Equally cursed and blessed

Uncategorized,

At the risk of sounding redundant, work’s been a rather consuming force as of late. Today I put in a full workday, and left only because I knew I’d be doing another few hours of work at home. And yet still I won’t get done everything I want to do. While I’m able to have a sense of accomplishment, I tend to dwell on that which remains unfinished, or lacking. It’s one of those things I pull out in job interviews when they ask you to “three negative traits about yourself” because I’m able to turn it around and demonstrate what a hard worker I am, although thinking about it now, I could see how it might come off as obsessive-compulsive.

It is in moments like these that I try to remind myself why I love my job, and that other people (and those “people” include “me-a-year-ago”) would kill to have this gig.

So here are five things I did today, all of which were absolutely essential to me doing my job well.

1. Had two conversations with two different colleagues (it seems important to note here that they were both female), about the phrase “Standing, face-down, ass-up” and whether it was A) physically possible to arrange oneself in this manner; B) confusing for the reader to read this phrase and therefore C) necessary to change the copy to the less-confusing “standing” and, if so, D) too far away from the intended meaning. All of this was done while trying to pretend as if I was having a conversation about staples, lint, or something similarly innocuous so as to not do anything that we were told not to do during the sexual harassment seminar a few months ago.

2. Borrowed a third colleague’s action figures in order to resolve Part A of the above quandary. (Answer: Yes, thereby requiring the resolution of Parts B, C, and D, the answers to which were yes, yes, and no, respectively.)

3. Asked a superior whether “Tell us how you do it, you know you want to” was appropriate language for an e-mail that will eventually go out to over 20,000 people, only to have her reply “Sure, that’s cute.”

4. Resized a photo, which required me to spend an inordinate amount of time staring at a 25-year-old woman dressed in nothing more than a sequined bra, sequined hot pants and fishnets. Granted, that woman was Britney Spears, but still.

5. Purchased $17 worth of non-alcoholic beer, of which six dollars worth will be consumed by my colleagues for a work-related purpose. The remaining 12 dollars worth will probably end up getting thrown out, but I’m going to try to give it away on Craigslist first just to see if that’s possible. That last part isn’t job-related, I’m just curious.

I got paid to do all five of those things.

Seriously, my job is pretty cool sometimes.

From the archives, vol. 3: The unwinnable argument

Music,

I know I’m not the only person who feels like this, but when your job is to work with a computer all day, sometimes the last thing you want to do at night is work with a computer, even if your job keeps you so busy that you really ought to be spending some time at home reading blogs and otherwise taking the temperature of the Internet so you can keep up with your chosen profession, which you’re not able to do at work because you have So Much To Do.

Of course, this also makes it difficult to blog regularly. But luckily, I have a wealth of short, punchy blog material from my days at Chicagoist, just aching to be lazily re-posted here.

The following is a post I was reminded of this weekend, while I was at a wedding. I think it’s pretty obvious as to why. Notes follow.
——-
With all the Lollapalooza hullabaloo yesterday, I missed the chance to put in my* two cents into an argument that Richard Roeper started. It’s an argument guaranteed to inflame any barroom in the city when you include just three little words: “…of all time.”

Confusing popularity with quality, Roeper argues that “Sweet Home Alabama” is the “greatest rock and roll song of all time.” His anecdotal proof: its inclusion in a NASCAR video game; its use in a concert by the Duff sisters and a recent movie trailer; and the joy it brings to drunken barroom patrons. What? No mention of its status as a top karaoke pick?

To be fair, Roeper also cites Skynyrd’s “killer” guitar work and ballsy vocals (no argument there) as well as its catchy chorus (so does this make “Since U Been Gone” the 2nd greatest rock song?**). But then it’s back to the movies with Roeper alleging the song’s cultural weight can be confirmed because it was in…Con Air! If countless appearances in the cultural zeitgeist make a song great then ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to nominate James Brown’s “I Feel Good.”

*crickets chirping*

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

We generally worship the ground Roeper walks on*** (his column this week on jerky behavior in bathrooms had guys all over Chicago nodding their heads in agreement) but I thinks he’s got it wrong here. Does “Sweet Home Alabama” kick ass? Hell yeah it does.**** Does that make it the greatest rock song of all time? Well, no. There are plenty of songs that can get a room full of drunks singing in full voice but it’s going to be a while before you see Journey***** or REO Speedwagon getting a call from the Hall of Fame.

But Roeper’s right: The Greatest Rock and Roll Song Of All Time should kick ass. It should have universality to it as well. All people should be able to rally behind its lyrics which have survived time and tide and stand apart from politics or current events. It should be perfect for any occasion be it live concert, baseball game or bar mitzvah.

And that is why AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” is the Greatest Rock and Roll Song Of All Time.

* Chicagoist fans will note that I stripped out the collective Chicagoist “we” here. My name is Our Man In Chicago, and I approved this message.

** It doesn’t, though “Gone” would easily make my top 100.

*** This was true at the time I wrote it, but isn’t now. Between the books and his work on Ebert & Roeper, his column’s suffered for quality. But I’ve been pretty much done with him since he idiotically railed against the Dove campaign for “real beauty.” This post pretty much says it all. I’m not entirely sure which parts of it are mine, and which are Erin’s though I distinctly remember writing the Herb Tarlek line. Actually, the whole thing’s pretty ironic considering all the railing she does about the Sun-Times. Let that be a lesson, kids: insulting a potential employer can lead to $$$.

**** It does, even though it probably wouldn’t make my top 100.

***** This was true at the time I wrote it, and still is now. Every time I hear “Don’t Stop Believin'” I wonder what it is The Lovin’ Spoonful has that Journey doesn’t.

Oblivious Living Part 1.16: "Chant No. 1 (I Don't Need This Pressure On)" by Spandau Ballet

Music

Lyrics – “Chant No. 1 (I Don’t Need This Pressure On)” by Spandau Ballet
MP3 – “Chant No. 1 (I Don’t Need This Pressure On)” by Spandau Ballet

I’ve long held that Spandau Ballet’s “True” is one of the worst songs to come out of the 80s. But in much the same way that Berlin’s “Metro” is better at summing up the group’s output than “Take My Breath Away” is, “Chant No. 1 (I Don’t Need This Pressure On)” leaves a more complete impression of Spandau Ballet than “True,” which is arguably its best known hit. This isn’t to say that “Chant” is a great song. But it’s worth examining so as to give SB a fair shake.

Disco never really died, it just laid low for a while until it could infect New Wave. I’m not sure why this noted more, but there it is. It’s probably most evident in the work of the New Romantics, and Spandau Ballet takes it to the extreme here. Yes, there’s a bit of funkiness going on, but it’s quite disposable. Most of the vocals sound as if lead singer Tony Hadley is yawning the whole time, and the whole affair makes Howard Jones sound like George Clinton by comparison. The breakdown at 2:25 conjures up images of your parents “gettin’ down.” And, for some reason: slacks. Brown ones. With lots of pleats.

Speaking of Hadley’s lyrics, “Chant” sounds like a half-finished work, to the point where singing “TK” would have been more interesting. Arguably, the best thing about the track is its horn section, provided by Beggar and Co., an even less-remembered group than SB. But the weirdest thing about the group is this nugget, courtesy of Wikipedia: apparently the group’s name refers to “the spasms of the Nazi war criminals as they “danced at the end of the rope”, when they were hanged at Spandau Prison.”

This has me so incredibly freaked out, it has eliminated what little remaining desire I had to ever hear Spandau Ballet again.

Alright, who's the stealth street team member?

Media, Uncategorized,

A comment from the post on My Boys:

Jenny said…
Don’t miss “My Boys” this Monday, August 27! This episode is hands-down the funniest one yet and you’ll be kicking yourself if you miss it! As you know, since Brendan was selected as one of Chicago’s Hottest Bachelor’s, he’s turned into a complete jerk. In an effort to save him, PJ and the guys have a “douchebag intervention.” VERY FUNNY! “My Boys” is every Monday at 10/9c on TBS.

C’mon now, own up.

Although I must say I am intrigued by the idea of a douchebag intervention.

Long week

Comics, Media, Music, ,

Work’s been squeezing my mindgrapes dry this week, hence the lack of blogging. But here are a few things I noticed this week. They’re mostly local issues, which will probably disappoint all those who’ve arrived here by Googling “nine west high waist jeans.”

Chicago Tonight, regardless of what happened that day
The flood waters were big news yesterday, and all concerned – from the local MSM to the folks who helped each other hold together in relatively trying times – coped with it in a cool-headed manner, but I was most struck with how the folks at Chicago Tonight managed to broadcast their show, live, from their control room after their studio flooded. An odd sort of intimacy resulted, and I kept expecting Elizabeth Brackett and Eddie Arruza to sip from cups of tea.

Chicago Lack of Transit Authority
I’ve been mostly impressed with Ron Huberman’s conduct as CTA President. I do wonder how they agency continues to “find” money to make slow zone repairs and scale back predicted fare and service cuts when we were told for so long that such a thing would be impossible. I’m sure some capital programs are getting cut – just a hunch, mind you – but I haven’t seen any reports that mention anything like this happening.

I’ll be very interested to see how Huberman weathers the lack of CTA funding in the almost-passed state budget. You can only cry wolf so many times, and since there’s now talk that they’ll suck it up until the end of the year when a capital funding plan can be put in place, people are going to have a hard time believing in a “Doomsday” scenario, going forward, though it appears CTA VP Dorval Carter disagrees. Much like the record industry, the CTA ought to stop threatening its customers and find a way to work with them instead.

And finally tonight…

Next up: TV not a cultural wasteland!
I really like the Tribune’s Julia Keller. I think “low” culture tells us as much about a society as its politics, history and sociological framework, and she doesn’t shy away from the lighter aspects of life. Honestly, I’ve had a thing for her since she tackled the old Superman vs. Batman debate.

But man, I wish she had told her editor that the “Comics: Not just for weirdos” angle was the wrong one to take on this story about Douglas Wolk’s Reading Comics: How Graphic Novels Work and What They Mean. The Beachwood Reporter (with an assist by So-Called Austin Mayor) says it all in the last item here. The Trib – by its very nature – is usually late to the game on cultural trends and tends to be approach these stories as the very reactionary paper it’s often accused of being (“Some even claim to be–gasp–making money. Some crazy folks are even opening new ones.”). To be fair, the Trib’s Mo Ryan, Eric Zorn and Mark Caro know how to put their finger to the zeitgeist.

So maybe they can sit in on more story meetings. For instance, can someone explain to me why the Trib is so geeked on vinyl lately? Monica Kendrick over at the Reader blogged about a recent Trib editorial that extolled the virtue of the black circle, but she didn’t mention that they wrote an article on this very same topic earlier this month that was pegged to the resurgence of independent record shops (which incidentally TOC covered back in March) not to mention last June when they wrote about it.

Anyone who follows music knows this story gets trotted every year or two. And I don’t think vinyl gets “big” – or bigger as the case may be – each time. There isn’t an ebb and flow with a love of vinyl, but there is a steady stream of folks who cultivate this love the way some people cultivate a garden. But just like you can’t grow all plants in the same dirt and light, you only get true richness from vinyl with the proper sound system, which most people don’t have the desire to learn about or cash to purchase. And it’s why vinyl will be as “big” now as it will the next time this chestnut gets trotted out.

Hips don’t lie, but Nine West ads sure do

Media,


Dear Nine West,

Fuck you.

No, seriously, fuck you.

Recognize that ad? You should. It’s yours and I saw it not less than three different places in the course of Web-surfing today.

Sure, that’s probably a clever play on words, but you and I both know that high-waisted jeans only look good on women who don’t have hips anyhow. And since Michelle Pfeiffer’s corpse – or whomever it is in that ad there – doesn’t appear to have hips to begin with, it’s a bit like putting anti-wrinkle cream on a five-year-old, isn’t it?

While it’s bad enough you’re trying to sell an illusion, I’m more bothered by what that ad represents. I get that there might be some women who might be thrilled by the prospect of jeans that minimize the appearance of their hips. And I should probably respect their choices and blah blah blah, but I can’t help but think ads like this are the reason that some women think they NEED to minimize their hips in the first place.

I know you’re trying to sell “the new Nine West” in all your ads, but it’s pretty obvious that you’re peddling the same old bullshit.

Sincerely,
Our Man In Chicago

The word is out

Uncategorized,

When writing here, I’ve never been particularly coy about who I am or what I’m up to. But I also don’t go out of my way to put myself front and center either, even if I make it a point to self-promote whenever possible. While the Internet now considers me the most famous me in Chicago* (take that, director of the short film Ten and president of Tribune Publishing!), I still like to pretend I have a certain amount of virtual anonymity.

I’ve had my short-term reasons for that, but mostly I like to have control over my world, and how I’m perceived. It’s silly, really, but the impulse is there nonetheless. As such, I’m not one to dwell much on my personal life here. I prefer to let the words and the work be the focus. In my job, you really have to make peace with the notion that you’re leaving quite the footprint for those who want to play technological archaeologist. Even though what I do here is separate from the job, I’m still aware it’s out there for all to see. And while I prefer not to obscure my personality, with great bandwith comes great responsibility. So I prefer to keep a firm grasp on the “me” that’s out there. It’s the difference between uploading pictures of oneself holding a beer…or holding a beer bong.

I’m occasionally jealous of some writers who take their lives and pour them so exquisitely over their blogs. Like this fella, for instance. It’s possible I’ll get to the point where I’ll say “Ah, to hell with it” but not quite yet.

Anyway, that’s about the biggest self-revelation you’re going to get from me here. But I figured since I had such an influx of new readers today, it might be best to let you know what you’re all in for if you stick around. I certainly hope you do.

* Nope, those aren’t my numbers at the top of that page. Told you I’m careful.

Trapped

Music

This week’s shaping up to be a busy one, mostly with work stuff. Not the least of which is my daily blogging of each new chapter of R. Kelly’s magnum opus “Trapped in the Closet.”

I struggled with whether to give the guy any more attention than he already has. IFC has thrown its lot in with him, presenting each new chapter in advance of the DVD release. It’s a brilliant strategy, as I’d argue far more people will see it this way than in a DVD-only release.

But this fact remains: he’s an accused/alleged child pornographer/molester, and a person seemingly incapable of speaking of a woman in song without calling her a bitch or ‘ho. So why choose to associate myself with him, especially since I’ve taken pains to criticize him whenever possible? In the end, two things tipped the scales:

1) My inability to pass up an opportunity to crack wise
2) Figuring out ten different ways to refer to Kelly’s criminal charges in the intro

So yes, I too am lying down with a dog, and expect to wake up with a few flies in the process.

Astute readers of the Internet will no doubt notice that the academic tone of those posts resembles that of the Cliffs Notes versions of “Trapped in the Closet Chapters 1-12.” If there was another way to address these videos, I would. But it’s flat-out impossible to meet outright ridiculousness with anything other than something resembling rampant sincerity.

Oblivious Living Part 1.15: "She Blinded Me With Science" by Thomas Dolby

Music

MP3 – “She Blinded Me With Science” by Thomas Dolby
Lyrics – “She Blinded Me With Science” by Thomas Dolby

There seems little point in me going on about this song, even though I’d maintain that it’s far more obscure than most people would admit.

Rare is the person over 25 who hasn’t heard this song, even though it was released exactly that many years ago. And the Freudian video remains in the collective consciousness as well. Yet together it is all that most people know about Dolby.

Dolby’s influence on American culture was – at one point – so pronounced that “Weird Al” Yankovic recorded a stylistic parody of Dolby’s “Hyperactive” in a song called “Slime Creatures From Outer Space.” While not a note-for-note parody like “Beat It”/”Eat It”, Dolby’s electrokinetic vocals, big beat and spasmic guitars were unmistakably nicked for the Yankovic song. Only if Dolby’s presence was so large, would such a song have any resonance.

Though it is unmistakably 80s, few could tell you the year or the album from whence the song came. Sure, you could say this about many one-hit wonders, but Dolby’s influence then was far greater, and his time spent in scoring and creating electronic music – including the creation of his own synthesizers – should have left him with a much more influential footprint than, say, Lipps, Inc.

And yet history has not been kind to Mr. Dolby, at least in this country. Perhaps, in part, because Dolby was too accomplished in creating a persona, even while music video was in its infancy. Dolby’s lesser profile as he reaches the silver anniversary of his best-known hit is not punishment, but rather the most likely result of a career based largely on image.

Then again, how many people enthusiastically sing along to something YOU did 25 years ago?

My Boys, my struggle

Media, Uncategorized,


(Note: Oblivious Living Chapter 1.15 will appear in this space tomorrow).

I keep hearing that the second season of the TBS show My Boys is supposed to be television’s equivalent of the Most Improved Player, but if last night’s episode is any indication, everyone who is saying this is a huge liar. So here are a few suggestions on how to fix it:

1. Either be set in Chicago, or stop trying to convince everyone you are.
No one would refer to the “Medieval Times in Schaumburg.” On the rare occasion such a reference would be in order, it’d just be “Medieval Times.” There’s one in the entire state. It’s not as if the area’s so overrun with them that you’d need to identify which one you’re describing.

And come on: no one is going to go to Lake Forest to pick up “lonely, rich, beautiful women” at a yoga class, they’re going to go to Evanston. Lake Forest is damn near fucking Wisconsin as far as anyone in this city is concerned.

I realize the writers are trying to show off just how “Chicago” their characters are (and to be fair, the bit where PJ and Stephanie are reading the convoluted parking signs was a nice touch), but it’s failing miserably. And the only people that care, live here. So they might as well lighten up on the references, and focus more on writing people who seem like folks who live here. Speaking of…


2. Give Stephanie a heart, or a brain, or nerve or…something
I’m a little torn here because honestly, there are plenty of women in Chicago – and elsewhere – like PJ’s friend Stephanie. They’re a little shallow, or manage their money poorly, or obsess about one thing in their lives to the detriment of everything else.

But though they may have one fatal flaw, there’s usually one thing they are good at: their job, being a good friend, giving to charity, etc. Stephanie is apparently good at nothing, and a compendium of the worst of all human flaws. Here is a character whose sole purpose is to suggest that pretty women spend lavish amounts of money and only care about getting a guy. Yes, some women do, but they also do much more.

3. Drop the voiceovers or at least drop the sports metaphors.
No one – and I mean no one – who loves sports talks in sports metaphors for more than say, 1/5 of an average week. And I’m including people who are reporters for ESPN and get paid to speak in sports metaphors. Last night’s attempt to tie Bobby’s distancing himself from his rich family to players who only give up big salaries only to play for the love of the game was clunky as hell, and not just because no baseball player actually does this. We’re only about 18 episodes in, and tying in PJ’s career is only going to get harder.

4. Start planning a spinoff called These Dudes.
One of the complaints I made about this show early on was that “this is the only group of close friends that doesn’t constantly share in-jokes or riff off each other.” It’s the one thing that’s improved over last season. The guys are genuinely funny, and have a great interplay. It feels real. There’s bit in last night’s show about a six-foot urinal that was sharp, and witty, and written for actors who knew how to carry it off. I’d be happy to watch an entire show featuring the guy characters, although that brings up problems of its own. Which leads me to my last point…

5. Ditch PJ.
[A brief tangent here so I can admit a bias. From all the ads showcasing actress Jordana Spiro, I keep expecting her to be Amanda Bynes and I’m immediately disappointed when it turns out she isn’t. It’s not that I like Amanda Bynes all that much – in fact, I can honestly say I’ve never seen a full episode of any show she’s ever been on, or an entire film she’s been in. In fact, I had to look her up on IMDB.com to get a list of both, since the only thing I can remember her doing is that one movie where Colin Firth is her Dad and the other one where she plays a guy. I think I walked by a room once where the Colin Firth is My Dad movie was playing. But Bynes looks enough like Spiro that I keep expecting it to be Bynes, and she isn’t and for some reason, this disappoints me. Like when you see someone from behind and then they turn around and it turns out not to be them. I can’t explain why I am disappointed by not seeing someone I care barely identify, but there is is. And it probably colors the rest of this a little, so I thought it was only fair to mention.]

PJ is the weakest part of the whole show, and it’s because she’s ostensibly supposed to be the center of it. I don’t think Spiro’s a bad actress, but she’s either given little to do or is asked to demonstrate that PJ lacks the sense that women who hang around men have about guys. She isn’t particularly tomboyish, and isn’t particularly girly, which is fine. I know lots of women like that. And they’re all strong, smart, and together.

But PJ is none of these things. She’s presented with far less knowledge of the world than her character ought to have as a sports writer for a big city newspaper. As a result, any bit of energy the show musters up is immediately sucked out of the room anytime she’s onscreen because you can’t build a show around a weak character.