Post reveries

Hoo-hoo-hoo hoopie doopie, I'm back. This week saw a couple of hot n' sweaty evenings. Wednesday, Opeth and Nevermore returned to Chicago together for the first time since 2001, when Nevermore headlined and they played inside the damned Hard Rock Café. Nevermore singer Warrel Dane, whose newfound soberness was a bit shocking to witness if you've seen them as many times as I have, came out in a White Sox jersey, which was classy. The bands kept thanking us for coming to the show rather than watching the World Series. (Like my allegiances were torn or something.) While Nevermore's short, poorly mixed support set was a bit of a disappointment, Opeth played one of the best shows I've ever seen them deliver. And the House of Blues was packed. It's very weird to me, having watched one of my favorite bands in the world getting more and more popular so that they now draw a sold-out crowd in America. Even the sleeveless Pantera T-wearing jock metalheads are coming to Opeth shows now - I mean, Suffocation was in town Wednesday, too. Weird, I tell ya. (For another view of the evening, check out my old buddy - and new blogger! - Scarecrow. Dude: They opened with "The Baying of the Hounds," I lost you sometime around "Deliverance" and I was sore as hell, too.)

Tuesday night, I was soaking and steaming from tossing stuff out. Among the items I hauled from the basement to the curb:
·My entire tube-style waterbed, which was awesome when I was 12, but by the time I turned 27 was merely a leak-springing backache inducer.
·The majority of the posters that lined my bedroom walls since I was 14 or so, including a cheesecake drawing of Jessica Rabbit that I rarely saw (it was behind the door) and a bunch of mini Iron Maiden posters that I won when I went to Santa's Village with my cousin Kaila.
·Several disassembled, dilapidated promotional standees from the movie theater days, including a couple of ginormous ones left here by good old Kyle. Yes, "The Phantom" and "Clueless" have been chucked, although I did retain a certain piece of the latter on which an intoxicated young Carbon Boy left a fantastic sample of surreal writings and drawings. To wit:
Oh, there's more where that came from, plus some long-delayed movie reviews. Those should be ready by tomorrow, so please return soon. And for ultimate Viking majesty, treat yourself to the lovely new Thyrfing tune ("Jag Spår Fördärv"), the first sign of life from the mail-clad Swedes in three years. Skål!