I guess I should write a full recap of my parents' visit this past weekend but, really, not that much happened. Four wonderful dinners, including a Sunday night dinner where a few friends joined, lots of time on the beach (often asleep or pretending to be asleep), several round trip apartment-to-hotel drives and vice versa, two fairly successful rounds of golf (detailed in comment form on the previous entry), an obscenely expensive but pretty freakin' good (potato skins with scrambled eggs and steak slices and cheddar cheese and sour cream and some green onions) breakfast, and and about $500 in groceries. I don't think that figure is an exaggeration.

During dinner on Saturday, we somehow got into politics. Awesomely (and uncomfortably), the solo guitarist who was playing soft acoustic music interjected with his thoughts on universal health care between songs. Like me, he was stunned by the overhead in the current health insurance system. (15 percent of costs to marketing and denying coverage, expenses that wouldn't happen in a single-payer system; we both had the number 40 percent in our heads, which is more extreme, but both figures are pretty remarkable. Again, I'm probably incorrectly quoting the made-up statistics from the current Newsweek.)

There were more awesome jokes and maybe some "life talk" thrown in there and, altogether, it was my third or fourth or fifth totally awesome weekend this summer where I did nothing of significance but hang out with people I like a lot. In this case, however, the food was better.

Also during the course of the weekend, I finished Chuck Klosterman's Killing Yourself to Live and am now 70 percent through Fargo Rock City, which I picked up at the library on Sunday. It's odd, because I find myself nodding and nodding and nodding to everything he writes when, in actuality, I've got no shared history. I liked "18 and Life" by Skid Row (I saw them play it live as a 9-year-old, which is pretty awesome and which my mom feels somehow guilty about) and I loved but didn't understand all the awesome Poison songs, and I owned a Cinderella cassette and a few Living Colour cassettes and I bought Motley Crue's Dr. Feelgood but was somehow talked into giving my brother the original and keeping the dubbed copy, and I owned and definitely didn't understand Warrant's Cherry Pie. But he writes about 80's metal passionately and awesomely and breezily, which makes him fantastic.

The best part, so far, is when he recounts a supper (not dinner)-table story in which his dad criticizes another local farmer, who has several different breeds of cattle:

Predictably, my dad was disgusted. "What a motley crew that is," my father said of the cows. At that point, [siblings] Rachel and Bill began laughing like hyenas, and I just sort of stared into my stew. I can only imagine what my dad suspected everyone was howling about.

This kind of memory would bother some people. It would make them feel alienated, or detached from their paternal life force, or depressed that their male parent had absolutely no interest in something they loved. But I don't feel that way at all. When I recall this incident, I simply find it reassuring to know my father obviously never entered my bedroom the entire time I lived in his house.

- - - - -

Man, I must've written an awesome thank-you note following The Engagement Party of the Millennium. How do I know? Because, Friday afternoon, I received a thank-you note for my thank-you note. I mean, that's awesome. I probably shouldn't follow with a response, right?

- - - - -

When it comes right down to it, this is a pretty amazing event, considering where it's being held and all. I'm not much of a movie guy, but Raiders of the Lost Ark, outside, free, and on a big screen, is probably kind of worth it. Especially if accompanied by a flask.

- - - - - -

So, late Thursday night, Gurs made a particularly compelling case that I should join him and a cast of quality characters for a single day of Lollapalooza, this coming Saturday.

The upside:
The company
The music
The company

The downside:
The music's not really that good (I mean, I really like Interpol, but as a festival headliner?
The $80 ticket
The 11 hours in the car

Let's be honest, while I'd love to see Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, I'd probably spend their set thinking about how early I should leave their set to see The Hold Steady on the other side of the grounds, even though I saw The Hold Steady play the same (totally awesome) set, in longer form, 2 1/2 months ago.

While I've tried and tried and tried to talk myself into it, I just think I can't. Does that make me lame? Yup.

- - - - - -

The Cubs choked in their chance to get a share of first place. Or, rather, Ted Lilly left one offspeed pitch up in the zone, and Rowand hammered it. Lesson? Throw strikes. (It was a two-out homer to cap a rally started by a walk.) Lesson two? Keep it down, dammit.

But at least Pat Hughes is healthy again.

I'd like to write a few things, but, let's be honest, there's not much time. My parents are in town, and that's totally awesome. We just had a really nice dinner, and my mom tried to set me up with the waitress. Turns out, the waitress was about 20. (Which is, for the record, younger than my sister.) Sadly, for my mom, I think the waitress was turned off by my giggling and my mom's slurring. Just a little slurring, a teensy bit of slurring, but slurring nonetheless.

Ah, well.

The other highlight of dinner came, oddly enough, during our wait for a table. (There were plenty of tables available, but we, wisely, asked to wait for one by the window and, therefore, the water.) It was an interesting bar, with normal-sized chairs (which is to say, regular dinner chairs instead of bar stools) and a sunken behind-the-bar area.

Unique, and, for the time we were there, far more comfortable than a normal bar stool, I thought.

So, my dad was going to check on how long the wait would be for a window table, and my mom and I headed to the bar.

As we were about to sit down, my mom said to the bartender...
"Oh, you look so tiny down there!"

The bartender responded, "Well, I am only five-two."

Though nobody laughed at the moment - it was uncomfortable, though in a friendly way - it was hilarious. When we were seated for dinner, my parents and I enjoyed a good belly-laugh over the moment.

- - - - - - - - -

I'd've liked to get something down here earlier this week but, sadly, a late night talk Sunday, a night out Monday and back-to-back asleep-on-the-couch nights have precluded such an endeavor. (Also, my apartment's filthy, even though it had gotten clean on Sunday. We're talking three-day old chicken bones on the stove filthy. Seriously. Eww.)

Thankfully, there was nothing really that notable about this past weekend to report. I golfed - terribly - Saturday morning. I think I got a 135 on a par-72. I swung and missed as much as I connected solidly. I cheated my way to a 135.

I took a few tips to the range with me on Monday. I adjusted my grip. I started with my short clubs, then worked towards the longer ones as I hit the short ones straight and easy. I focused on a straight swing path. I used loose change to aid this cause. I tightened the grip with my top two fingers. I became a dork who talks about my golf game.

Tuesday, post-work, I played a relatively short nine hole course. Par 32. I pulled out a 48, terribly mishitting only three balls, and holing out, down a ridge, from the fringe, about 80 feet from the cup, on the final hole.

I'm playing with my dad tomorrow morning, a grown-up course. I won't write about it, though I probably will.

Otherwise, over last weekend, I cleaned, watched Endless Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and watched VH-1's World Series of Pop Culture. The World Series is a fantastic format, and hugely entertaining. I missed it last year. I'll watch in marathon-form next year, as well. Endless Sunshine is better than I remembered, and I really liked it the first time I saw it.

- - - - - - - -

Movies. Let me tell you, friends, I don't see a lot of them. And this summer's biggest one has me so unmistakably torn.

The Simpsons Movie. (That's the title, right? That's it, right?)

As is the case with anybody my age, at least part of my adolescence was strongly influenced by the show. I remember the debut of the Christmas special. I remember some Tracey Ullman short where Bart's visage was frozen in the shape of a funny face he was making at Lisa. I didn't have any t-shirts, but I was quite jealous of those with the Underachiever: "And Proud Of It, Man" ("Dude?") variety. (I even yearned for the skateboarding "Ay Caramba!" shirt. Seriously.)

I learned quite a bit, mostly about what was funny, from the show. ("I know. This lesbian bar has no fire exits!") I also learned, over time, how wildly funny the references and set pieces were, even though I'm far from a movie buff. The A Streetcar Named Desire episode. The "Miss Krabapple, you're trying to seduce me!" scene, perfectly emulating The Graduate. (Did the same episode somehow end with an awkward back-of-the-bus glance, also from The Graduate?)

There was the Last Exit To Brooklyn episode ("Dental plan. Lisa needs braces.")

Really, it was genius.

However, the last eight years have happened. Gosh, it stopped being funny in 1997 or so, it seems to me. Sadly, I haven't really watched it since 1998 or so, catching just a spare episode here or there.

So, on the one hand, I'm hopeful that they'll live up to their history. (But Conan didn't work on it at all, so they might not be able to...) Clearly, Matt Groening appreciates the legacy, and they say that his other work is still good (I don't know what is, but that's what I've heard), and he can understand that the moving being awful will certainly reduce the characters' cultural importance, somehow. It's gotta be good, for his own pride, right?

On the other hand, I'm fearful that it'll just out and out suck.

Still, I think I'll actually see it and, again, I don't see movies. In the theater, and everything. I think.

And, for the record, reviews are very strong, which is reassuring.

But I'm still afraid it'll suck, and hard.

- - - - - - -

I'm reading Chuck Klosterman's Killing Yourself to Live right now. About him visiting rock star death sites. He's really a fun-to-read writer, though I'm not sure how good of a writer he is.

But he's got this way of mixing the personal and the highly-personal and the pure pulp. It's really breezy and, at this point (sixty or so pages in), comes highly recommended.

But, then again, I'm about two years late on this, so anybody who cares has already read it.

- - - - - -

Everybody hates Barry Bonds. Why? Read this interview with Jeff Pearlman, who wrote Love Me, Hate Me, the Bonds biography which was promoted in March or so of last year. (It was promoted for its factual reporting of his steroids usage and was, therefore, tagged as "the other steroids book." From what I hear, it's far more than that. After this interview, it's also on my to-read list.)

The choicest bits:

And the truth of the matter is, Bonds is completely, undeniably 100 percent full of shit. He truly is. I no longer buy his love of baseball history any more than I buy the sanctity of his marriages or the purity of his blood stream.

Bonds is as un-Hank Aaron as anyone this side of Ty Cobb.

I've maintained some contacts [ed: that is, sources], and I know of no one who's actually happy that he's breaking the record.

Now that I'm well beyond the researching and writing; now that I'm beyond the promotional, 20-second soundbite push, I feel liberated to express my conclusion of the whole experience.

It is this: Barry Bonds is evil.

More on Bonds, from a fairly funny Slate piece making light, a bit, of all the awfulness in sports recently. The Vick dogfighting thing. The Tour de France leader getting kicked out. The crooked NBA ref. The minor league baseball death on the field. All pretty awful things.

So, it goes on to 'predict' some news stories, including details of Roger Federer's dalliances with the Wimbledon ballboys, Jeremy Shockey's intentional pass-dropping for his fantasy football cause, and the fact that the autistic three-point shooting kid, Jason McElwain, was actually just former NBA'er Tim Legler in disguise. And not autistic.

The highlight, of course, is the Bonds joke:
"Barry Bonds broke baseball's all-time home run record last night with a towering, eighth-inning long ball against the Washington Nationals. After smashing his 756th career home run, the seven-time National League MVP pumped his fists in the air repeatedly. Bonds then reached into his back pocket and pulled out a large syringe labeled "DRUGS FOR CHEATING AT BASEBALL." The San Francisco Giants slugger lowered his pants, injected himself in the buttocks, and extended both middle fingers before setting off on his record-setting jaunt around the bases."

Mostly, I'm indifferent to Bonds. I've paid little attention to "The Chase" for the record. But, as we get closer, I'm just angry about it. Really, really angry. I get fired up. It's too bad, really. But there's no way we can, you know, retroactively take the record away. Sigh.

Let's talk briefly about the saga of a quartet of Cubs tickets. The game was this past Saturday, a wonderfully-pitched Ted Lilly victory. Aramis had a key double, Soriano ended the home run drought, and the Cubs won, at the time, for the 14th time in their last 18 games. It was pretty awesome.

The game date was Saturday, July 14.

I confirmed ownership of the tickets, oh, say, Wednesday, July 4. Shortly thereafter, I confirmed that The Boy was otherwise occupied and, therefore, I had three additional tickets to use.

So...
Wednesday, July 4
Tickets owned: 4
Tickets spoken for: 1, mine

Actions: A call to Wej, offering number 2

Thursday, July 5
No activity

Friday, July 6
No activity

Saturday, July 7
Wej calls, and accepts the offered ticket. He also talks about selling beer at The Police concerts at Wrigley Field. Budweiser sales surged.

So...
Tickets owned: 4
Tickets spoken for: 2, mine, and Wej's

Sunday, July 8
No activity

Monday, July 9
Activity: A call to Hotpocket. An acceptance of the offered ticket, contingent on his ability to weasel out of a scheduled work-related barbecue.

So...
Tickets owned: 4
Tickets spoken for: 3, mine, Wej's, Hotpocket's

Tuesday, July 10
Activity: A call to the only Beaumont native I know, offering a ticket to see his nearly-hometown boys. A message left.

Wednesday, July 11
No activity.

Thursday, July 12
A flurry of activity
6:00: A missed call from Hotpocket. The message: "What time is the game? My barbecue is at 4. I might not be able to get out of this."
7:00: I call back, requesting a callback tonight.

Conclusion: Two tickets available.

9:00: A conversation with The Boy. "So, we [he and his lady] think we probably won't do that well at this tournament, and it starts at nine, so I think we can probably go to the game." Me: "Sweet!"

Tickets owned: 4
Tickets spoken for: 4, mine, Wej's, The Boy's, Person for whom I don't have a suitable nickname's

Saga over.

Or is it...

Friday, July 13
More activity, obviously
12:30: A call from Hotpocket. "What time's the game, again?" "3. When's your thing?" "4. But I don't think I'll go." "Sweet. I'll call you tomorrow, and we'll figure out times."

So...
Tickets owned: 4
Tickets spoken for: 5, kind of. Mine, Wej's, Hotpocket's, The Boy's, Nicknameless wonder's

Conclusion: Well, shit. If I've got just one left, there's no way The Boy will want his.

12:35: A call to Bullshot. An invitation. "Hey, I'm not sure if I can get out of something. Can I call you in an hour or two?" "Sure," I say.

So...
Tickets owned: 4
Tickets spoken for: 6, kind of.

1:15: Arrival at The Boy's. I deliver the surprising news about Hotpocket's ticket acceptance. "Oh, great! Because she said she wasn't really interested, so I'll just use the ticket." Me: "Oh, shit. Well, I figured you wouldn't want it if there was only one. I've got a call to Bullshot." He, dejectedly: "Oh well." (Under his breath: "Fuck you.")

So...
Tickets owned: 4
Tickets spoken for: 5

3:00, while sitting at Murphy's Bleachers (where they charge you $4.50 for a can of Old Style, with a straight face): A call from Bullshot. "Actually, I can't go." Me: "That's great! (followed by explanation of the saga of the ticket.)" (Lesson here: Clearly, people debate...Cubs ticket? but time with Rd? Cubs ticket? but time with Rd?, and determine that the downside to the latter clearly outweights the upside of the former...sigh.)

So...
Tickets owned: 4
Tickets spoken for: 4, mine, Wej's, Hotpocket's, The Boy's

7:00, Tangentially: A text message from the only Beaumontian I know. "I'm in the 500's. Come see me at the game!" No worries of a late-coming offer acceptance, thankfully.

Upshot: The Boy kicked ass at volleyball, and never did make it to the game. The final ticket remained in his pocket, as he and the lady advanced despite losing a tiebreaker because their opponents were headed to Wrigley.

The pregame beer was good, the game was great fun, and I'd say it worked out pretty well.

Sadly, the fourth ticket went to waste, though. Probably could've gotten 20 bucks off of a broker for it.

- - - - - - - - - -

Let's talk other highlights of the trip, which was notable and awesome.

I got to see my sister for the first time since my momentous visit to New York in February, so that was fantastic.

She and The Boy and I got to play in Millennium Park. I had never been there. The gigantic jelly bean is just a gigantic jelly bean, but it's so, so, so cool. I think I found six reflections of myself, and this was in a pretty poorly-reflecting corner.

The fountain is 50 feet tall and has people spitting water at you, so it's definitely not "just" anything, and it's also so, so, so cool. Probably the coolest part was splashing each other, as you'd expect.

I'd highly recommend Millennium Park.

We followed by eating Czech food. I usually (like, 98 percent of the time) finish everything on my plate, at just about every restaurant. This, however, was too salty for me. And they never brought water, except of the sparkling variety. I don't think I'll eat Czech food again, and I can't fathom how my sister can do it. But she can, which is worth quite a bit.

Probably my favorite part of the weekend was lunch with my sister on Saturday. She's pretty bright, and she's entering a pretty exciting and scary and outstanding phase of her life...leaving, just to leave, as it were, and speaking a foreign language and working with some ex-pats and, really, who knows what. As I said to her, it's really pretty amazing, and pretty respectable, and I, personally, would never have the guts to do it. But she, my friends, will do it, and do it well.

Probably my least favorite part of the weekend was her roommate's cat, who tormented me. Quite a bit. I won't elaborate, but I've never been so scared of a 12-inch tall, 10-pound creature. But this thing was terrifying. I can't elaborate. I was quite scared, and now I'm kind of scarred.

- - - - - - -

I should mention that I managed to see a few more high school friends as well. A Friday morning breakfast, a Saturday evening nothing-much-really, including a visit to Coach's "new" (a year now) home. So that was pretty cool.

- - - - - - -

I also got a set of golf clubs out of the trip. Let's just say that yellow clubs, in a yellow bag, coming out of a yellow car, looks kind of ridiculous. More ridiculous is that, three hours ago, when I got to the driving range, they were already closed. Closed. Curses. I'll have to get out Wednesday, I think.

Goal is to get a round in on Saturday or Sunday, perhaps a twilight round in next week, and be ready to go 18 with my newly-frequent dad the following weekend. It'll be awesome.

I can promise that I'll never write about my golf game here. But I write about fantasy football, and you don't care about that either. I've never written about a poker game, which you're certainly not interested in.

I'll mention, however, that some of my favorite ever blog-style writing, I seem to remember, was written in regards to someone else's golf game. That blog is, sadly, gone. (Impressively, it existed before the word "blog" existed, however.)

Let's be honest, here. Three-day weekends rule. I don't think I'll be traveling for another one, which is okay. (A quick check indicates my final three-day weekend - the last weekend in August - includes the freakin' Yankees at Comerica Park. A less-quick check indicates that there is not a single not-single ticket available for the entire series. Who's Your Tiger? All of them!)

- - - - - - - -

The Cubs acquired Jason Kendall. I'm not angry, but I'm not overjoyed. It's the last year of his contract, and the Oakland people rave about his defense. He obviously doesn't have much of a bat anymore. It's the last year of his contract, and he won't get another big one, and he's never won anything, so I think he'll be good in the clubhouse and good with Carlos and the staff and, certainly, no worse than Bowen. (Though there's a part of me who kind of likes Bowen. This, of course, is because he's a former Bandit and played there at the end of the 2002 season.)

I find it disconcerting, however, that Lou pinch hit for Kendall in the ninth tonight. Kendall is, ostensibly, here because of his bat. Hmm.

There's a part of me that kind of wishes that Pat Misch had gotten the win on Monday night. With two awful, out-of-the-strike-zone curveballs, and one low sinker for a sharply-hit inning-ending double play, he did the job.

I'm thinking he's probably Mitch Stewart's first former pupil to make the Big Leagues. Must've been all those double cheeseburgers from Ginny. (That was, what, six years ago? I'm awesome.)

Generally, watching TV can be safely considered a waste of time, right? I guess you can learn something (of value) from PBS, and maybe Meet the Press and the rest of the Sunday morning circuit can get you some current events, and perhaps Planet Earth (though I've never seen it - I've heard watching the grass grow is "amazing") is valuable for the perspective it gives you on the natural world, and 30-Minute Meals helps you eat healthy on a tight schedule. So I guess this handful of programs could be an exception.

This past weekend (wow! three days ago), I've decided I've officially found another exception: Federer v. Nadal, anywhere. It's the only tennis I ever watch, and it's pure artistry. Awesome. I think it makes me a better person.

I had planned to get to the grocery store by 8 a.m. Sunday morning (taping MTP), returning home in time for the 9 a.m. start to coverage. Sadly, a bit of Saturday drinking left me unable to hit that early goal, and I, instead, got out of the house by 8:40, returning at 9:50...at 4-4 in the first-set tiebreak. And from then on out, it was just fantastic.

In 2006, Federer was clearly better than Nadal. Nadal fought and fought and fought, and you sensed that, whenever he won a point, it took maximum effort. It's exactly the opposite on clay, when Nadal has the mental edge (and the fantastically creepy sneer), and Federer isn't fit enough to hang.

Well, it changed this year. Nadal was his equal. And we got a five-set masterpiece that, sadly, was basically ignored because none of the combatants were American, and none of them have been American for five years. Also, because it's tennis.

(Also, I should note that I happened upon the women's final on Saturday morning. Venus was absolutely dominant - the 18-year-old Frenchwoman Marion (sp?) Bartoli had no chance all match - she labored for every point. But she was so incredibly gracious and eloquent and awesome in her post-match live interview. In her second language. There's no clip at YouTube yet, but it was just cool. She thanked her dad, also her coach, and did it like she meant it. She was asked about beating numbers one and three in the world en route to the final, and she quickly responded, "On grass, Venus is the number one player in the world." It was classy and fantastic. Sadly, she's not particularly hot and probably has hairy armpits.)

- - - - - -

I'll continue writing about sports.

Offseason. I wrote about how I was excited about the Bulls drafting Joakim Noah. I'm quite happy they resigned Nocioni. It seems like they'll be able to keep Gordon and Deng around as well and, if they do that, Paxson's some sort of genius. (First for drafting them, then for keeping.)

Flax asked about Pax wanting to win 71-70 games - after all, there's not a post scorer on the team. (Certainly, not a post scorer at the level of, say, Bill Cartwright, Luc Longley, Dennis Rodman, or jumpshooters Bill Wennington and Horace Grant. This is by no means a comparison of anybody on the Bulls to, say, Jordan or, for that matter, Pippen.)

In what limited NBA I watch, I kind of get the sense that we're going away from the great post scorer. The game's speeding up (becoming eminently more watchable), the players are getting smaller, and the big players are getting more perimeter-oriented. "Garnett-types" aren't the exception anymore.

The best story in the playoffs was the run of the Warriors. Biedrins was basically planted on the bench. Matt freakin' Barnes was a star because of his tats and his hustle. The Raptors are the up-and-coming team in the East (the Bulls have, to an extent arrived). Too-skinny to be a power forward Chris Bosh is basically their center, and that seven-foot Italian named Andrea is their jump-shooting power forward. Phoenix essentially starts two players (Stoudamire at the 5, Marion at the 4) one spot above where they should be, plays Boris Diaw, drafted as a lanky point guard possibility, at the center spot, and plays a 5-11 jump-shooting sixth man.

The Bulls, friends, are ahead of the curve. Or on the curve. More ahead of the curve than most. Spencer Hawes, dudes, would've slowed it down.

I expect the Bulls to run, and run a lot, next year. I think they can average 100 points a game, even with Skiles' commitment to defending. He's not averse to running, you know, and you know Tyrus can run.

I'd imagine they're imagining a rotation like this:
PG: Hinrich
SG: Gordon
SF: Deng
PF: Nocioni
C: Wallace

Off the bench, you've got Sefolosha, who is 6-7 and can play 1 through 3, Thomas, who can play the 3 through 5, and can jump out of the gym. I think they like Curry (JamesOn, not Eddy) a lot. I think they'll get Joe Smith as an undersized five who can move or, perhaps, Mikki Moore as their fifth pure energy guy (joining Thomas, Deng, Nocioni, and Noah). Oh, to have kept Tyson. Oh, to have kept Tyson.

I like them because they'll all try hard. I like them because there's so much versatility. I like them because they emulate their coach, except they aren't as odd-looking. Well, except for Noah. (He tries. And he's versatile. And he emulates. But he's also odd-looking.)

That's not to say that I'll watch them before the playoffs next year, but I'll be excited that they're Chicago's NBA representative.

- - - - -

Gurs told me Tuesday night that he was embarrassed by my recent post about his visit. Or maybe it just made him uncomfortable. In looking at it again, I've written stuff way more gay than that here, so I don't know what he's complaining about.

Chug it.

- - - - - - - - -

Gurs also brought me a CD. I don't know what's on it. But he told me that he operates on the "16 tracks, One Pavement, One GbV" policy when he creates a CD. I think this is a pretty nice policy.

I've chosen to adopt the policy, and I used it last night. A Pitchfork Music Fest-bound friend, though it's not a Pitchfork Music Fest-centric CD (though, you see, "Chicago" by Sufjan is the centerpiece, appropriately). This friend likes The Hold Steady. And The Streets. That's a pretty good start. I also threw a few epics on their, so it exceeds an hour in length, which is longer than I planned. But, again, these are epics we're talking about.

1) Islands - "Swans (Life After Death)"
2) Guided by Voices - "Official Ironman Rally Song"
3) The Strokes - "12:51"
4) The Magnetic Fields - "A Chicken With Its Head Cut Off"
5) R.E.M. - "Man On The Moon"
6) The Hold Steady - "Most People Are DJs"
7) The Mountain Goats - "The Best Ever Death Metal Band In Denton"
8) Sufjan Stevens - "Chicago"
9) The Streets - "Fit But You Know It"
10) The Shins - "Turn On You"
11) The Walkmen - "We've Been Had"
12) Belle & Sebastian - "Mayfly"
13) Yo La Tengo - "Sugarcube"
14) The Arcade Fire - "No Cars Go"
15) Pavement - "Give It A Day"
16) Weezer - "Only In Dreams"

The Weeze song is kind of a downer, but it's maybe my favorite album closer ever. So it works.

I've decided I want to rank my 1,000 favorite songs. I'm hoping this decision is fleeting, because that would be a total waste of time.

I think Wilco or GbV would be most-represented, based on depth of catalog and my fandom of the band. If I were to actually rank 1,000 songs, Robert Pollard's "Good Luck, Sailor" probably wouldn't make it. And that would hurt, a lot.

- - - - - -

I'm also Chicago-bound, though not for Pitchfork. I get to hang with my sister less than a month before she leaves us forever. Or, at least, a year or so. I think it'll be pretty awesome. (I'm writing at midnight. In 24 hours, I'll be home. In 40 hours, I'll be running through the fountain at Millennium Park. In 47 hours, I'll be eating Margie's Candies. Jenny likes Margie's Candy's quite a bit, I seem to recall reading. Perhaps we'll take photographs.)

Last Tuesday, I got this fantastic string of four rambling messages from my sister and her former roomie and her current roomie. They were hanging with The Boy. Grapes were flying everywhere, and winding up in his mouth. The four messages were about the coolest thing ever. I was sad to have missed it.

I'm excited to be not missing this weekend. Quite, quite excited.

- - - - - -

I'm kind of out of things on this here uneventful blog.

However, I should list new things that I've prepared on the grill:

Fajitas, fantastic fantastic chicken fajitas, on Monday night. I used my makeshift fajita marinade of some Worcestershire sauce, soy sauce, vinegar, ground red pepper, a bit of garlic, and cumin. I put the marinaded onions and peppers in foil and left them on the grill about 25 minutes. The chicken got about four minutes per side, and it was beautiful and grill mark-y. Add the pinto beans, rice, and salsa, and it was a near-perfect dinner (and two days' worth of lunch!). (Grade: A)

On Sunday night, I did a crusted whitefish. Whitefish, skin on. Dijon mustard and bread crumbs on the non-skin side. I cooked, only on the skin side, for about 15 minutes. I wish I had sprayed the skin a bit, because it was tough to remove from the grill, but it was pretty good. (Presentation: C. Taste: B+)

Twice, I've done thin-sliced carrots. Some balsamic vinegar, olive oil, salt and pepper.

Once, I've done zucchini. Same spices.

Tonight, I did sweet potatoes and a burger. I thin-sliced the potatoes - first, the entire potato in half, then slices no more than a centimeter thick or so. Long, thin, fry-like slices. Some olive oil, some sea salt, some rosemary. About eight minutes per side, on high, and then I let them sit for about eight minutes. So, so, so good.

The lesson here: I'm awesome, and you should own a grill.

Next up: I'm not sure.

I've done: (Cheap) steaks, burgers, chicken breasts, chicken tenders, bone-in quarter chicken (barbecued, and awesome), pork chops, hot dogs (well, turkey dogs), whitefish, salmon steaks, tuna steaks, zucchini, carrots, onion, sweet potato, red potato, corn on the cob, peppers (but only in foil), and perhaps that's it.

I'd like your ideas. Tilapia might be next, though I think it might be too flimsy, and I might benefit from pan-searing, as I usually do. Lamb's coming up, but I only buy that when it's ultra on-sale, which is to say, almost spolied, and needs to be prepared that night. It's a crapshoot.

Maybe I'll do French toast. Is French toast doable? Would it be noticeably better than on the pan?

Also, my grill is pretty filthy, already. But it's filthy out of love.

- - - - - - -

I'm going to go watch Flight of the Conchords on-demand. It's not great, but it's pretty good. I think you should give it a shot, especially if you have HBO on-demand.

Also, Spoon is about to play on Letterman. Their new record is pretty good, though it ranks behind The Arcade Fire, The White Stripes, and Bloc Party this year. I'm so faux-hip it's ridiculous.

I have no edge, dudes.

Quick, before I write about this past fantastic, too-short weekend (they're all fantastic, and all too short)...

I totally forgot one thing about last weekend, aka The Engagement Party of the Millennium. It's The Crab Walk. And it's an impromptu celebration, appropriate for thrilling cornhole victories, or for in-water celebration after fantastic off-the-dock Frisbee catches, or for anything else that warrants happiness. I'll admit, I was the first one to do it. I'm a revolutionary when it comes to cornhole celebrations. It's good to be king.

- - - - - - -

Let's run down reasons why Gurs is awesome:

1) He came up this weekend.
2) He drank freshly-named 231 IPA out of a Meijer Grape Soda two-liter bottle. We've determined that it's not real good, but that it's not as bad as we expected. All-in-all, it had alcohol, which is important, and we only cracked it out after we had had alcohol, which is more important.
3) He's the brains (and beauty) behind this, an amateur-but-awesome video inspired by Wayne and Garth. It's Abe's World, and it's life-changing. (Seriously. It's six minutes long. The dialogue is perfect. The punchline is fantastic. And it uses all the right Wayne and Garth musical touchstones.) Plus, as a Friday morning email that I happened to see can attest, it's sweeping the Twin Cities. A verifiable viral force.
4) We went to Pyramid Point. Not much of a hike, really, but quite a view. (It was my sense that we were maybe 40 feet above the water. It was probably eight times that. I'm very stupid.) Then we climbed up the much more difficult, much steeper hill. The view wasn't quite as cool but, hey, whatareyagonnado?\
5) He was game for the lamest party in the history of the world. He was game as long as darts was fun, which wasn't long.
6) He settled a debt he didn't know existed...from nine years ago. "My hands are small I know..."
7) He likes fish and chips, outside, in the middle of the day.
8) He made it up here, spending something like 13 hours in the car in a period of less than three days to make it happen.

He also started year two in the other TC today, which is pretty awesome.

- - - - - - -

I don't know if I've got anything else to write. It was fantastic to have him up here.

These past three weekends have confirmed that I'm pretty lucky, basically.

- - - - - -

I said the most amazing, most offensive, and possibly most hilarious thing I've ever said this afternoon at lunch.

I don't know what the discussion was...but the question was proposed, "What does it mean when they say clothes are 'organic?' "

I chimed in: "It means that the sweatshop employees grazed on pesticide-free grass. Free-range sweatshop employees."

Offensive, and awesome, and I'm certainly going to hell.

- - - - - -

This company has not nearly as much fun as we had during beer league softball in The Quad. Then again, beer league softball was actually Beer League softball in The Quad, which is to say, it's awesome.

I only observed today. They got Mercy Rule'd, which is a shame. But there was no chatter, which is a bigger shame. Sigh. (There was but one heckler, and that was me, and I was mostly quiet.)

- - - - - - - -

Joakim Noah. I love it so much. I love it because he's interesting and fairly talented and tries really hard. But I love it most because he's an interesting, interesting, thoughtful guy. And, maybe, just maybe, he'll get to yell something cool at Jim Gray in the next few years: "We're not gonna stop partying until Tuesday. We're gonna show them how we do it in Chicago. Uh-uh-uh-uh." See? Thoughtful.

Don't look now but, besides being interesting, the Cubs also look like a pretty good team. I'll say nothing more.