8/22/2008

Chris Albrecht (1980-2008)

"God saw you getting tired and
a cure was not to be,
so He put His arms around you
and whispered "Come with Me."
With tear filled eyes we watched
as you suffered and faded away.
Although we loved you deeply
we could not will you to stay.
A goldern heart stopped beating,
hard working hands at rest,
God broke our hearts to show us,
He only takes the best."

8/05/2008

I'm bringing back the blogging, people. Yep. Minor month break because mama's been going through a bit of a downer. I don't really talk a lot about emotions on this here blog, but truth is I've actually been in the bowels of hell lately. Have another magazine now, my lovely publisher man left, and I'm working 3-4 hours a night just to feel sane when i open that e-mail up again the next morning. Never getting anywhere with no help in sight. But Jenny's got a new attitude and she's ready to get back to doing the things she likes and feeling alright.

It would be so gay to try to play catch-up, so we'll try to just cut to the mustard right here. I'm gonna write about a little place that I visited this weekend called Lollapalooza Land. Better known as Chicago, and the little city that's home to people like this:


God did I need this trip of freedom. Flew up their on Thursday evening where the night started out with a bang when Melissa tried to force roll her window down in heavy nighttime traffic and ask some nerdbomber why he had an extreme plastic flesh-colored hand guard with air holes in it. She proceed to kid-lock my window and scream, "SIR! SIR!" while I just basically died a small death in the front seat. That pretty much set the pace for the trip. We slid right into Giardano's where I pooed my pants because that pizza was so goddamn tasty.

It was getting late and because I'm 45 years old, we watched one Tim and Eric's Awesome Show before me and Melissa made out and then went to bed. She's a real tiger in the sack. Also, I heart Tim and Eric and their 15 minutes of dead-on comedy.

The next morning it was up and into the shower, because we had to make it to day one of Lolla. Melissa, Gina (awesome roommate) you guys live on a Chicagoan cloud of heaven. I would lick your bath tiles. I would make you guys dinner every night and service it to you in the dining room on that big oak table while wearing a tuxedo. Melissa, I would teach you that the water for the coffee goes into the machine and not into the cup right off the bat. Gina, out of the front room, we would start an iguana belt-making factory that also served ham sandwhiches on the side. I love you guys.

So we were out the door. Ate a little Potbelly's and made our way to the festival, hosted in an over-sized oven. On the way, I touched the bean and took some neat pictures that made me feel even larger than I already appear to be in my mind. Then we cashed in our paper tickets for a sweet cloth wristband that needed to be permanently worn for all three days. I sweated in mine, probably got a little pee on it, and also definitley dipped in ketchup.




The first day consisted of The Go Team. Stop right here. This is where i say that I'm sorry. I'm not up on all of these hipster trendy bands that only sport neon tight pencil pants. I don't know who any of you are. But these guys were entertaining. Again, a lot of neon clothing and she also looked like an amazon barbarian woman with bright blue eyeshadow. Also caught the Black Keys (cool) and then I made my way over to Mates of State for some cute organ music straight from two lovers from Lawrence, Kansas. It was awesome and I bopped around for awhile. Then it was Bloc Party where I became a sardine in a sea of Radiohead fans. They were on next. This is where things began to get a little hazy courtesy of the over-abundance of adult beverage tents. I was over-served or there was some bad ice or something but whatever. I met some guys from Mexico, made a few memories, and smashed against some sweaty torsos while I listened to the lullabyes of Radiohead. Some nearby fan actually told me to shut up. During a concert. Outside. With 75,000 of my closest friends. Nice.



That night we hit up Scooter Morison's house. The place was sweet and had a nice balcony. Sorry I was ever born, Scott. A totem pole was probably funner than me that night. Also, I sang a lot of Paramore on Michigan Avenue on the walk home. But me and Meliss had a sweat heart to heart talk on her patio that night involving an innocent stack of Oreos lightly resting on her disgusting wooden stoop.

The next morning was great. I got to know Melissa's water closet a lot better and I was finally ready to tackle another day. First we met up with Brian's sister and her pal where I was treated to a tour of the most fantastic loft in all of Chicago. I am pretty sure I couldn't even afford the doorknob, but it was glorious. Then we booked it on over to see my band of bands, BRAND NEW. Literally the reason why I came. They make me want to make love to a schoolboy. Seriously, they were incredible and everything I hoped and dreamed they would be. And at the end, Jesse Lacey, their singer, threw his guitar into the drumset and was almost close to spearing his drummer. Then he just walks off stage. Melissa wanted to lick him like a lollipop, too. Great, great show.



After that we caught Lupe Fiasco. He was pretty cool. Dressed all in white with a background singer who looked like a street walker. Saw a little bit of the Toadies. Aparently everyone had posters of that band in their room, except for me. Then we rounded out the night with Rage Against the effing Machine. Reunited soley for one purpose: Brian Scott. He was out of his mind excited bouncing around in his own private (and very clean) mosh pit. It just made me giddy, seeing him so excited. Then we learned that the singer knew people who would burn cities down if Obama didn't do what he promises. Such a little revolutionary. For me, this was the best closer of all three nights, hands down.



That's when the night went a little bit south and very much like a bad choose your own adventure that didn't ever stop ever. Shocker, this time i wasn't the one knee deep in shit. Those shall remain nameless, however let's just say Metro underground bathrooms are not places to sleep, I think I touched ever inch of downtown Chicago with my feet, don't drink the sports bottles filled with wine, and good things never happen past 11pm. John Hall was right. Highlight of the night: ending up at awesome Jewish diner and discovering Heeb magazine.



The next day, we traveled back to Grant Park for the last day of debauchery. We started it off with the John Butler Trio (fingernails atleast 6 inches long for picking), saw Perry Farrell (on drugs) and Slash (totally murdered the guitar part in Jane Says), then saw Iron and Wine (beard), and a titch of Blues Traveler. I peed during Gnarls Barkley and then we made our way back for bits of The National and finally Nine Inch Nails. Yes, I picked them over Kanye West. I heard all he did was compare himself to John Lennon and Martin Luther King, Jr. Thanks but no thanks. NIN had some sweet lighting effects and they also played that bomb song "Hurt". God it gets me every time.



When we get home, one of Melissa's friends runs in the door asking if we saw him on the Nine Inch Nails stage? Um, apparently he crowd surfed all the way up to the front then ducked under the stage, thought it right to get completely naked, found some spray paint under the stage, and in the dark, tries to paint his band name on his chest and also on a piece of tarp he found. The attempt at spray painting actual letters in the dark ended up looking like his torso was lightly roasted over a fire. But he made it up on stage before quickly being gang-tackled by every security guard in America. All this while his balls were hanging out. Then he was sent to Lolla jail where Perry Farell walked by and scolded him for thinking his band was better than everyone elses. And he lost his shoes, thus walking home night number two barefoot. This is basically the man of my dreams.

And the last night ended with a loud thunderstorm and 9 hours at Midway airport. Meliss- I loved every second. Thank you for being not only good at the internet, but also good at friendship.



And now, my Lollapalooza picture album. (shout out to T-Master Tudor).

And......scene.