Postcards from the ledge

Bueno! Here were some of the highlights of this week's vacation:

-Saturday involved a day trip to Indiana. This was a family deal, my cousin's daughter's seventh birthday party. Mom insisted on driving, so I got to look out the window and listen to "Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me!" The Midwest is boring when you're driving, but it's worse when you're not. As soon as the NPR signal faded, I suggested we throw in the copy of the new Bloc Party I had made for my cousin at Xmas, but which he had forgotten and we were bringing to him at the party. It was the only CD we had for the trip - I thought Mom would have hers, she forgot to bring them. It was all good, because, holy shit, that album is amazing. On the drive home, we stuck with oldies channels, but the guitar riff from "Hunting for Witches" kept drowning out ? and the Mysterians in my head. For the love of all that's holy, people, get that record when it comes out next month. I'm buying it as soon as possible, but tiding myself over with a crappy leaked version and the free live set NPR posted (if you think that's awesome, you can also get full sets from Man Man and The Fiery Furnaces if you go here). Oh, and the birthday party? It was fun - I got to see two of my cousins and the kids didn't whack me in the bathing suit area, as they are wont to do. Birthday girl Sara performed a number of dance routines to the music of the Cheetah Girls, who were not as as upsetting to me as I had assumed they would be. She made up for this with a redeemingly cute rendition of a horrifying song for which we can directly thank every "American Idol" fan: Carrie Underwood's "Jesus, Take the Wheel." Man, I thought Toby Keith was scary.

-Sunday, me and The Wiz caught a matinee of the new Guillermo del Toro joint, "El Laberinto del Fauno," released here as "Pan's Labyrinth." For some reason, one of the local megaplexes had it showing on two screens, odd but welcome treatment for a subtitled Spanish film. I generally like del Toro's movies. Okay, "Mimic" was absolute shit and "Cronos" was unsatisfying, but it was creative. "El Espinazo del Diablo," on the other hand, is more visually and emotionally powerful than a dozen cheapjack Japanese onryō shockers, and "Blade II" is the only stylish-vampires-in-trenchcoats movie of the past half-decade that's worth sitting through. This new flick is my new favorite of his, but since it's a current release, I would feel bad if I ruined its simple but satisfying charms for those who have not seen it. I'll tell you no more than to not expect a straightforward fantasy film, despite what the marketing may lead you to believe. Then again, anyone else out there who enjoyed "MirrorMask" despite its awful smooth jazz score should like this as well. My only complaint? The IMDB says the UK version is seven minutes longer... what the hell?

-Monday's snow storm complicated the drive to Mokena, but tangling with the salty smears on my windshield was no match for the epic struggle in which I would find myself just hours later. Locals Withering Soul were playing when I entered the Pearl Room. A couple of years ago, I saw these guys while on a date and wasn't impressed, but they've since ditched the keyboard player (I'm guessing she broke up with whoever in the band she was dating) and gone for a more guitar-oriented sort of Norsecore, which helps mask some of the obvious Cradle/Dimmu influences. The rest of the show, the touring portion, was a showcase for Candlelight Records. The Euro label, once known as the early home of pioneers Emperor and Opeth, has really stepped up the past few years - opening an American office, signing a crapheap of generally good bands and putting them on the road. (Speaking of which, the reunited Emperor attempts to make up for their only Chicago show, a shitty-sounding clusterfuck at the Congress Theatre back in 1999, on May 30. Tickets will go fast.) The young'uns stuck on this black metal bill, Arizona's Abigail Williams, were nothing special, but certainly didn't deserve the rude treatment they got from the crowd. Sure, they were pretty "metalcore" in presentation, but the riffs were decent and they had the sense to stick their cute keyboard player up front. Nonetheless, I wasn't sad to see them end their set early, making room for the mighty Enslaved. This was my fourth time seeing the Viking lords, but considering that the previous time was a 20-minute slot at the last good Milwaukee Metalfest, I was very excited. Just as they started, I got a new beer, lit a smoke and settled in as they opened with "Path to Vanir"... then all hell broke loose around me. I'm used to predicting and navigating pits, but this one caught me by surprise. First, I got blindsided and lost my can of beer. Just as I spotted it, I was suddenly on the floor, on top of some other dude, and I think someone was on me. I had two immediate goals: don't drop the smoke, and retrieve the beer before any more spilled out. I was grabbing for it, thinking about how I was about to get my hand broken, when someone hoisted me up from the twitching, beer-soaked body under me. I was about to lunge for the can again when someone kicked it. I instinctively leaned back and went to the rear of the pit, lamenting my poor cheap brew but pleased to notice that during all of that, the cigarette was still intact, burning and in my mouth. Later on, I think it was during "Jotunblod," some aging Nazi dude elbowed me squarely in the chest. I can still feel it days later. But, hey, Enslaved was AWESOME. I only stayed for five songs of Dark Funeral, who were wearing hilarious fake armor and got monotonous real quickly. Rather than buying yet another beer in an attempt to completely dull my brain, I gave up, bought the second Enslaved DVD and went home.

-Tuesday, I ran out to get a new a hoodie at the Target by my parents' house, since the selection at the one by me was shit. I don't know much about this "Mossimo." I assume it's some guy's name. No iconless company would be so arrogant as to make such shitty clothes. I've seen his logo emblazoned on the clothing of over-cologned jackasses for I don't know how long; by purchasing Mossimo's product at Target, I did so hoping it was hilariously out of fashion. All I know is that the nice brown hoodie he manufactured and Target sold me was way smaller than any 2XL-sized item I've ever experienced. I have some European-made XL metal t-shirts that are understandably snugger than something you'd buy here, but this shitbag Mossimo obviously doesn't know who he's selling to in the Midwestern United States. Eat a dick, Mossimo! Anyway, in the evening, my buddies Ed and Robin invited me to see this guitarist guy they've been raving about for a while. Having no reason to get up early the next day and no other plans, I decided to take them up on the offer. I ended up not even having to drive or pay the cover. (Thanks again!) So, the Andreas Kapsalis Trio plays every Tuesday at the Tonic Room on Halsted. It's one guy with an acoustic guitar, plus two percussionists with interesting Frankenkits. Not knowing much about such things, I would place Kapsalis' style somewhere between jazz and world fusion. His style is extremely busy and dextrous - he's usually playing with all ten fingers. often using a few of them to tap out complementary percussion. When these guys get cooking, it's absolutely mesmerizing. And wonderfully loud. Those of you in or near Chi-town with no need to rise early on a Wednesday, check the Trio out. Afterward, you can do as I did and relive my long-gone college days: stroll up the street for a junior burrito at Taco Burrito Palace #2. It's totally remodeled inside, but as good for soaking up $3 whiskey as ever.

-Wednesday was kind of a wash. I was planning to meet up with my buddy Andy in the evening for dinner and some movie. So, I was going to use the afternoon to exchange the useless Mossimo hoodie, use up my Best Buy gift card from Xmas, pick up a griddle and assemble items for my first monthly food attempt. I was just about to leave when Andy called, saying he decided to leave work after half a day and was just going to come over now. I told him I was just leaving to run a bunch of errands. He wanted me to wait for him. So, I did some laundry and ended up getting sucked into an insane episode of "Maury" that was entitled "Is My Boyfriend Cheating On Me Because I Have Only One Leg?" I recently discovered I love those daytime judge shows, and of the talk shows still standing, I'll take the ugly ones. This sort of programming used to annoy me in the years before prime time reality TV set a new standard for horribly-edited voyeuristic tedium. Now, it's really amusing to me to see bad liars get their asses handed to them by sassy-yet-compassionate nonwhite judges. I especially like "Divorce Court" - that show used to depress me ("How could two people love each other and then treat each other like this?"), but now that I'm sufficiently jaded about the whole relationship thing, I think it's hilarious ("Ha, ha, look at how these childish assholes are treating each other!"). But as my buddy the Wiz has pointed out to me, Maury Povich's show is the place to go for sleazeballs treating each other like scum. Most talk shows would only squeeze in three or four tales of infidelity, but Maury had a marathon of lie detector tests that totaled six or seven people fucking and/or getting knocked up by some toothless loser who's not paying their bills. I made Andy watch the rest of "Maury" after he showed up, despite his complaints... hey, I wouldn't have started watching it if he hadn't delayed me. He came with me on my errands and we got dinner, but then he got some sort of mysterious ailment and decided to cancel on the movie. So, I just went home and cheesed. Like I said, kind of a wash.

-I had originally planned to drive up to Minnesota yesterday, but since no one is coming with me, I changed my hotel reservation to a Friday check-in (the Crusade doesn't start until 7 p.m.) and I took the whole of Thursday to get my oil changed, secure some last-minute trip supplies, meet mom and dad for a little dinner and hang with the Wiz. He had taped Stephen Colbert's appearance on "The O'Reilly Factor," part of the "anchor exchange" that also saw Bill O'Reilly as Colbert's guest on Thursday's edition of "The Colbert Report." I don't write much about TV on this blog, but I have to say I think Colbert's show is my favorite on the tube right now - the writing is consistently sharp, and despite long breaks, it runs four new episodes a week. While "The Daily Show" lampoons the old model of television journalism, "Colbert" pokes a hole in the personality-driven ego-fests that pass for news programming on cable today. The most egregious perp of this phenomenon is smug conservative O'Reilly, who, like our president or a few of the girls I've tried to date in recent memory, somehow survives by simply ignoring everything that's going on outside of his own head. Colbert claims O'Reilly as his biggest influence - this, like most of the things he says in character, is a criticism veiled as a compliment. I could swear that "Papa Bear" O'Reilly was a "Report" guest during its infancy, but I may be wrong since Colbert was trumpeting the appearance for the last week. On Thursday, both men were true to form: O'Reilly was his usual bitchy fuddy-dud self, and Colbert layered on the barbed obsequeity. The funniest part of the whole thing was the "analysis" Bill held after talking with Stephen, wherein he and two of his stuffy yes-folk dismissed "The Colbert Report" as well as "The Daily Show" as the product of cynical young minds who are considered edgy only because they're sarcastic. At no point did they acknowledge that both shows attack the format and conventions of TV news as often as the events themselves, thus proving that either they don't get it, ot they're scared to admit that they do. Verdict: Colbert, obviously. Oh, I also cooked my first recipe of the year Thursday morning, with generally pleasing results... more on that after the trip. Speaking of which, I'm outta here.