One certain way to define a "good night:" Sometime, I'm not sure when, but we'll say 3:45, belly full of eggs over-easy and hash browns, drifting in and out of sleep on one of those floor rocking chairs. Not that great yet. But, upon waking, hearing that familiar strum and, instinctively, belting it out: "When you were young, you were the King of Carrot Flowers. And you how built a tower tumbling through the tree-ees."

It was awesome, though I can only partially remember it. And, no, I didn't make it home until about 2 or 2:30 the next day and, no, the ensuing morning and afternoon weren't as fun as the night but, oh baby, there were impromptu-ish "singalongs" of "King of Carrot Flowers" and "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea." (Impromptu-"ish" because I had been discussing my love of ITAOTS with the guitarist earlier in the evening, and "singalongs," because it was only myself and the guitarist singing. But, still, awesome.)

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In trying to think of other interesting things that have happened since I last wrote, I can only think of falling asleep at 6:30 p.m. Wednesday, then waking up at 2 and, then, of course, waking up at 6 a.m. So that's 12 hours. (And I still didn't make it through the Bulls game on Thursday night entirely, drifting off shortly after Detroit picked up the lead. Ugh.) And I did it again on Saturday night, though there wasn't even a 2 a.m interruption this time - just straight through, 6:30 to 6. Pretty impressive, and at least there was an explanation for this one.

The good thing about falling asleep before 9 is that the lights don't stay on overnight. In the case of Wednesday, the better thing was that the TV wasn't even on. In the case of Saturday, well, the TV was on.

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I had my most disappointing ever Ring Fingernail Borders visit on Thursday night. With Wilco's record imminent (it's Tuesday, dude), and with reviews for both very strong, I went to pick up The Clientele's God Save The Clientele and Elliott Smith's New Moon, a collection of demos 1994-97. They say The Clientele record is poppier than previous efforts, which make me less disappointed that it's a summer album, and they say Elliott's collection is just awesome.

Sadly, though, my local Borders didn't have a copy of the former, and the latter was well more expensive than on Amazon. Sadlier, the person that "helped" me look for the Clientele album was a straight bitch. Like I was interrupting something, and not in a hot way. Just in a bitchy way.

However, I'll be back there on Tuesday because, hey, it's a Wilco record. Oh, it'll be great.

I listened to Yankee Hotel Foxtrot today, and it was as fantastic as you remember. Perhaps more fantastic than I remember. I last tried to list my fifty favorite albums in, what, fall of 2002, and I'd like to do it again. But I've got things to do, too. YHF had to be on the list, but I think it'd be much higher now.

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Unless something unforeseen happens, I'll be two hours south to see The Hold Steady on Wednesday night. I've missed out on a few good chances to see them previously (well, kind-of good chances...nothing closer than two hours away, for instance, and, in one case, nine hours away and on St. Patrick's Day), and I'm quite looking forward to this.

I hope he talks about the Twins and the Tigers, and I think somehow he will. I also hope he plays "Stuck Between Stations," and I also think somehow he will. I also hope it lasts longer than two hours, though I think that's probably wishful thinking. I also hope that I'm home by 3 a.m., but that's probably also wishful thinking. I hope I'm not pulled over on the way home under suspicion of being stoned, which is what happened last time I made a similar trip. I won't analyze whether that represents wishful or practical thinking. But I hope I don't get pulled over.

Most importantly, I hope that they play "You Can Make Him Like You" and "Massive Nights." And I hope someone spills their beer on me, because that just seems appropriate for a Hold Steady show.

Sadly, I'll probably write about it upon my return home, though no guarantees.

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If I told you I'd rediscovered a love of email, would you say I'm a dork? I'd hope so. But email's kind of cool, when it comes down to it.

Without email, I wouldn't get to debate the merits of Amy Winehouse with my pal Tina.

I also wouldn't know about catsthatlooklikehitler.com, which Tina wrote to me about, and which is totally coincidental. I just named my cat(s) Hitler because I hate Hitler, like I hate that cat(s), and not because they look like Hitler.

(I think the Hitler site is funnier in concept than execution, for the record. There seems to be a cause to the site, as well, which is respectable, though I don't really get into the whole "Save The Cats" thing. Also, the term 'Kitler' is funny.)

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Jared from Subway is totally not a sports fan. There's no way he knew who Tony Parker, Michael Strahan, or Ryan Howard were before he shot commercials with them. (I just saw Tony Parker's for the first time. I'd imagine his rap videos are ridiculous, though I hear he's serious about it. Tony Parker, not Jared, that is.)

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Sports-related, Bill Carmody's recruiting juggernaut just nabbed a top ten Illinois player (Nick Fruendt/Freundt) and a top 20 player (John Shurna), both freshman for the 2008-09 season. It seems to me that they have one scholarship left for that class though, if we're lucky, Jean-Marc Melchoir will have gone pro or died or something by then.

The great:
They're highly regarded. Freundt just was offered a scholarship by DePaul, and was getting higher interest. Shurna is one of the players whose had the biggest surge in interest since the end of the high school season.

The great:
They're local. Local is better than not-local.

The great:
They definitely represent a step up, a third straight year where the Cats'll land top area talent (Ryan and Nash; Capocci and Thompson; now these two.)

The great:
It seems like local coaches like Tavaras.

The awful:
For the second straight summer, I'm writing about college basketball. This is a problem.

The less-than-great:
They're white. I hope we get a Jamal or an Imam. (Jamal's a made-up player. Imam is "Shumpert," and is a top 15 national prospect at this point, I've heard. He was an unknown when Carmody started recruiting him six months ago but, sadly, his star seems to have risen above NU's reach.)

I'm not prepared to stamp any NU ticket to the NCAA Tournament, but they're closer to it. Still, it seems that, like Coble, Fruendt/Freundt sorta looks like a dork. It also seems that he's a top ten Chicago-area talent, so we'll deal with it.

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I had a fantastic talk with my dad (and my mom listened in) about politics this afternoon. Well, not really politics, but "Who's your horse in the primaries?" talk with my dad. I'm happy that I was able to pick out "his guy." And I'm happier that, eight years ago, he was a McCain guy, even after the Bush nomination was a foregone conclusion. That speaks well of my dad.

He's probably happy he didn't ask me who my horse was in the race, though I'm not sure who it is. I *think* he knows we're interested in different races entirely, or that we'll have 'horses' in separate races (it's possible, for instance, that he'll be pulling for my horse, but for entirely different reasons, and without a betting slip), though I'm not quite sure of that.

November X, 2000: "Oh, son. If I knew you were voting for Gore, I wouldn't've reminded you to vote at all. I reminded your brother to vote, but only because I knew he'd vote for Nader.

How right he was.

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Unless you're related to me and reading, you've got no better than the third-best mother in the world.

The best mom: Philicia Rashad, a.k.a. Claire Huxtable.
The second-best mom: My mom.
The third-best mom: Who knows?

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.