Dear Lord, Bless This Parking Ticket

So, my gramma is a total stickler for paying bills on time — bills are in and out of this house faster than a lubed-up credit card through a swiper thingy.

So I totally goofed and forgot to hang the handicapped sign when I parked my gram's car in her handicapped spot. And the next morning we walked out to a ticket-decorated window display. Bitches!

So we decided to dispute them, of course. We checked the box for "Request an In-Person Hearing," and as I was getting ready to leave to mail them, my gramma — who was watching a televised Mass — laughed, "Oh, we should put them in front of the TV first. Have the priest bless them for good luck."

Billy Corgan Sat in With Peter Hook (from Joy Division/New Order). I Didn't Drop My Phone Filming in the Mini Mosh.

This was how my Friday night was supposed to go: Go to a panel about new media at the Tribune Tower, and then sit at my new home — the 24-hour Clarke's on Damen in Chicago — and write more on this bloggy thing.

But I got a call from my girl Traci, who said there was a +1 available for the Peter Hook show at Metro, and would I like to go? Sure! I said. Even though I couldn't remember who Peter Hook was at that moment, honestly, but I love hanging with her and usually it's something interesting. So then I retreat to my cellular Internets and realize that Peter Hook was the bassist from Joy Division and New Order, oops, right.

And then I hear that Billy Corgan is supposed to sit in on a song at some point during the show. Which I guess wasn't last-minute news because Miles Raymer from the Chicago Reader wrote something about it earlier in the day, which I saw later — talking about the controversy/unrest regarding Hook touring with these Joy Division songs (he played the 1980 hit album "Closer") and touting merch featuring new designs. The latter inspired Raymer to use phrases such as "explosive diarrhea," ha, when comparing them to the classic designs of Joy Division (like the cover art for the "Unknown Pleasures" album, pictured on this kid's forearm, an album that Hook played at The Double Door last year). The Chicago Sun-Times has another background-y article here.



I did think it was weird that Hook seemed to have a songbook up there that he'd flip through occasionally, and it was not the tightest set by any means. But I liked watching this guy play bass, a hollow body electric one, that was like a cross he would maneuver around the stage.

Corgan was of course going to come on for "Love Will Tear Us Apart (which Hook dedicated to Metro owner Joe Shanahan who was DJ-ing that night, and then Corgan goofed the timing on a lyric one time, it was rather cute). But Corgan first came in for "Transmission," and inspired a mini mosh, as odd — and at times painful — a musical match-up as it was. I screamed a lot. Getting knocked and filming. There were Hook-aged bros in the audience who knew every word and were psyched (Joy Division never made it to play the States, Ian Curtis committed suicide right before a scheduled tour in 1980). And there were college-age kids who knew every word and were psyched (they weren't even born before Curtis died). Sometimes it's just nice to hear your favorite music played live by someone who once played it, I guess.

[UPDATE: Here's a good review I found in F News, the School of the Art Institute newspaper by Brandon Goei.]

Goodbye "All My Children," My Mommy Loved You

So my mom was over the other day and announced, "Well, Friday is the last day for 'All My Children.'" To which my gramma replied, "Aw, you gonna cry?"

My mom watched All My Children — hereafter referred to as "AMC" or "All My Kids" — from the beginning, as it aired around a time that she breastfed my 41-year-old sis (when she was still a baby, of course). It replaced the game show "Dream House" where contestants would win room furnishings, and sometimes an actual house, a mix of "The Price Is Right" and "Extreme Home Makeover."

"I'd never seen a soap opera, and I wanted to watch it from the beginning to find out if everyone was sane — and then they started sleeping with each other and killing and lying? Or if they start out at different stages of nuttyhood," my mom said.

Apparently Erica Kane — played by Susan Lucci, who finally won an Emmy in 1999 on her 19th nomination — was an evil wench right from the start. One of her first orders of business was trying to break up a young couple Phillip and Tara. (Phillip, the heartthrob of Pine Valley — later replaced by Tad — was the adopted son of Ruth and Joe Martin, which he didn't realize at the time, of course. FYI the actress who played Ruth, Mary Fickett, died last week at the age of 83.)



While my mom was working at Public Aid, she'd watch "All My Kids"on her lunch break — in the electronics department at Montgomery Ward in downtown Chicago. "[The employees] got tired of seeing everybody standing there, so they just put in these pew-like benches and we would just sit there and eat our lunch and watch." This was a cutting-edge show: Erica Kane was the first TV character to have an abortion, and they dealt with issues of homosexuality, spousal abuse of women, and pregnancy after 40. By the time I came around, my mom was staying at home, and her third child didn't quell her addiction to the daytime serial.

"All My Children" came on at noon. It was my mom's "show" and we weren't allowed to watch anything else during that time, or bother her (though she disputes this). So I would inevitably end up watching it sometimes, during the summer or if we'd come home for lunch. And I fell in love, too, I guess. The evil twins on this show were branded on my little brain, it introduced me to insane, maybe — to characters like Natalie and her evil twin "Crazy Janet" (who threw her into a well), and vindictive Adam Chandler and his child-like other half Stuart. (And it introduced me to Kelly Ripa too — don't forget that she got her start on this show as Hayley! And Carol Burnett played a character named Verla! Oh, I also got the autograph of Taylor Miller — aka "Nina Cortlandt" — when she was filming a movie near my childhood house in Oak Park.)



My mom, who hasn't watched in over 10 years, said that she's watched the show the last couple days and reported: "Tad and Dixie are getting married for like the third time, Angie got her sight back, and they brought Stuart back from the dead." (Oh, Dixie came back from the dead too at one point — Adam had stashed her away in a mental institution.)





In the last episode that aired today, Erica — who's married Jackson like three times already — tells Jackson that she doesn't want to get married again, so Jackson tells her that he's had enough (channeling Rhett Butler) and that she can go to LA by herself. Erica chases after him to get him back. But JR — the crazy drunk son of Adam and Dixie, who hates his father Adam (who is in the room) — is hiding in another room with a gun. Then JR then fires, and the scene ends on Erica reacting as the gun goes off, and then fades to black. What really happened we may never know.



"I thought JR would set off a bomb, blow everything up — bye Pine Valley!" my mom said.

Aw Pine Valley, we shall miss you. And now I will leave you with the poem that "All My Children" creator Agnes Nixon wrote that appears in the title credits' photo album:

The Great and the Least,
The Rich and the Poor,
The Weak and the Strong,
In Sickness and in Health,
In Joy and Sorrow,
In Tragedy and Triumph,
You are ALL MY CHILDREN

I Bloody Lost a Tooth!

Well, I didn't, but my Mini-Me did. I wish I did, I could use the cash. No but seriously, I've been finishing up three pretty substantial posts, so that's why I've been posting these bloody bitty-baby blurbs.

What Could CGC Possibly Stand For? Let's Explore.

Okay, so CDC stands for the Centers for Disease Control, so CGC must be... Centers for Gravy Control? Chilled Gravy Cocktail? Mmm, gravy. Ha ha, I found this funny passage from a gravy-lovers Facebook page:

"Gravy. A food or a beverage? We don't really care. We don't want a drizzle. We don't want a spoonful. We don't want a cup. WE WANT A BOWL OR A BUCKET! Turkey? Gravy. Stuffing? Gravy. ... Ice cream? Gravy. Lifesavers? Only if they are gravy flavored."

Ha ha, Gravy Savers? The perfect garnish for your Chilled Gravy Cocktail. Gravy mixed with moonshine. And bottled with the tagline, "It's gravy." Okay, I will stop now, good night.

Some Notes on the Auntie Emmys. And Copulating.

I'd like to start by saying that Steve Levitan — one of the creators of "Modern Family," who was anointed with the show's win for Best Comedy Series and also a writing award — went to my alma mater, the University of Wisconsin-Madison. And went onstage wearing a Bucky the Badger mascot get-up. In my mind.

But he did pull some (fake plastic) badger claws out when he talked about how the show's writers take ideas from real life — and announced that, yes, his kids did walk in on him and his wife...you know, doing it. Like these millipedes.



Ha ha, a little live-broadcast TMI! The camera cut to Steve's wife, and she just looked in the camera, smiled funnily and shrugged like, "I can't believe he just said that, but yep! Shit happens!" Priceless. Levitan later thanked his "three traumatized children." (Note: One of my favorite lines from "Modern Family" is when Phil Dunphy, played by Ty Burrell, who also won, is talking about how he's "the cool dad"..."You know, I text, OMG, oh my god — LOL, laugh out loud — WTF, why the face.") I would engage in coitus with this TV show.



Charlie Sheen got up onstage to announce for his "old category" and gave a heartfelt thank you to his former "Two and a Half Men" crew. "We spent eight wonderful years together and I know you will continue to make great television." I'm crossing my claws the same thing happens for him. (I love you Charlie, I just watched "Hot Shots" yesterday, and am gearing up for your roasty-roast on Comedy Central tonight.)

"The Daily Show With Jon Stewart" won the Emmy in the comedy/variety show category for the ninth year in a row (though the Hollywood Reporter says its the eighth?), as well as an Emmy for writing in the category. And it was pretty obvious why, when one of the head writers recited this gem:

"Thank you for the writing award. It is a very nice writing award. The Academy is very good. So thanks for saying to us, 'You are good at writing.' Most of the time Jon Stewart checks our writing and rewrites the writing that is by us, but not this time. Fox News joke TK. Emmys is good. Thank you very much, thank you."

Ha, the writing by you is very good! So my writer and journalist friends got the "FOX News joke TK," but for the rest of you out there, "TK" means "to come" in writer-scrawl (like "fill in the blank"). I'd also like to imagine that it means "to copulate."



Oh, if you missed it, here's The Lonely Island band from "Saturday Night Live" featuring Michael Bolton (as Captain Jack Sparrow?); Akon contributing some of his "I Just Had Sex"; and John Stamos, Ed Helms and Maya Rudolph spoofing the SNL Gaga skit "It's Not Gay When You're in a Three-Way."

Copulations to all the winners!

What's in That Bag That Woman is Carrying on Her Head? I Could've Just Asked Her...

...but I didn't. No, I followed her. I was pulled to her like a magnet, away from the band at the Edgewater Lounge Block Party. Her swagger mesmerized me. I didn't want to disrupt the flow. She was on a mission. Maybe she was going to do laundry. Maybe she was going to drop off her recycling. Maybe there was a ginormous sale on gummy worms.

I so wanted her bags to be filled with gummy worms, but I think it was laundry. Alas, I never talked to her, which would've been cool so I could find out where she was from. Anyway, I was happy for Chicago at that moment, the diversity that exists here once you take the time to get out and look around. (But if you're balancing something on your head, I'd imagine you'd have to look around verrryyy slowlyyyy.)

Speaking of balancing things on heads, I took a two-year-old to a "rock n roll" music class the other day — where the Stevie-Nicks-ish instructor had the hair and bod of an early thirtysomething, but was in her mid-fifties I'd guess — and one part of the class involved shaking an egg-shaped music maker, and then balancing it on your head. She also went around the circle to get each of the little ones to say their name and she'd strum and sing, "Hello — I love you — won't you tell me your name..." So that was rad.

But perhaps the crowning point of the session? A short little doozy of a dance that the teacher made up to Katy Perry's "Hot N Cold" song:

"You're hot and you're cold" (clapping)/ You're in and you're out (jumping in and then out of a hula hoop on the ground)/ You're up and you're down (squatting down and then standing back up)."

Try it today! (Jim Morrison rolling over in his rock n roll grave.)

Let's Get Back in Line. Or At Least Look at the Lines on This House.

I realized that my last few posts have referenced barf, pee and pet water bowls, so I'd like to just be a little more domestic here — not that barf, pee and pet water bowls aren't extremely domestic, especially if you have kids and/or pets — but anyways, isn't this house cool? Those stripes up top? I'm going to buy it and then shave and color my head like this to match. (Oh, there I go talking about hair again.)

What Bra Size Did Wonder Woman Wear? And Other Cup-Related News.

This is not a question I wonder about as I'm walking down the street wearing my Wonder Woman underwear and undershirt, but it is a question that came up when I happened upon a vintage Wonder Woman cup holder, circa 1988.



On the bottom of her bright circular yellow stand it read "Figurine 'B' for Cup 'B'." To which a friend retorted, "Wonder Woman was at least a C!" Discuss amongst yourselves.

Speaking of cups, below is the cup that supposedly came with said cup holder, courtesy of Burger King. Really? It looks like a pee cup they give you at the doctor. Okay wait — now this cup-holding business is finally starting to make a little sense! Thanks for your help Wonder Woman.

Good Morning, Some Sideways Barf With Your Coffee?

But be careful not to sideways spew your coffee out whilst laughing at this. Instead of hang gliding, this should be called hang barfing.

Petland Won't Be Selling Puppies, Kittens Anymore in Canada. In Other News: "The Cutest Dog in the World" Got a Book Deal, So Don't Lose Hope.

I need to rationalize posting this photo I took of a Benefit (as in the cosmetics) water bowl by mentioning something more substantial, so here goes: TIME.com reported today that Petland chain stores will be phasing out the sale of puppies and kittens in its Canadian stores (but not in the U.S.). Animal rights groups see this move as a benefit (see how I brought that around) to their cause because it will ideally "bring more attention to rescue pets and pet overpopulation."

I get that halting sales will help boost adoptions, but I don't understand how stopping the sales of pets at high-profile mall locations will help control the pet population (non-existent assistant, could you get Bob Barker on the phone please?). I mean, aren't doggies in the window basically advertising that there are pets out there that need homes? Oh wait, maybe because breeders breed more animals so they can sell them to pet stores? Oh right, right...puppy mills. Boo. Anyway, Petland peeps say that the move is actually a business decision, as more people are buying pets via that Internet thing we're using right now. Oh, and Petland is still running their Adopt-A-Pet program.



And now back to cute. TIME.com also posted a video of "the cutest dog in the world" yesterday, a Pomeranian named Boo, who has over 1.6 million Facebook "likes." He's so cute that he got a book deal — "Boo: The Life of the World's Cutest Dog" was released this July. I'm allergic to dogs and cats, but I love me a cute furry thing. I hope they'll be making Boo muffles — with his face in the front, and then you stick your hands in his ears to keep your hands warm — I would so buy that! Or at least write about it. And now back to sneezing out rubber-cement-looking goobers.

Here's a Plug for the Strange Beauty Show Salon in Chicago. And Unintentionally, Hair Plugs.

I had a hankering for a Twix after depositing enough money to cure an overdraft, so I locked up my bike, paid a visit to Family Dollar, and then sidled up against the brick wall of an abandoned storefront and nibbled the melty chocolate sticks directly out of the wrapper.

I made creepy eye contact with a Mercedes owner who reminded me of Bruce Jenner of the Kardashian clan (but with blond hair plugs) wearing an over-sized thrift-store-looking blazer that matched his navy ride, which I can only describe as the kind of older-model Mercedes that might frequent the driveway of the house in "Flowers in the Attic," driven by a bribed coroner. Now that I think about it, his hair was like a combination of Bruce Jenner and Kristy Swanson's wig in "Flowers in the Attic" after her character madly butchers her hair.





Anyway, so this well-designed sticker caught my eye on a nearby street pole, and it made me want to check out the Strange Beauty Show site. So in honor of good design, here I am plugging the salon. And maybe unintentionally, hair plugs. By the way, this salon does feather extensions. Where did that trend come from, by the way? Is that what led to Cyndi Lauper singing the "The Star-Spangled Banner" at the U.S. Open this weekend (and butchering the lyrics, which also seems to be a popular trend lately)?




I just know Steven Tyler wouldn't never goof the national anthem. Especially if he was wearing his feathers for good luck. Okay, he smudged some words in this vid at the 2004 World Series, but not like an entire lyric so whatevs, and it's so rock n roll so who cares!




Oh, here! "Like" Strange Beauty Show on Facebook for deals and stuff, they do cool make-up and nails, too, and have art shows and play vinyl.

The Comic Perspective on 9/11

No, not the comical perspective on 9/11, or the "comic's" perspective as in how many feet did Gilbert Gottfried put in his mouth after the tragedy — but the approach that some of the Sunday funnies in the Chicago Tribune and Chicago Sun-Times newspapers took to tastefully deal with the 10-year anniversary.

There's a Hippie-Rapper-Raver-Skater Music Fest in DeKalb County That You Should Check Out Next Year. It's Called Stompkee Fest.

When I first heard about an outdoor music fest in Earlville, IL called "Stompkee," I pictured shirtless guys in combat boots mid-air, but about to stomp on some kimchee in the woods. Kind of like Michael Flatley from Riverdance, but bald and on steroids.



But no, no, Stompkee is the name of the street near where the fest was originally held, in the District of Cornfieldia, where people would walk around all naked and wild — so I heard from one veteran Stompkee-ite. The fact that it was more “commercial” this year, its sixth year (they posted the event on Facebook, made a website, etc) supposedly caused some people to not attend. But 100 acres of camping, swimming and fishing in DeKalb County hardly seemed commercial for a city girl like me, coming from the Lolla-Land of Chicago. We camped underneath a willow tree, listened to DJ beats deep into the night by a campfire that bordered on a bonfire, and were woken up at 6am by people drunkboarding on the wooden skate ramp next to us.



The days were lazy, and the four stages — including a Barn Stage — were spread out, so you got not only a dose of scenery but a shot of exercise. We'd hear meanderings of Phish covers, but then catch a newer rap group at the hip-hop stage right by us. We wandered the grounds, got healthy grub from the House Cafe tent, and crappy grub (and bug spray) from the camp store. We diddled on the graffiti wall, before a more professional crew from my Humboldt Park neighborhood took it over, and met a guy who had some eye-poppin' eyeball glasses. His girlfriend — minus her pink hair — reminded me of another girl I met who sported tattoos of the two members of Insane Clown Posse, Shaggy 2 Dope and Violent J, on her thighs. She was real nice, just like every other Juggalo I've ever met. Scout's honor.








The grounds were beautiful, at a place called Stonehouse Park, which also hosts events like Octoberfest, weddings — and combat-recreation events like RISING, "a live action game putting you into the heart of the zombie apocalypse." We didn’t see any zombies, but there was body painting. And while I didn’t see anyone stomping on kimchee at Stompkee, I did see combat boots — worn by a military-type guy, believe it or not, recruiting for one of the staged battle events. I'll just say that having a guy with a fake gun unexpectedly creep up on you at night while you're zoning in on a campfire is a little freaky, hmmm? That was only to be topped by him demonstrating how to load it and talking about what they do to make it spark like it's really shooting bullets. I videotaped part of his explanation for your viewing pleasure.





One band that really caught my attention was a group from Chicago called thuMp (yep, I kept their spelling, not to be confused with the other trip-hop/soul band Thump...just kidding). No but seriously, they're amazing. Their sound makes me feel like I'm bumping down the streets of Harlem in the 1970s, inspired and ready to live life. You can listen here. I like that their bio reads: "We’re influenced by everything from rice bread to hip-hop." Ha ha, rice bread.