Hey, so, let's get something down here.

It's almost Go time, which is to say that, eight hours from now, I'll be boarding a plan to Chicago to Minneapolis. That's pretty exciting. I know where I'm going. I'm not packed, but I can be fairly quickly. I will be shortly after this is written. Also, my alarm is currently set for 4 a.m., based on the theory that there's an ever-so-slight chance that I'll somehow manage to fall asleep before being properly packed.

The alarm's loud, and currently rouses me with Belle & Sebastian's "It Could Have Been A Brilliant Career." I've determined that The Boy With The Arab Strap is a fantastic morning record.

Let's write briefly about songs that have been my wake-up song over time.

Among them:
Sophomore year, also senior year: "Will My Feet Still Carry Me Home?" from Elf Power's A Dream In Sound

Various times during junior year:
The Beach Boys' "Wouldn't It Be Nice?"
Lucinda Williams "Right In Time"

Honestly, that might've been it. Gurs probably knows.

I don't know from, say, 2002 through 2006. At various times, though, I've used The Jayhawks' "Blue," not because I like starting the morning with the lyric, "Where have all my friennnnddds gone? They've all disappeared," but because I like twangy harmonies.

However, last summer, which is to say, summer 2006, I stood firm on The Strokes "Is This It." Only recently, say, in August 2007, did I switch briefly to The Webb Brothers' "All The Cocaine In The World," which is an odd, odd choice, but was cool because of the cooley-high harmony. Currently, it's "It Could Have Been a Brilliant Career." I'd imagine my upstairs neighbor really likes that album.

I recall sleeping through the entirety of Uncle Tupelo's Still Feel Gone record during reading week of Fall Quarter 1998. That's some kind of accomplishment.

Back to the matter at hand...
The Twin Cities will be totally boss. I'll have a recap, probably never, but perhaps sometime next week. I'd anticipate that I'll nap briefly on Thursday morning, then wander through Bright New Minneapolis. Upon Gurs' return home, we'll go see The Hold Steady. Anything after that, really, is just gravy...

Also, there'll be a Friday night Cookie sighting, whether in the out-out-outlying suburbs, or in the less outlying suburbs, or perhaps in the city proper.

There'll be a Cats-game viewing on Saturday, joined by Pam Ward.

There'll be a flight home Sunday, presumably way too soon. I think I'll be able to comfortably sleep for the duration of all four scheduled flights.

I've got tuna salad that I prepared on Sunday night, October 28, sealed in an airtight container. Do you think it will be good come Sunday night, November 4? Or, more importantly, Monday afternoon, November 5? Because my long-term health depends on it.

I plan to pack just one pair of pants. I'll wear the other pair of pants. I don't think I'll have to check any bags, and I think it's always easier that way. Perhaps this will be infeasible, as I'm on what I figure to be a fairly high-traffic flight home, the popular Minneapolis to Chicago Sunday-at-4:30 timeslot.

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Because I can, Big Ten stuff.

The Cats could have won and, though they allowed 35 points, last Saturday may have been their finest defensive performance of the year. They bottled up a good Purdue team for significant chunks of game time, only wearing down when their offense couldn't collect a single first down in the fourth quarter.

CJ Bacher's an odd quarterback. He couldn't hit the target to save his life in the fourth quarter, and yet he led a few really beautiful drives as well. When he's good (and, importantly, when Garrick McGee's in a playcalling rhythm), he's as good as anybody in the conference.

One thing worth noting: Tyrell Sutton is back, and Tyrell Sutton is a much, much, much better player than Omar Conteh. Sutton's just so damn fast.

Anyway, I like the Cats to get a win on Saturday, which would put them bowl-eligible with two more to play. Six wins far from guarantees the Cats a bowl bid, as every Big Ten team but Minnesota will likely gain bowl eligibility this year. I think that playing a December game is very, very important for the development of Northwestern's program. Well, probably just slightly important.

Big Ten power rankings:

1) Ohio State (1st last week, 1st tier of teams)

2) Michigan (2-2)
3) Penn State (3-2)

4) Illinois (4-3)
5) Wisconsin (6-3)
6) Purdue (5-3)

7) Indiana (8-3)
8) Iowa (9-3)
9) Northwestern (10-4)
10) Michigan State (7-3)
11) Minnesota (11-4)

Obviously, the transitive property can't work within a conference alignment for things such as this, but I think that the top six have separated from the bottom five. You'll see that I've moved Indiana, Iowa, and Michigan State all to the bottom tier, with returners NU and Minnesota. I'm not sure, but I don't think a team in the bottom five has defeated a team in the top six, though I might be wrong. Michigan State plummets because, well, that's what they did under B.Williams, and that's what they did under J.L.Smith, and that may be what they do under M.Dantonio.

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Today was Enforced Fun Day at work, which meant semi-mandatory participation Halloween costume contest. Laid back!

I took the challenge, and went as Kurt Cobain on the iconic 1992 cover of Rolling Stone magazine. A bit esoteric, but not so esoteric that nobody got it. Only, perhaps, three people were familiar with the totally awesome "Corporate Magazines Still Suck," image, but most people were able to figure out the whole "tattered sweater-looking shirt, blond mop wig, torn jeans" look. I definitely ripped up the knees of a pair of generally-unused blue jeans for the part. I mean, who has use for blue blue jeans? Not me, really. Certainly not me anymore.

Total outlay for the project was approximately 14 dollars, as I did invest in two shirts and a pair of sunglasses from Goodwill (one that I ended up using successfully slicing apart and using, and one that'll move into the rotation - turns out, they've got some goooood shit at Goodwill...more plaid shirts than you can shake a stick at, dudes), a thick-tipped Sharpie for shirt-scrawling purposes, and a platinum blond wig that I properly mangled and that was, at this time of the season, also half-price.

There is some level of photographic evidence. I don't currently own this photographic evidence. Perhaps I'll provide it here at a later date.

Upon entry in the building this morning, I was in full costume. I was wearing sunglasses. It was dark. I was quite confused. Someone said, "Nice wig." I thanked her. Later, I considered it odd that this person would say, "Nice wig," as if the wig were the only thing different about me. Accordingly, I eventually confronted her, jokingly: "When you said, 'Nice Wig,' my only thought was, You're only noticing the wig? Because, apparently, this [gesturing to shirt] looks approximately like something I'd wear, doesn't it? This joke fell flat, apparently, as, two hours later, as it was time to depart, this person rapidly approached me, agologetically: "I could tell right away you were Kurt Cobain. It's really good." The joke wasn't funny. It also wasn't really a joke. This vignette went nowhere.

It was my first time dressing up since 2003. I was way cooler then, as I was Joe Borowski.

So, I make fun of Enforced Fun Day, but it was kind of fun.

Among the highlights:
An iPod Silhouette, though he had a Walkman sports radio strapped to his arm
Shrek
Two people dressed as our current company mascot
A murderous doctor
At least two lame tech-geek in-jokes
Someone inexplicably in gold hot pants
"Prison Bitch"
An Oompa Loompa

I would estimate approximately 60-75 percent participation, which is pretty strong. Most everybody spent the day at least somewhat uncomfortable, I'd imagine. Lots of facepaint.

I won no prize, sadly.

Notably, my scissored-apart brown sweatshirt will be easily repurpose-able as Moses or Jesus for next year. I'll just need pants. That makes things easier.

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My sister's writing again. She's here. Well, she's there.

Her return to blogging recounts her July 3rd tale of eating Chicago style hot dogs. It's pretty good.

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Last week, I checked out quite a few records by The Smiths at the library. The Smiths aren't the hardest, you know, and I'm having a tough time figuring out why they're so revered. It's just pop music, it seems, but, then again, they did come before Belle & Sebastian, and they certainly came at a point when fey Brit-pop wasn't, you know, the thing.

I can safely determine that The Smiths aren't the right music to get me in the mood for a Saturday of bar-football watching.

I'm still trying to determine if I like The Smiths. My instinct is that I do.