Friday, October 21, 2005

Liz Unphair

Liz Bashing Redux:

Maybe it's because I am still stunned she sold out (ha! punny! Sold! Out!) three nights at the Black Orchid (still locationally inexplicable), or that I'm stunned she's back again (Vic Theatre next Tuesday, thereby vitiating any sacred musical vibe left there by Tweedy and Co. during Wilco Week May 3-6), but I have to put forth another beautiful parenthetical slam on the former Blow-Job Queen, this time from Time Out Chicago's music calendar:

She's hired Sheryl Crow and Jason Mraz's producers for [her newest album], who have added more than a touch of Turning Leaf merlot flava to her Astroglide persona.

Am I going to fully (and in slobbery homage to the listings editor who's permanently sequestered behind a venti dark roast and a Mac who wrote this) bash Liz in these parts later?

Oh, hell yeah I am.

PS: Oh Christ. This just in. Now I'm glad I missed the Series game Saturday night.

Monday, October 17, 2005


I only have time to bellyache for this one moment:

May God hurl his sizzlingest, sharpest, pointiest lightening-bolt at people who purposelessly whistle. I mean whistle while they are walking around somewhere, say, like an office.

Like my office.

I work with far too many of these perpetrators of misplaced merriment (or, more truthfully, misplaced social discomfort)--and, yes, two is too freaking many.

The air here is waaaaay too frequently thick with poorly-aspirated, off-key, random notes that never, ever form even a semblance of a song, only the jagged migraine strains of a melody of pure futility.

To quote Bill the Cat (who was incapable of whistling): Ack-thpppt.