Last night I had people over and we drank and ate and talked by the fire and then somehow I did an interpretive dance to "Girls" by Death in Vegas.

Today I woke up in supreme pain from that experience.

I gotta get in better shape.

Well, it's after midnight, and I suppose it's my birthday.

34 fucking years...

Here is my present to you, my readers. An absolutely ridiculous picture of myself. For all of you that think of me as an idiot bastard @#$$%%^&*^, this is for you.



I am the sad elf of eternal sunshine. Worship me my brethren!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm the Driver, I'm the Winner

A glorious day today, I tells ya. Woke up and drove out to the DMV and renewed my license, and it only took a half hour. A half hour--and that's with a written test (which I aced, by the way.) So I deliver good news unto the Plano facility: they were friendly and prompt and I had no problems at all. Pity the poor guy who found out he had to write a check for almost 400 bucks to our tumblin' Secretary of State.

"Oh, I don't have any checks."

"Well, just mail them off them."

"No, I don't have any checks. I don't have a checking account."

(Blank stare.) "Well, money order then."

(Blank stare.) Uhhhh...

So kids, remember: get yourself a checking account when you get a license.

Here endeth the lesson.

Had a nice workout at the gym, took down the tree (have to make room for my birthday bash tomorrow night, you see) and finally got to see the little Duder. He's a good-looking kid, I tell ya. Must have got it from his ma.

Topped off the day with some homemade chicken and noodles, courtesy of Mom (and homemade noodles from Gram and Bob.) Delicious stuff...

Still have much to do in preparation for Party #1. I think I shall make some mix CDs for the festivities. Last time the girls commandeered the stereo and I had to listen to the stuff that usually never gets played in my house.

Britney and her ilk.

But it makes the women happy, and isn't that what parties are about? Getting hot women to dance their ass off in your living room?

As reported earlier, one of the great institutions of Chicago is getting a makeover.

Marshall Field and Company will now be known as Macy's.

Department stores change all the time, I know, but it's the idea of one more uniquely-Chicago thing being usurped by NYC.

Click the picture above for an excellent article by Brian Hieggelke of NewCity Chicago. It features plenty of fascinating history about Field's (first department store to install an escalator!) and offers up a convincing case as to why it should remain Marshall Field's.

Here's a quick little description of one of the Christmas feasts I enjoyed this week:

Friday night I ate turkey and ham at the home of a man named Flippy.

There are these guys, you see. Well, maybe "guys" isn't the right term. I'm sure they would prefer goons.

These guys all used to hang out together in high school and ruled the tech arts department. They were also mercenaries who loaned their time and talents to Limelight's struggling tech needs. Over time, others from their clan (mostly their molls) joined Limelight's other departments, but the goons were first, and so they deserve that distinction.

Anyway, I told you that story so I could tell you this one. They're all grows up now, and wanted to have a big feast at their home, so they rounded up card tables (there is a very hidden inside joke in that phrase) and those that were willing to cook all day (props to the Veverka girls, while Flippy was at work) and instructed the guests to dress formal (more on that later.) They were even kind enough to invite me, as some sort of pater familias or something.

Later, at the party, I even received the honor of carving the bird.

Not because of any deference to my age or wisdom. It was more like this: "Hey Fauth, you know anything about carving up this fucker?"

The food was great, we had a little wine, played some scrabble, and I went on my way so that they could do whatever people in their early 20s do these days. I went home and put lights on my tree.

I'm proud of this gang. They're growing up nicely, even though some of them have struggled with what to do with their "grown-up" lives. But they'll figure it out; I have confidence in them.

Now, about this Mafia obsession....

Happy Boxing Day to my Canadian friends! Whatever you do on this day, I hope it kicks ass, holiday-style!



I got a video camera and I got that Bruce Springsteen box set and I got a new Beatle album for my wall (a bootleg!) and some CDs and some other cool stuff and I ate a lot and I've been staying up until 3 AM watching the Arrested Development DVDs the Drone gave me for Christmas.

And we found a nest in my tree while Dave looked for the pickle. The egg was added by me for atmosphere.

Today I have to do some last-minute shopping for some friends of mine and then I get another big meal. Christmas has been full of food and family and friends this year and what a wonderful thing that is...



But before I close this blog entry, and go back to celebrating good health with good company, we should pause and remember those that are no longer with us for this holiday season, mainly the victims of the tsunami disaster of last year, which happened a year ago today.

Those of us sitting at our computers reading our blogs and chatting about our gifts and telling funny stories about our family get-togethers are lucky, lucky people. We should remember that, and treasure the time we have with each other, and not let the small stuff ruin the larger connections.

Okay, that's enough soapboxing for me. Time to eat again!

No time to explain this one...

Merry Christmas to all of you out there in the glorious blogosphere! Here's hoping you get the Turkey Leg this year.

A Very Happy Birthday To My Little Sister!



Sorry we couldn't be there with you today, but we're all thinking of you and wishing you were with us.

Now I gotta go finish my Christmas shopping!

I'm off to Springfield to hang with the Drone for a day or so, so here's something to keep you occupied:



Caption this, would you?

And yes, that is the Pope.

My Elf Name is Crumpet

I never got around to talking about last Friday's show, mostly because I've been trying to decide whether it was a success or not.

Let's say it was a lovely disaster. We kept it very loose, and were only able to have one (more like a half) dress rehearsal at the auditorium where we performed. Many of the kids had not been there for it, and a band concert on Tuesday kicked us off of our rehearsal space for one of the other dress rehearsals.

So we were a little rough, but decided to soldier on anyway, hoping that it would be electric and fun to put on a show by the seat of our pants.

Well....we won't be doing that again.

We couldn't use our own crew, so the light cues were rough and the mikes never came on at the right time. One song was performed with no musical backing at all. The Grinch skit wandered all over the place and it took forever to get into my elf costume on stage.

Much of the show was written by the performers, with mixed success. I think some of the audience didn't know what the hell we were doing. (The Limelight Holiday Ape and The Unabomber were in one scene.)

Some skits were hilarious, some were a little shaky, but I wanted to put this show into other peoples' hands as much as possible, and let them learn some responsibility. Some people rose to the challenge, and some people had to be reminded what their jobs were.

In the end it's my job and my responsibility to make the show what it is, so if it was a little rough, it's my fault. It's just getting harder and harder to do a show during the school year, when too many other things compete for space in my head.

I was going to switch over to just-summer theatre, but I decided to do another one, but from now on I think I'll just stick to summer. I can devote myself completely to the program then, and turn out quality shows, even though no one ever comes to see them. (My Shakespeare is the Shit, but who wants to watch iambic pentameter performed by teens?)

And for those of you asking for video? Sorry. Our videographer (and third-act Santa) ran out of tape or battery or something, so there's no footage of The Santaland Diaries. It's copyrighted, so I wouldn't post it anyway; Mr. Sedaris deserves his royalties.

Strangely, there seem to be no pictures of my in that damn elf costume either. Pity. I looked ridiculous, the sight of which would have pleased many, I'm sure.

Since I doubt I will be nominated for an Anna (Tony Pierce's annual blog nominees) this year, I offer up the first of the Best of The State I'm In:

First up: Best Picture:



I took this in a Killarney pub this summer, after a long hike through gorgeous Irish landscape. I love the colors in this, the mix of the brown wood of the bar, and the green in the background, and the remembrance of a lovely, half-finished pint of Guinness. A day doesn't pass where I don't think about going back to that place, again and again and again.

Runner-up: one of the bridges in Indiana covered bridge country.




I'm being self-consciously arty here, with the sepia setting and the image of a thing long past, but it all came together well.

I don't think I wrote anything necessarily great this year, but I'll dig through the archives and see what I can come up with for Best Post of the Year.

MP3Search.ru

Is this site for real? 10 cents per song?

Any feedback on this before I fork over my credit card info and go shit-ass crazy on music purchases?

Your 2005 Song Is

Beverly Hills by Weezer "My automobile is a piece of crap My fashion sense is a little whack And my friends are just as screwy as me" You breezed through 2005 in your own funky style!

What Hit Song of 2005 Are You?

Love the Weezer, hated that song.

The only way this makes sense is the fact that Rivers seems to be having about as much sex as I am lately.

If the old adage, Bad Dress Rehearsal = Great Show, then tomorrow's show will be the greatest thing ever.

It's very hard to do a Limelight show during the school year, as I work a 40-hour week and direct a show, while the actors go to school and do their school plays and Speech Team and jobs and Choir/Band concerts.

But it was a lot of fun all the same, and Limelight is still that place where I can be creative and different and be around some great people.

I don't like running reruns, but since the holidays are in full swing right now, and people are once again fanning the flames of the "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas"? debate, I thought I would run a post I wrote almost a year ago.


Kathleen Parker has a great column about the return of "Merry Christmas" as a popular salutation for this time of year. (Tribune columnist Eric Zorn also has a great series of columns about a similar topic.)

It's been gone for a while, you know, replaced by the safer and non-offensive "Happy Holidays" or "Season's Greetings."

Now, even though I was raised Lutheran, served as a pre-teen acolyte, went to Luther League, taught Sunday School for a bit in college, served as an assistant Pastor or whatever that's called, I don't go to church anymore.

I'm kind of in the Christian alumni club.

A big reason is that the fundamentalists out there kind of ruined it for me, but I'm not going to get into that whole religion thing right now. I just don't get into going to church anymore. And I never go to Christmas services, either. I feel like that's being disrespectful to the church. I feel like I should go regularly, or not go at all. Me showing up on just Christmas Eve or Easter is being hypocritical.
So I'm the perfect person to agree that people shouldn't have these big Christian holidays shoved down the non-believers' throats. If I was Jewish, or Hindu, or Muslim, I guess I would get sick of Christmas Christmas Christmas everywhere.
I would most likely be one of these liberal, PC guys who thinks we should say "Happy Holidays" out of respect for the other holidays and religions that are out there.

Except I hate saying Happy Holidays. I like Merry Christmas better.

I love saying "Merry Christmas" to people. It makes me feel good, and when I say that, I'm wishing them good cheer and all that stuff.

I'm not wishing them "Enjoy this day where our saviour was born, may his grace and peace be with you always." That sounds nice, but I'm not religious enough to mean that when I say it.

When I tell you "Merry Christmas" I'm hoping that you have a day where you get to be with your family, eat lots of good food, sit by a fire, and enjoy watching people open the gifts you bought them.

I hope you get together with friends from far away and that when you walk in from the cold the house is warm and bright and there is someone to hug when you walk through the door.

I hope you enjoy some time off from work. I hope you use that time to think about the year that has gone by and what your hopes are for the next year.

I hope you enjoy all the great movies that come out this time of year.

I hope you have a night where your family all sits around the kitchen table, drinks beer and eats lots of fatty snacks and tells funny stories about people that are there and remembers the people that aren't there anymore, or are far away.

That's what I mean when I say "Merry Christmas" to people. When I say it it has pretty much nothing to do with what religion you are, or what God is, or what a woman should do with her body. But it has everything to do with what all those religions out there are trying to say:

Peace on Earth, Good Will towards Men.

It seems that every girl I glance at these days wants me to fall in love with her.

And they all wear this interesting shade of green. This explosive green that jumps out at you and grabs your attention. K had a scarf in that color, if I remember.

I was walking into Marshall Field's on State Street on Saturday and there was this girl with auburn hair and a neon green corduroy jacket who was talking to someone and suddenly I wanted to know everything about her.

Today a girl jokingly asked to be my roommate and for a split second I almost said, "sure why not?"

Smart women who write well and take great pictures of themselves flash across my computer screen as I scroll through my blog reads and my Buzznet friends.

And "Age of Consent" by New Order* plays in my head over and over as I reenact all of these events in my head.

*Seriously, why didn't I get into this band when I was a kid? Man I was such a loser. That song is on the trailer for the new Sofia Coppola movie Marie Antoinette and it just floored me.

Recently I realized that I will die someday.

Of course we're all going to die someday, but I have this dark and depressing feeling that I may not grow to be an old man. Maybe cancer will get me, or the bird flu, or maybe I'll die in the first wave of attacks from the Robot Holocaust.

So when I realized that sad fact I decided to buy a couple of tickets to see The Pogues in Times Square next Paddy's Day.

A buddy of mine jumped at the chance to take a quick road trip to the Big Apple, so I'll be traveling from Chicago to New York and back again over a Thursday to Sunday spread. Concert's Saturday night, so I'll have Friday night to see the world's biggest city.

I've been to London, Paris, Boston and (my personal favorite) Galway, Ireland, but never New York.

I wish I was there this Thursday to hang with Bicyclemark and Ms. Thingk, but duty calls.

When I do journey to the First City I hope to meet some fellow bloggers, but that's a long way off.

For now the chance to hear "Fairytale in New York" in New York keeps me warm at night.

And the knowledge that I'm living the life I want to live right now, in case the nanobytes infect my system and turn me into an unstoppable cyborg killing machine.

No posts this weekend, and no good one today. I spent the weekend being Uncle Brian, wandering the Chicago streets with my family (and a short break of my own over to a wintery Millenium Park.)

Then yesterday I bought a gigantic tree for my house and spent several hours trying to get it to stay upright. My arms have cuts and scrapes all over them and there are needles and pine branches everywhere, but I finally got the 9-foot Scotch Pine settled.

And then the lights wouldn't work right.

Thankfully I at least found two Santa suits for this weekend's show. So I can cross that off the list.

I am still lacking one sleigh, however...

Lots of pictures at the Buzznet site. Just click one of them to the left (unless you are at work and your employer's network doesn't allow Buzznet, which then means you're missing out.)

(And if anyone really cares, I added a final thought to the Narnia arguments from last Friday.)

I also thought of a good title for a movie review of Brokeback Mountain: "Cowboy Up the Ass."

Aslan Is On The Movie Screen


You may find this surprising, given my love for The Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter, but I'm not a big fan of the ole Chronicles of Narnia.

I never read them when I was a kid, and once I started flipping through them as an adult, I wasn't very impressed.

Why, do you ask? I agree with my dear Professor Tolkien on this matter. Salon can sum it up better than I can:

Tolkien's chief objections, however, were those of a craftsman. He considered "The Lord of the Rings" a Christian work, but its religious themes were carefully buried in the story. (Even die-hard Lewis fans may be tempted to groan when, in the first Narnia book, Aslan sacrifices himself to redeem the human children.) Tolkien presented Middle-earth as a sort of prehistoric Europe, employing elements from the Icelandic sagas, "Beowulf" and the Finnish "Kalevala" as though they were half-understood memories of the events described in "The Lord of the Rings." But Tolkien's systematic approach used folklore from northern Europe. The Narnia book, in which the Germanic figure of Santa Claus rubbed elbows with Greco-Roman divinities, struck him as simply lazy and undisciplined.

As soon as I saw Sinter Klaas show up to deliver weapons to the four kids in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, I tuned out. Middle-Earth may be populated by dwarves, elves, and other fanciful creations, but it all feels real. Tolkien did his homework and gave his world an inner consistency that never falters. We may not believe in Rings of Power or pipeweed-smoking Hobbits, but as you read the book, or watch Peter Jackson's stellar films, you at least never stop and think, "Oh come on now, give me a fucking break."

Narnia just seems too juvenile, too sloppy to interest me for any long stretch. (And to the books' defense, I have only read two of the series, so perhaps I should give it the full read to fully judge it. They don't prattle on and on about Turkish Delight in Prince Caspian, do they?)

When the first film of Lewis's seven-part series opens tomorrow, we'll see what America thinks. People looking for the next big event movie will line up to see it, and it'll do pretty well, but I think once the beavers start talking, and St. Nick starts passing out the bows and swords, people may look at each other and shake their heads and say "what the hell is this crazy shit?"

Since there was no new Lost tonight (again with the TV!) I decided to go back to work and rearrange my office. I'm trying to devote myself to work as much as possible, much like couples try and salvage a marriage that they know is on the downward spiral.

My bloglines are at 108 NOT READ. (Hmm, that's an interesting Lost reference, isn't it?) I have been a poor person at commenting this week, but duty calls. Plus, I'll have plenty of time to catch up in another week or so. I won't be taking my yearly visit to Florida this December to see my sister and her brood; she's coming up here this weekend instead, so expect pictures of the city and the windows at Marshall Field's and lots of cute kids freezing their asses off. Good thing they're leaving Florida; they need to toughen up and learn what winter's all about!

Speaking of winter, it's 0 degrees out right now and I feel fine. The cold hasn't been bothering me at all; on the contrary, it actually wakes me up and gets me in a decent mood.

That's kind of fucked up, I know. But here's one good thing about losing one's hair; you can wear a hat as often as you want and not worry about the dreaded "hat head."

One final addendum to a recent post: here's another great site to visit: Sound Opinions, a radio show hosted by two of Chicago's local music critics. Available as a podcast,by the way.

Say what you will about music critics, but these guys are pretty entertaining to listen to. Plus, it's another great example of the fantastic free radio we get in Chicago. The public radio station is the best in the country, home of This American Life and the non-annoying radio quiz show, Wait Wait Don't Tell Me.

Ahh Jim and Pam...

You crazy kids. Will you ever find true love?

Or will NBC find a way to totally ruin the incredibly sweet and heart-breaking storyline you guys have going right now.

Please don't make them the next Ross and Rachel. I want to actually care about these two characters.

I heart Jenna Fischer.

I may not be very good about posting for the next week or so. It's getting to be crunch time on the Santaland show, plus I'm trying to get caught up at work after taking off about 85 days in a row.

So instead, here are some good websites to go to:

Like music? Go read Pitchfork Media.

Want to listen to a classic Chicago DJ? Listen to Steve Dahl here. Speaking of good radio, if you have never listened to This American Life, you need to start now.

if you feel the need to waste hours of your life, just head over to Television Without Pity and read the recaps and/or the boards. It takes watching shows like Lost to a whole new level. "WAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLT!"

And of course, a few recommended blogs: Bicyclemark, always, plus a rejuvinated Fencepost. One of my favorite Fighting Illini's has rediscovered her inner blogger. Plus she lays down the shit like no one else. And that is one kick-ass picture of her.

Go tell the Drone to put down the Xbox and start posting more.

And finally, don't forget about Butcher freezing his gonads off in Nome, Alaska right now. What a crazy fucker.

UPDATED!!! Thanks to This Day in History at Encyclopedia Brittanica's website, I just leared that in 1484 Pope Innocent blah blah blah condemned witchcraft, thereby setting in motion events that would eventually lead to parents bitching about the evil, destructive influences of one of the best-written series of books of the last ten years.

Holyshitholyshitholyshitholyfuckingshit!!!!

There are tickets available to see the reunited Pogues (with Shane MacGowan) live, in New York City, on St. Patrick's Day of next year.

Seriously, who wants to go? Don't let me down people.

I gotta think about this. Tickets went on sale today. I'd have to fly to NYC. Hmm, never been there.

It's a lot of money.

It's better than trying to see them in Dublin on the 23rd of this month.

I may just try and do this. I'll wait until tomorrow to decide for real.

The fucking Pogues, man. My favorite band of all time.

The Limelight Holiday Bonanza
December 16, 2005
Oswego East High School Auditorium
7:00 P.M.

Limelight's first show to include Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, tuberculosis, and Phoebe Cates' legendary This-is-why-I-don't-believe-in-Santa-anymore speech from Gremlins.

I also star as a 33-year old effeminate Macy's Santaland elf in our adaptation of David Sedaris' The Santaland Diaries.

This colorful bag may also appear. You should come see it. It shall be entertaining and memorable.

Plus the auditorium at East kicks ass. We're big-time now.

All Your Base Are Belong to U.S.

Does anyone really believe it when politicians talk about bringing the troops home sometime soon? Are there people out there that think we're actually going to start packing up this traveling road show and head for home? Or am I just being cynical and paranoid again?

The reason why I ask?

President Bush made a speech today that more or less said the troops will come home once the Iraqis are ready to run/defend the country themselves.

Which, at the rate things are going over there, is not going to be any time soon.

And that's exactly what they want. If you think Bush, Cheney, Rummy, and the rest of the architects of this war want their boys home any time soon, you're dreaming.

The way I see it, the whole point of the war was to get a beachhead into the Mideast. Iraq was merely the "easiest" place to start. Old grudges against Saddam, phantom WMDs, and now the noble cause of spreading freedom and liberty, all of it has been just convenient excuses to get our troops into a nice, permanent home in the mideast.

(Oh, and one that doesn't piss off people as much as our presence in Saudi Arabia did.)

A major problem with coordinating any long-term military action in the mideast has been the difficulty in finding friendly airspace, places to refuel planes, store troops, tanks, etc. This is why we set up so many military bases across Europe and the Far East after World War II. If the shit went down again, we would have a better starting point than last time.

And now, if we ever want to throw down with Syria, Iran, or Pakistan, we have a convenient home base in Iraq to start from.

That's what scares me most. That this Iraq debacle is just the beginning. The prelude to another Great War.

Maybe I'm just repeating what other people have said better, but that's the way I see it, folks.

The proof on the bases is here and here and here. And here.

And here.

I'm watching the Fighting Illini take on the Tar Heels for the first time since Illinois lost to them during the NCAA championship game last spring.

And all I can think of are these four words:



I fucking hate Dick Vitale.

Okay, so that was five. I threw the "fucking" in there at the last minute.

Seriously, why does this guy have a career?

It must be an East Coast thing.

The unthinkable has happened:

I actually got a normal night's sleep last night.

I fell asleep watching Family Guy. Before 11:00. On a school night.

No midnight snacking, no belly full of wine. I slept through the night and woke 8 hour later.

I actually feel normal, today. Like a real person.

Is this what the rest of you feel like?

"Well besides that Mrs. Lincoln, how was the show?"

Tony Pierce paid a visit to us bloggers/buzznetter in the Chicago area. The husband-and-wife team of Di and Alex came along as we made our way through horrific traffic and cold Chicago streets, stopping for Thai food in Lincoln Park and then finally arriving at Uncommon Ground to meet up with whomever thought it would be a good idea to meet a bunch of strangers who spend too much time with their computers.

Actually, I like the idea of meeting someone behind the clever blog nickname or fancy photos. As much as I love technology and new e-trends, in the end it's all about making connections between people, finding new ways of communicating with friends and strangers from around the world.

And so last night I met Dave the PA, Byron and Chris, two girls whose names I can't remember, and a fellow Bradley alum named Bob. We watched Tony suck down a lot of rum and discuss the merits of 'shrooms and acid (no thanks), and of course we took a lot of pictures.



It felt good to get out of the damn house, where I had been spending far too much time lately being all mopey and depressed. For some reason I just couldn't do family get-togethers this week. So apologies to anyone who I abandoned this week; I just preferred to be alone.

Thankfully I had a couple of interesting get-togethers to remind me that life is pretty good, and there are friends everywhere you go. It was great seeing Diana again; since she left for school we don't get a chance to see each other as much any more (it's very weird not having her around for Limelight).

Lots and lots of pictures at my Buzznet site, along with most everyone else's links from above.

Uncle Hamish made homemade ice cream today using cream, sugar, and some frozen nitrogen he got from the place where they freeze bull semen.

Bull semen was not on the menu this year, but a deep-fried turkey was, along with other Fraley staples such as Eagle Brand pie and homemade french fries.

There is another Thanksgiving going on right now that I could have gone to, but I just didn't have the energy. Too many thought about a third family celebration that is once again happening without my sister and I.

Sometimes I really hate the holidays. Sometimes they're just a bitch to get through. Sometimes I just dread them, and so hanging at the bar with Jeremy and Janie and Jason was just fine for me last year. No guilt, no lonely feelings.

Last night one of my old hometown gangs got together for the first time in over ten years. The gang that used to hang in Bonnie's basement until all hours of the night, listening to Sinead O'Conner and freaking out over numerous Pet Semetary viewings.

Mark is balder than me and most people that were married are now divorced. Kirsten and I wailed on some karaoke and Ort introduced his 21-year old bride from Austin.

Yep, 21. Blows my mind. She was cool, too. And no one seemed freaked out. Good for him.

The wind is blowing and the temperature is well below freezing. I have some nice, dry firewood and I'm itching to try out the new fireplace.

I wish I had some leftover turkey.

Last night I wrapped up work for the week, and started Thanksgiving break healthy and (mostly) hearty. Drank it up with some of the cranky LB teachers and then met up with one of the Limelight College Girls Gone Wild for some late-night hanging out. I could go on and on about all the hot sex we had and make this sound like a Tony Pierce post, but we did no such thing. I have some standards, you know. Not many, but some.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you out in the blogosphere; I hope all your traveling and eating and family-sparring goes well. If you're a blogger or a Buzznetter and you live near Chicago, head out the the Meet-up this Saturday night. If all goes well I'll be attending as well.

Now I'm going to go on a 5-day bender, first by heading out to Sandwich to meet up with some of the old crowd and drink beer and tell lies and discuss how much hair we've lost, respectively.

Peace, Ya'll.

I ended up writing so much about Rome in the comments, that I thought I'd just post it up as a regular entry. If you're not into the show, feel free to ignore it.



Sylkk and Hamish: Yeah, nothing is going to top that arena scene where Lucius goes to school on that gladiator with the skull-head mace. Aside from being bloody as hell, it was such an emotional scene, with Pullo yelling "Thirteenth!" over and over again.

Aside from the tale of Caesar and the fall of the Roman Republic, Rome was really about how soldiers can't seem to function in a world outside of warfare. Vorenus' role of politician never seemed to suit him, and that moment where he jumps into the arena was his admission that he'll never really know any other life. Even though Pullo was "dead" to him, Vorenus stares at Pullo fighting for his life, and realizes he's a man fighting to stay relevant in a world that has quickly forgotten all that he did to save it.

These two men defined themselves and found meaning as Roman soldiers in the 13th Legion, and once that role was done, they were broken, lost men. Vorenus becomes a puppet to Caesar; Pullo declines into depression, thuggery, and hired murder, but his most vicious act comes when he kills the lover-slave of his beloved Eirene, (an act I'm still trying to rationalize, especially since she now seems to be all lovey-dovey with Pullo.)

A sad ending to the show, but apparently HBO has ordered a second season, which won't arrive until 2007. Sometimes it was boring and confusing, sometimes frustrating (A big battle is starting! But we don't have the budget to show it, so....look over there! Hey, the battle's done. We won!), but it was always interesting and gripping, and well-acted by all.

The Rome Season Finale: Oh my God!!!!!! I can't believe Caesar was killed in the Senate like that! I didn't even see that coming! Now I have to wait until next year to find out what happens next!!!!!!!!

Oops. That's right. I was a history major. Plus I read a lot of Shakespeare. I know exactly what happens next. Marc Antony gets all up in Brutus' shit and lots of people get killed. Then Octavian (the kid what fucked his sister) becomes Caesar Augustus, Rome's first Emperor, and the Pax Romana ensues.

Knowing your history can be like knowing all the spoilers in a film before you see it.

I seem to be feeling a bit more normal. Well, as normal as I can feel. A bit more energy, not as much coughing. And I feel tired right now, so I'm crossing my fingers hoping that I sleep well tonight.

Thanksgiving is coming up. Two of them this year, and one starts at 12:30. That should keep me from reenacting last year's Thanksgiving, where I spent most of the day hunched over the bar with honestbush. Last year the big feast didn't start until the evening, so I had all day to waste, drinking Bloody Mary's with the boys, and later my sister and brutha-in-law. It was a great time, actually, even though I got a little sick in the bathroom. Watching Grey's Anatomy tonight, where everyone does their best to avoid the big sit-down meal, reminded me of that day.

What is it about holidays that makes us look forward to them and simultaneously want to avoid them at all costs?

I actually could go to three T-Givings this year, and possibly four, if I wanted to crash the Fauth Thanksgiving, which I don't get invited to anymore, because Dad will be there, and that family doesn't want to cause a scene in front of Grandma, Who Doesn't Know The Truth, so Janie and I don't get the golden ticket anymore.

That's one of the many wonderful qualities of dear old Dad. He sold Janie and I out so he could save face with the rest of the clan. Even after sis and I gave him chance after chance to fix things. And yet he's the one NOT dying of cancer.

I got the Beatle albums hung up today. One step closer to having the house DONE.

A quick story on the albums: they are from the collections of Mom and Dave, and they frame one and give it to me as a Christmas present every year (hence the number of American albums.) They've actually run out of ones they owned, and now they search for original vinyl copies.

They are the coolest fucking things in the world.

For all you twee Belle and Sebastian fans out there, I would suggest going here or here to get the last news, including info about a new album out in February and something about a download-only live album out next month.

Discuss.

The Saturday after Thanksgiving Buzznet is hosting a meet-up in Chicago. Tony Pierce, the expatriate from Hanover Park will be MCing. I'm thinking seriously of going, and I encourage other Windy City Buzznetters to come with.

I may have a family function that day, so I'm a bit torn. It's not every day you get to participate in a gathering of anonymous people who post pictures of themselves and random friends online and then comment back and forth about it.

What shall I do, America?

Jesus H. Perry White Fucking Christ.

The Superman Returns teaser trailer is online and ready to view.

It's sooooo good.

The best thing they ever could have done with this movie?

Hearken back to the 1978 original film. The Marlon Brando narration. The John Williams score. (Which is the best damn piece of musice he ever wrote. Better than Star Wars. Better than Indy Jones. That music sounds like what it must be like to live in a world of Heroes.)

Go watch it. It makes me feel like I'm six again.

Musings about Music

So there's this indie-pop band called Tiger Trap that apparently existed for a brief moment in 1993. And they're supposedly really influential and kind of good but kind of twee at the same time. I hear them a lot on Soma FM, and it's pretty good stuff. Got the album from iTunes yesterday. They sound like The Pillows, only with chicks. And they're not Japanese.

I must have missed Tiger Trap the first time around. In 1993 I was listening to the first Belly album a lot, along with Daniel Lanois' second album. And In Utero; I prefer that album over Nevermind. Albini scruffed up Nirvana where Butch Vig smoothed them out too much.

I also remember liking Velocity Girl then, but I never bothered to buy any of their albums, even though I still remember they were on Sub Pop, which was a strange label for a jangly girl-lead-singer band to be on.


I was a junior in college and I lived in a big house in Peoria with three other guys. I don't talk about those days much. They were a blast, and horrible sometimes, but mostly a lot of fun. But there isn't much point to rehash all those old tales. Most of us have moved on from those days, one way or another.

It is now Wednesday, and why haven't I bought the new Wilco live album?

I urge all of you to buy it; having seen them live over a dozen times I can promise you an enjoyable listen. They are, in my opinion, the best live band around.

And yes, that is a picture of the current line-up of Wilco posing with Christopher Walken. I found the picture here, to give proper credit.

Maybe they thought "She's a Jar" needed more cowbell?

It's 12:30 and I can't sleep.

Mom came over and we talked and talked and I felt good was getting things off my chest and I thought I would be able to sleep tonight.

I lie in bed and try to sleep and everything rolls around in my head and I cannot. make. it. stop.

Uncle has cancer in brain. Fat Dad. Girls. Lonely. Letter of Recommendation still not finished. Thanksgiving. Limelight. Block scenes. School. Crazy ladies. Mystery person who insults me on my blog. Replace light over stove.

It's 2:46 and I can't sleep.

Eat a turkey sandwich. Drink a glass of milk. Watch multiple episodes of Scrubs. Read a book about grammar. (Seriously, wouldn't that put anyone to sleep?)

I have a meeting in three hours. I have another meeting in nine hours.

Nothing works. Drink myself to sleep? Yep, I've tried it. Hate doing it. Won't do it. Over the counter sleep pills? Tried them too. Had some wine earlier. Don't want to mix the two.

I've drank NyQuil when I'm not sick and I've tried driving around to make me tired and I've tried falling asleep on the couch (you know, to change it up a bit!) and nothing works.

Some nights, I sleep fine. I put together a nice streak of about 3-4 nights a couple of weeks ago where I was in bed and asleep well before midnight.

Mostly, though, it's all about fear. I crawl under the covers and this fear that I Won't Be Able to Fall Asleep grips me and accomplishes its mission.

I fucking hate this. And do you know why you're reading this sad-sack bullshit? Because I'm trying yet another method of falling asleep. Write down all my little worries and see if that gets them out of my brain for a while.

It's 4:23 and I can't sleep.

I heard about this book on Bella's site, and immediately went out to buy it.

A book about punctuation.

That's how big of a nerd I am.

Additional Nerd Info: somehow I had to cancel my old Skype profile, so I now have a new one under brianfauth. And I lost any profile information I had before, so if you feel like emailing me your Skype info, I will add you to my contacts again. Or for the first time.

Here's one of the things I'm very lucky to have:

I have a cool Mom.

Mom has never driven me into therapy, Mom has never nagged me or chipped away at my self-esteem (she must know how low it is to begin with), and Mom doesn't unfairly compare me to other people.

All in all, she's done a pretty good job raising me. I see so many other people, in real life or in the television programs, that are fucked up because of their mothers. Thankfully, I don't have that problem. I hold no grudges, no long-term damage, and no hurt feelings against my mom. She did well, raising me. Stayed out of my way, let me make my own decisions, for good or for bad.

She balances out my father quite well. Who, as some of you may know, was a world-class shit.

Remember how I dressed up as Steve Zissou (Bill Murray's character in The Life Aquatic) for Halloween? One of my favorite lines in that movie is when Zissou explains why he never made contact with his illegitimate son.

"I hate fathers, and I never wanted to be one."

Yeah, boo hoo, I'm so tragic. That's what therapy and anti-depressants are for, which, until recently, did wonders for me. Now I'm an official hermit who never wants to go back to work again because it's the most pointless waste of my time.

But enough of that tragedy! What I really need to talk about is my cool-ass chairman Mao watch, or as I like to call it, my Mickey Mao watch. I got it from a guy named Tom Bennett, who is father to Emily Bennett, that sweet, pretty Limelight member you may have seen as Lady Capulet last summer. Tom was in China and thought I'd get a kick out of the watch.

On a side note, Tom and his wife are good friends with Julie, who was Emily's 4th grade teacher. They became good friends and get together all the time. I think that's a very cool thing. I like it when people make friends outside the "normal" standard for friends. I have friends from 12-42 and change, and it's a wonderful thing.

One more thing regarding the watch: apparently Mao's hand moves, but I haven't seen it yet. Also, it's not battery-powered. It's supposed to get energy just from being strapped to your wrist, but so far the time is stuck at 7:26 PM and shows no signs of moving.

Fucking Commies.

Oh yeah, and I updated my Wish List at Amazon. So people who love me can buy me stuff as a Christmas declaration of their undying love for me.

Nothing says love like a bunch of books and DVDs.

Congratulations go out to the Eric and Erica (also known as the Duder and Wife). They just added a Duder Jr. to the family. Zander was 7 pounds and he's doing great.

I wonder how long it will take until he starts sneaking beers from the old man?

Reason #549 the Religious Right drives me crazy...


From CNN.com:

"Conservative Christian broadcaster Pat Robertson told citizens of a Pennsylvania town that they had rejected God by voting their school board out of office for supporting "intelligent design" and warned them Thursday not to be surprised if disaster struck."

So...because the people of Dover, PA voted out a School Board that suppoarted Intelligent Design, God will rain his wrath down upon them?

He actually believes that this will happen? God will take time out of his (presumably) busy schedule to attack Dover, PA with a tornado, mudslide, terrorist attack, or, at the least, deny them a white Christmas?

More from Robertson:

"I'd like to say to the good citizens of Dover: if there is a disaster in your area, don't turn to God, you just rejected Him from your city," Robertson said on his daily television show broadcast from Virginia, "The 700 Club."

"And don't wonder why He hasn't helped you when problems begin, if they begin. I'm not saying they will, but if they do, just remember, you just voted God out of your city. And if that's the case, don't ask for His help because he might not be there," he said.

Read the entire article here. And thanks to Nistheone for posting this bit of fucked-up news on his blog.

And you wonder why I'm always ragging on the fundys? If anyone believes that God will punish a town, or a country, or a political party for their actions or beliefs, then you worship a strange God. Isn't God/Jesus all about love and compassion?

Where's the love, Pat?

Last weekend, aside from a late-Friday night in Naperville, I stayed in and never left the house.

Took most of the week off to try and get well; have now spent second weekend exclusively at home. Can't tell if I'm feeling better or not.

This is what I've done with myself:

Watched a few movies: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Me and You and Everyone We Know, and most of Die Hard.

Watched a lot of TV, including most of Season 1 of Scrubs, the second season of Da Ali G Show, the My Name is Earl marathon on Saturday, a horrid SNL episode, and the usual Prime Time business.

Read: Inkheart, Watchmen, The History of the Lord of the Rings, and the Sunday Chicago Tribune.

Slept. A lot. Except for the last two nights, where I somehow cannot fall asleep until 4-5 AM.

Dreamt some incredibly bizarre dreams. Last night I created an entire movie, from start to finish, in my head. It involved people jumping between several different dimensions, but mostly took place at places of business. There was an indoor baseball game, an abandoned baby, much wandering between dimensions by way of electrical conduit systems, and a couple beautiful women.

Pondered the reappearance of K in my life. Pondered other women in my life as well. (That is not K, by the way. That is Jessica, formerly of "EricandJessica."

Came to the horrible conclusion that romantic love may not actually exist. This was done mostly after I heard that Eric and Jessica had broken up with each other. They were one of those "perfect couples." The ones that made you believe love was possible, and that you could find someone out there that was Just Right, and would make you happy for the rest of your life. If those people can't make it, what does that say for the rest of us?

Now I am going to iron some shirts and ponder what I shall make for dinner.

I am so fucking bored, but I feel like doing nothing else but wander around in my robe and striped pajama pants and work on growing a beard.