them again.

Paris Motel

I was prepared to hate these guys. For some reason, the mp3 I heard just didn’t do it for me, and when they were described variously as “alt country” and “chamber pop” I was unimpressed. But since my friend was playing with them for the duration of SXSW, I figured I should show up. And I’m glad I did.

First of all, it doesn’t hurt that the lead singer/violinist of the band is gorgeous, wears strapless gowns on stage, and has that charismatic presence that lead singers need to have. She was excellent at flirting with the audience and her bandmates, which only drew the audience in more.

Secondly, the band rocks. Ballads, hoe-downs, they did it all with equal energy and emotion. When they played SXSW, three of the performers weren’t permanent members, but they all fit together well and were clearly good musicians who could handle the challenge of playing unfamiliar songs in a high-pressure venue.

The only complaint I’ve got is that they do this annoying intro/outro to their sets, wherein the whole band sings about losing their heart at Paris Motel. It’s unnecessary. You don’t need a ritual like that if you’ve got solid musicians selling great pop songs. Lose that, and win a new fan.

Tapes 'N Tapes

They played SXSW about four hundred times, and every time, I have no doubt that they completely won over the audience. All of the advance buzz helped, of course, but mostly it’s the fact that these guys were having so much fun up there, pounding out their poppy rock songs with a healthy shot of punk squall. I saw them at the Schuba’s day party, which meant it was unfortunately early, but they still had a ton of energy and spread it to the audience. And if anyone knows what that little tuba thing is called, let me know, cause I sure did love me some tiny tuba. You don’t hear much of that in rock these days.

127

Hooray for no visa problems! Diplomatic issues last year kept this Iranian band from appearing at last year’s SXSW, but I guess relations have improved (?!?) enough this year for them to make it. Their music makes it obvious that they were raised on American and British rock classics, not to mention the singer does a fine Dylan impersonation, but they have plenty of jazz, blues, and what I’m going to assume are native Iranian touches thrown into the mix. And of course there’s the subject matter which, while the singer spends at least a little time bemoaning his love life, tends inevitably toward the political. This makes them the Most Punk Band of SXSW. No other group had to go through so much to get here, and no other group has anything to complain about in comparison. Upset about invasions of privacy? Feel like your freedom of speech is being infringed upon? Hate corporate America? What these guys are doing is ILLEGAL. And so fucking cool. If they were from America, they’d be a great band. From Iran, they’re amazing.

Erase Errata

In general, I’m not a fan of bands that wear wacky clothes on stage. It tends to mask a certain lack of actual good music. Not so with Erase Errata who, despite wearing shiny stripe-y outfits, tore the stage up. Nothing can compare to the quirky spit-singing and the most wicked bass chomping I’ve ever heard. The guitarist busted not one but two strings in her passion, and they still kept pounding away, finishing songs with her singing the guitar parts and the drums and bass more than making up for the rest of it. It was a great big happy punk freak-out, and no amount of technical difficulties could squelch it.

Gogol Bordello

This was not the best Gogol Bordello show I’ve ever seen. However, it was still one of the best shows at SXSW because, much like pizza and sex, even so-so Gogol Bordello is better than most things in life. Punk, Gypsy, and circus combines to make an unavoidably good time. You can’t help jumping, dancing, throwing your hands up, wanting desperately to join that mime who’s crowd-surfing on her huge bass drum. (I don’t actually remember this happening at this show, but I couldn’t see very well from the back, and it’s a pretty common occurrence.) What I love about seeing these guys is that the energy never slackens. Not even when they played “Illumination” toward the end. It’s a quiet, spare song, but it doesn’t mean that it’s less intense. It just means you stop jumping and start paying attention to the lyrics. And then you remember that even though Gogol Bordello is a ton of fun, they’re saying something too, something about alienation and independence and fighting through this mad life with a shot of vodka and a ferocious smile.

And then you back to bouncing and screaming like a maniac.

Love Is All

This year’s version of the Go! Team is a bit more successful than last year’s original version. They’ve got disco drums, bouncing beats, plus cowbell and saxophone. Finally, a band that answers our desperate pleas for more cowbell. Anyway, top this all with a swapping of cool male vocals and squawky 10-year-old-girl-on-a-playground chants, and you’ve got some poppy dancey fun. Even though I saw them at an outdoors day show, they still got the audience into club mode by their sheer energy. Hardly revolutionary, since the dance-rock thing has been beaten to death by now, but that doesn’t stop it being fun.

The Last Town Chorus

Someone needs to sign these guys now. By now I mean yesterday. Like pronto. They’ve already got an album ready. They will make you a ton of money.

Picture the pretty sad girl at the end of the bar putting on a brave face for the long walk home alone. Then imagine she’s sitting in front of soulful musicians who put together twangy, slow-motion, boozy songs to match her plaintive-without-being-whiny lyrics. It’s absolutely gorgeous. I’m upset that they were late getting on stage (something crucial was left behind at the airport, we were told) because that meant their set was cut short. I wanted to see more. I wanted to buy them a beer and tell them that it would be all right, that someone would love them, that someone would take care of them, that everything would be just fine. Who knew that Brooklyn could double for Tennessee when it comes to heartbreaking country music?

Ted Leo/Pharmacists

I felt bad for Ted Leo when I saw him play. He was another of the marathoners: this 1am show was probably his third of the day, and he played about 5 or 6 times total during the festival. Which means that he was tired and his voice was shot. He kept apologizing, and at one point asked the audience if anyone wanted to sing for him (no one did, of course). But despite this, he didn’t provide any less than 100% of a show.

He kept the politicizing to a minimum, surprisingly, partially at the urging of the Pharmacists, who kept telling him just to play the damn song. Which is really what he’s good at. I agree with his political views, but I appreciate being able to listen to some good punk rock without feeling like I’m the choir being preached at. Instead, the band romped through old favorites and some tracks from their new album (giving shout-outs to the new label as well as the old, kindly). They brought fresh energy to every one, amazing at the end of such a long day and with such well-worn songs in the set.

I think it’s easy with this band, with Ted Leo being such a charismatic political and musical presence, being one of the fastest guitarists I’ve ever seen and having such a raw, squalling voice that’s equally capable of being sweet and sincere, to forget the rest of the band. Sorry guys, I didn’t even take any notes on you. I know you were good. You rock hardcore. But I can’t describe for these lovely readers exactly in what way you rock. But you are exceptionally rhythmic individuals, and for this I thank you.

The Gossip

I feel I owe the Gossip an apology, because years ago, when their first CD broke, I was in a dark, dark place of my young adulthood in which I would only listen to music made by machines. And something so scraped-up and rough-edged just had no place in my ears at that point. So I panned them in my school’s music magazine. Not that it affected them in any way, but I feel bad, because having grown a bit in my tastes, now I think they’re fucking awesome. Recordings do not do them justice. When you see them live, you feel the anger and pain and humor and love and every other human emotion from their songs in your bones and your guts. If you can stand there while the Gossip is on stage and not feel anything, you need to get to a doctor, because you are likely dead or suffering some kind of nervous disorder. This band thumps good hard blue punk rawk, but the secret is of course Beth Ditto’s howling screaming tear-this-shit-up wail. You don’t get more real than that sound. They are living every song as they play it, and you can’t fake the passion and intensity that you get from that. It’s a religious experience. Go see them and be converted.

SXSW 2006: Eavesdropping

"I donated my ass to science." - Jo's

"Is that Socrates or Sir Mixx-a-Lot?" - Yard Dog

"Austin or bust!" - Congress Ave., Austin

"I Heart Tracking" - back of some dude's shirt, Emo's Jr. (OK, so this was more like spying, and not eavesdropping, but get over it.)

Side o' beef: Ja'll like dat song?
Me (singular): It was ok.
Side o' beef: Ja'll wan' beer?
Me: No thanks.
(Side o' beef drops his tallboy of Bud and stumbles off.)
- Red 7

SXSW 2006: The Complete List

41 bands (down from last year -- I'm losing my ambition) in four days. My top ten are marked with an asterisk.

Love of Diagrams
Hurts to Purr
Lesbians on Ecsatsy
Serena Maneesh
the Octopus Project*
Of Montreal
Paris Motel*
Tapes N Tapes*
Hanalei
Metric
Todd Martin
127*
Earlimart
Erase Errata*
Crystal Skulls
the Living End
Gogol Bordello*
Carolyn Mark
Keating
Head Automatica
David Newbold
Matthew Dear
Love is All*
Bang Bang Bang
Frog Eyes
Thrift Store Cowboy
the Amazing Pilots
the Last Town Chorus*
the Soft Explosions
Boy Least Likely To
Asoki Seksu
Tralala
Ted Leo/Pharmacists*
Amy Cook
Handsome Charlies
Student Film
Sam Champion
the Gossip*
Gitogito Hustler
Micah P. Hinson
Esther Drang

Version 2.0

So, here's the new look for Suitcase Publishing. I haven't gotten rid of the rest of the site, but it's really clear that while I can be a prolific blogger (when the mood strikes) I will never be a prolific HTML builder. I'm just too lazy. If you ever want to see the rest of the site, it does still exist here. I'm going to work on building an archive of soon-to-be-regular features, such as those on the old site: Eavesdropping, Soundtrack of Your Life, etc. For now, please enjoy the hopefully easier to read blog.

Google Oddity

When you plug "pitchfork music festival" with no quotes into Google, as I just did, the first result is the 2006 Intonation Music Festival, which is very specifically not curated by Pitchfork this year (as it was last year). This year there seems to be some kind of rivalry between the second round of Intonation and the debut of Pitchfork's very own two-day rock picnic. I don't know exactly what it's all about, but at the Pitchfork party at SXSW, one of the MCs referred to the PF festival as Intonation, and there were grumblings and an immediate correction. The two fests were also announced within days of each other, if I remember correctly, and tickets went on sale almost at the same time. So, what gives?

Coming Soon

Suitcase Publishing V2.0. New and improved. I won't be ashamed to hand out business cards anymore.

I Have Returned

And I am very tired. The complete SXSW reviews will be up this week, assuming I get my shit together. A sneak peek: the reviews will include Iranian loudmouths, a dangerous dancer, an Aussie's sexual problems, the best beer on the planet, and an octopus.

SXSW Preview: the Final Countdown

I'm leaving in about 24 hours, and this is what I need to say:

1) What the fuck is with the weather down there? Thunderstorms? Seriously, that's going to put a damper on the fun. You can't have barbeques in the rain. Well, you can, but it's not as cool. (Despite the rain, I'm thrilled to be getting out of the goddamn cold that is Chicago in March.)

2) Why do they schedule all the bands I want to see at 1am, but no one that I want to see at 9pm? What am I supposed to do then? Last year, when I had no one to see, I wandered into Nordic Night, and that turned out pretty well.

3) I want Stubb's so bad I can taste it already.

4) There's a good chance that when we're down there, I'm just going to book a room at the Austin Motel for next year. No more staying in crappy joints far away from the center of action.

5) I'm so freakin' excited I could spit.

Really? Really

I am mostly interested in this story because my little sister is a self-proclaimed Claymate. I don't think she's one of the 9 plaintiffs, though.

Anyway, after I heard about this little potential legal excursion (on Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, the best thing on the radio ever) I looked it up, and became intrigued that the 'Mates aren't angry that Clay is gay instead of straight, but that he's gay instead of "asexual" and "virginal."

Fun with the CPD

The Citizen I-Cam is a useful resource if you're looking to rent an apartment in a neighborhood you're not very familiar with, and also just fun to mess around with. For example, I was scared at the prospect of moving west of Western, but then I checked the address of the apartment I'm going to look at this weekend, and compared it to the address I've been living at for the past year, and my current address had 4 more crimes in the past two weeks than the one in L'il Puerto Rico. Just goes to show you.

Another List

This one's about food.

In the Tribune today, they asked their foodie critics to name their all-time top 7-course meal made up of food from Chicago restaurants. I'm surprised no one asked me, knowing as they do how I love to eat.

tomato bisque from Petterino’s
greens/pecans/goat cheese/raspberry vinaigrette salad (I don't know the proper name) from the Blue Line Club Car
shrimp rolls from Thai Pastry
BBQ cheeseburger and tater tots from Mike’s Ale House
sweet plantains from Irazu
chocolate tart from Letizia’s

I'm not a wine person, but I would like an icy 312 to go with my burger, and a Metropolis coffee paired with dessert.

The Great Book List Debate

The Museums, Libraries and Archives Council of the UK just came out with a list of 30 books people should read before they die. They claim:

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
The Bible
The Lord of the Rings Trilogy by JRR Tolkien
1984 by George Orwell
A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
All Quiet on the Western Front by E M Remarque
His Dark Materials Trilogy by Phillip Pullman
Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks
The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
The Lord of the Flies by William Golding
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon
Tess of the D'urbevilles by Thomas Hardy
Winnie the Pooh by AA Milne
Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte
The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Graham
Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
The Time Traveller's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold
The Prophet by Khalil Gibran
David Copperfield by Charles Dickens
The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov
Life of Pi by Yann Martel
Middlemarch by George Eliot
The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver
A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess
A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Alexander Solzenhitsyn

I’ve read a few of those, and the ones I’ve read were good, but not necessarily things everyone needs to read. Time Traveller’s Wife, for example, was well-written, entertaining, and (this is rare for sci-fi, I’ve found) the characters were characters, and not just The Hero, The Sexy Sidekick, The Bad Guy. But really, not everyone needs to read it. I wouldn’t discourage them from doing so, but if they were on their deathbed, I wouldn’t say, “No, really, you’ve got to read the scene about her 18th birthday.”

My own version:

Top 10 Books for Early 21st Century Americans

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
Johnny Got His Gun by Dalton Trumbo
Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky
The Basketball Diaries by Jim Carroll
In Cold Blood by Truman Capote
Division Street: America by Studs Terkel
Underground by Haruki Murakami
Ain’t No Makin’ It by Jay MacLeod
1984 by George Orwell

Hey, everyone loves a list, because it gives us something to debate. So, debate away.

An Answer

Apparently, those "Are we really free?" turnstiles are advertising the new McCormick Tribune Freedom Museum, which is opening sometime this spring. Visit the site and find out that the answer to that great question/slogan is, "Eh, sorta."

Current Amusement

This is all Sara's fault.

She told me about this blog-war that apparently started up recently between two old friends of hers (mere passing acquaintances of mine), one of whom is now a major label faux-punk star and the other of whom is a sour-grapes also-ran. Neither one of them particularly appealed to me at any point, musically or otherwise, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, they are now in the middle of some MTV-notable brawl on their LiveJournals. It's one way to pass the time at work now that I'm between projects.

Suitcase Publishing Will Not Help You Get Laid

This article is much more interesting for the links to it and from it than for itself. Isn't that always the way?

SXSW Preview: How To Pick A Show

Inspired by my buddy Charlie, currently of Mira Mira and temporarily of Paris Motel:

There are something like 1263951473 bands playing at SXSW this year (OK, really 1200 or so). How in the world do you figure out what you want to see? Last year, Charlie and I went in naively, thinking that we could just waltz up and see the Go! Team or whoever else was overly hyped that year. (See, they have now faded from memory, showing just how unimportant it is to catch the Band of The Moment.) This year, we've each formulated a plan, and we'll see whose works out better.

Charlie's plan is to download all of the mp3s that SXSW put together and listen to about 20 seconds of each of them to determine if they suck or not. If they suck, he puts them in the NO pile. If they don't, he puts them in the MAYBE pile. Then he keeps doing this with about 2 days worth of music, or until his ears bleed and fall off. At the end of this impossible task, he will have distilled the best bands of the festival. He then combines this information with the online calendar provided by the South by people, creating a potential itinerary consisting of first, second, etc, possibilities for each time slot. I imagine that factored into this somewhere is the cute-girl factor of each band, as well. He will then take his trusty mac thingy to Austin, and will consult with the oracle each morning to determine his course of action for the night.

Very scientific, no? It seems like it should work. However, it also seems like a lot of effort, which I am not in favor of.

My own method for choosing shows is to look at the list online and write down on little post-it notes the bands I absolutely must not miss for any reason. (This year, there are very few of these, perhaps signalling that my time as a hipster tastemaker (ha) is coming to a close.) Then I also make a note of any bands whose names I've heard of for one reason or another, and maybe give a listen to their mp3s. (This has convinced me that I should go see Elliott Brood, who I had only heard of from an ad in Magnet.) Then I look for bands from other countries, who I'm not likely to catch any time but SXSW. (Which doesn't necessarily mean I will be able to see them next week, either, because of the always present threat of visa problems.) After that, if there are any glaring holes in my schedule, I look for bands with funny names, containing words like Scientist. And finally, I will lose all of my little post-it notes before I leave and end up wandering around trying to remember the name of that cool Quebecois band I wanted to catch on Thursday or was it Friday night?

I'm sure there are other ways to go about it, but this is the most fun for me. Your take?

Like I Was 14 Again

So excited about this...

Getting the Word Out

Apparently this story is bullshit, but it's entertaining. It's also been taken off the VV Web site (because of the bullshit angle) so it's extra important that you get to read it.

Odd Places for Philosophy

I meant to write about this Monday...

This week at the Lake St. el station, they have a new ad on the turnstiles. I forget what the old one was, but the new one caught my eye. It's stark black text on white, with no logos or brand names that I can see (at least not as I quickly push my way out into the daily fray of the working world). It says:

"Are we really free?"

Monday morning, in uncomfortable shoes, knowing that what lies ahead of me is eight hours of not being able to leave the general region of my cubicle, I'm not certain of the answer. And I'm really perplexed as to what company put that there and what that company thinks the answer to the question is.