Thursday, December 27, 2007

Oh How the Mighty Have Fallen, Part 2

First Topanga, and now Marissa Cooper. Yes, it is my extreme displeasure to report that Mischa Barton got arrested for a dooey in LA. Perhaps if she had ever eaten something besides one cereal flake, she might have been able to withstand what I assume were three sips of a Bartles & Jaymes at a water polo party on the beach. I have a sneaking suspicion that Volchok was somehow behind this. That Eastern European vampire motherfucker always did bring her down. My main concern is that Atwood wasn't around to unalcholize Marissa simply by brooding.

Monday, December 24, 2007

Tropicoolio Greetings

Jessie wanted to call it "Tropipoolside Greetings," but I thought that sounded weird.

Saturday, December 22, 2007

Happy Holidays

Oh How The Mighty Have Fallen

It's with a heavy heart that I report to you a report based on a police report that Danielle Fishel -- known and loved as Topanga on the Fred Savage-Rider Strong vehicle Boy Meets World -- was arrested on a drunk driving warrant this week. I guess all that weight she lost negatively affected her tolerance. Where's Feeney when you need him?

Friday, December 21, 2007

Christmas Listening Recommendation

Today I broke tradition and listened to Christmas music instead of hair band music. I guess I figured "We Three Kings" is more appropriate than "Number of the Beast." Anyway, for those of you out there looking for an awesome Christmas album, I wholeheartedly recommend A Christmas Gift for You From Phil Spector. Before he was shooting b-movie actresses to death, Phil Spector was arguably the greatest producer in rock and roll history, and this 1963 album is one of the many examples of his producing talents, combining Christmas classics with his famous "Wall of Sound." I'm sure many of you already know about (or even have) this album, and you've probably heard many of the songs on oldies radio around the holidays, but for those of you who don't have it, you should buy it immediately.

Ranked #142 on Rolling Stones 500 Greatest Albums of All-Time (ahead of anything by Steely Dan -- fuck Steely Dan) and released on November 22, 1963 to offset the negative vibes created that day by JFK's death, the album features The Ronettes, The Crystals, Darlene Love, and Bob B. Soxx & The Blue Jeans belting out various Christmas favorites. The Ronettes' version of "Sleigh Ride" has always been a favorite of mine ("ring-a-ling-a-ling-a-ding-dong-ding"), and Ronnie Spector's (then Bennett) voice is amazing, as always. Darlene Love's "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)" (penned by Brill Building superstars Ellie Greenwich and Jeff Barry, as well as Spector) is one of the better Christmas songs ever, due in large part to Love's soaring, heartfelt vocals, pleading for her man to come home for Christmas and imploring him to remember all the fun they had last year. Other highlights include "The Bells of St. Mary's" by Bob B. Soxx & The Blue Jeans (of which Love was a backing singer), "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" by The Crystals (Springsteen based his now-famous version off of this one), "White Christmas" by Darlene Love, and "Parade of the Wooden Soldiers" by The Crystals. The other songs are great too. I might as well have listed all of them.

Anyway, I was listening to the album at work today, and I figured that its praises had to be sung -- not literally, though, because that would be an insult to the album. With all of the shit that gets put out at the holidays every year, this is truly a timeless classic that might be easily overlooked. Buy it. Love it. Live it. Yes Kevin, live it. Dream that snow falls on or before December 25 (as you've known it to have done in years past), build a gregarious snowman that comes to life, make yourself aware of the fact that the bells shall ring out for you and me, don't even think about pouting, take the road before you and sing at least one but less than three choruses, pretend that you live in a world made entirely of marshmallows, spy on your mother committing adultery with Kringle, if you ever see Rudolph say it glows, pretend that the aforementioned snowman is a clergyman of sorts inquiring as to your marital status, organize a parade of wooden soldiers, please come home (baby), and say your fucking prayers because Santa Claus is coming tonight. But most importantly, be quiet.

Inaugural GMYH Hall of Fame Inductees

Polling is closed and the top thee vote-getters have been chosen by you, the faithful and loyal GMYH readers. The inaugural GMYH Hall of Fame Inductees are as follows:
Thanks to everyone who voted and who loves stories about chicks getting banged on hotel floors in front of 15 people, guys dressed up like aging rock stars who drink their wives' contact lenses, and hating that glorified two-year technical college in West Lafayette that lost Wednesday night at home to Wofford.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

My Other Daughter's Pregnant, Y'all

So Lynne Spears, mother of media darlings Britney and Jamie Lynn, is apparently writing a book on parenting, which was delayed indefinitely today. I don't know what's funnier, the fact that 16-year-old Jamie Lynn was getting statutorily raped -- er, I mean nailed -- by a 19-year-old douche who apparently hates condoms, pulling out, and Jesus or the fact that Lynne is writing a book on a subject which she obviously knows so very little about. Interestingly, the book is NOT entitled "How to Raise Whores Who Get Impregnated by D-Bags and Why You Should be Pro-Choice." I think I could probably write a better book on parenting than Lynne Spears, even though I've never even owned a child (although I do own a dog who has managed to stave off pregnancy despite nearly regenerating her uterus). My book would be entitled, "Tell Your Daughter To Close Her Fucking Legs." It would be filled with commonsense tips on dealing with rambunctious teenage girls who like to spread their legs at the mere scent of a male, with chapter titles including, (1) "If You Get Pregnant While You're Still In High School, You're Not Getting a Dime From Us, You Filthy Street Walker," (2) "You're Grounded Because You're a Whore," (3) "Surreptitious Ways to Implant Birth Control Pills in Your Daughter's Food," (4) "That Nice Guy Dating Your Daughter Is Probably a 37-Year-Old Rapist," (5) "Babies Aren't Cute, They're Siphons," (6) "Your 20s, and Why You Should Enjoy Them," (7) "Pregnant Chicks Don't Win Prom Queen," (8) "There is Nothing Wrong With Blowjobs," (9) "Ponies, Puppies, and Other Ways to Reward a Prude," (10) "The Amateur Hysterectomy and You," (11) "Coat Hangers and Vacuums: A Reluctant Grandparent's Best Friends." Oh, who am I kidding, this is the book I've been writing all this time.

Monday, December 17, 2007

Watch the Insight Bowl at Rocks

For those of you IU fans in Chicago who will not be heading to Tempe for the Insight Bowl, George Manta (co-owner of Rocks and fellow IU alum, for those who don't know) wanted me to spread the word that Rocks will be showing the game. As an emotional and monetary support of Rocks, I wholeheartedly urge you to watch the game there, instead of, say, a Joe's or a Kirkwood (both of which will be packed and obnoxious).

But don't take it from me. Here is a message from George himself:

"What's up fellow IU Alums? Manta here, with a simple message. IU will be playing it's 13th game this season on New Year's Eve, that's December 31st. I know most everyone will have some sort of plan already for what they're doing that night, with some of you actually heading to Tempe for the game.

For those of us who won't be in actual attendance, or out of town for the holiday, I am offering up a venue to watch the game. It will be on the NFL Network, which most households don't get. It starts at 4:30pm CST, so you should be able to watch and still have plenty of time to go home and attend your respective New Year's parties.

So if you're in Chicago that day and want to watch IU play Oklahoma State in their first bowl game since before 99% of us went to school there, then come over to ROCKS. I'll be there working/watching. I just thought I would put it out there this early so you had plenty of time to plan. Thanks for your time. If I don't see before then, have a great holiday season, and a safe and Happy New Year. GO HOOSIERS!"

For those of you who don't know, Rocks is located at 1301 W. Schubert, which is one block south of Diversey, two blocks east of Southport and two blocks west of Racine.

Twelve Albums That Changed My Life

Some dude named Robert the Radish who has a music blog on Yahoo recently had a post entitled "10 Albums That Changed My Life." I don't know who Robert is, or what nationality the last name "the Radish" might be, but I vomited all over my keyboard when I saw his first pick: Rush - Moving Pictures. I fucking hate Rush. Hatred of Canadian pop-metal with banshee-like lead singing to the point of annoyance aside, the Radish's idea is an interesting one. It's rare that you (or I) come across an album that changes your (or my) life, and the whole exercise of separating favorite albums from life-changing albums is an exhausting one that I hope never again to experience. Regardless, here are twelve (yes, twelve -- take that, the Radish) albums that probably changed my life, in reverse alphabetical order by the last letter of the second song.

1. Guns N' Roses - Appetite for Destruction. To this day, I have no idea why my mom let me buy this tape that fateful day in 1988 at Phar-Mor. She saw the "Parental Advisory" sticker. She saw the skulls. She saw her son as a naïve child for the last time. As soon as I got home, I popped the tape in. By the middle of the second song ("It's So Easy"), my innocence was lost faster than Axl could say, "why don't you just . . . FUCK OFF?!" What did he just say? You gotta remember that at this time there really wasn't all that much swearing in albums. A "shit" here and an "ass" there, maybe, but the number of f-bombs throughout this album was eye-opening for a 10-year-old in 1988. And then there was the inside cover art. Chicks were being sexually assaulted by flying robot pods with knives for teeth and alligator skeletons walking on two feet with either guns or binoculars for eyes. You're just not the same after you look at that.

2. The Beatles - Let It Be. This wasn't the first Beatles album I bought, nor is it my favorite Beatles album. What it is, though, is the Beatles album that fostered my desire to crank music as loud as possible when I'm hammered and sing along. There was a lot of that (particularly to "Dig a Pony," "Let It Be," "I Me Mine," and especially "I've Got a Feeling") second semester my sophomore year, along with Morgan and Jamie, after yet another night of striking out with the ladies.

3. Beach Boys - Spirit of America. My dad had this Beach Boys compilation on record, and he made a tape at some point, which I pilfered and listened to countless times between 1985 and 1988. It helped shape my view on what qualifies as well-written pop song, and also kind of made me want to be a rock singer, despite my lack of ability or dedication.

4. Def Leppard - Hysteria. I heard a snippet of a song while riding in the car on the way to Phar-mor with my mom. I heard what I thought was "burnin' like a flame," and I knew immediately that I had to own that song. After rifling through the entire tape collection at Phar-mor to find the song, I almost bought a Dokken tape. It turns out what I heard was "love is like a bomb," and luckily I soon figured out that it was "Pour Some Sugar On Me," and it quickly became my favorite song (and has stayed my favorite song to this day). It was that song and this album that transformed my taste in music from Beach Boys-centric to hair band-centric.

5. Derek and The Dominos - Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs. This also happens to be my favorite album of all-time. Thanks in large part to Professor Glenn Gass during Z202, I discovered this album in the spring of 1997. Before that, I had heard "Layla" and "Bell Bottom Blues," but nothing else. Holy shit, what an album. The emotion, the love, the pain, the drugs, the booze. I now had an album to listen to when I was depressed because no matter how bad I might have felt, Eric Clapton felt worse when he made this album.

6. Def Leppard - Yeah!. Most of you have probably never heard or (or listened to) this 2006 release by the boys from Sheffield. It's a cover album of songs by all of their favorite '70s British glam groups (and one Blondie song). I listened to it a lot during the summer of 2006 when I was studying for the bar. It broadened my scope of music (and got me into Thin Lizzy -- thanks guys) and inspired a lot of what I wrote in that book that I haven't finished (which is now over 330 pages and still growing).

7. Kenny Rogers - The Gambler. I'm assuming everyone has that one album that they listened to as a kid that made them love music. For me, it's The Gambler. Hey, I lived in Houston in the late '70s and early '80s. What did you expect? If memory serves me right (and it always does), my dad had made a tape of his Kenny Rogers album, which made it easier for me to listen to. From about age 2 to 7, "The Gambler" was my favorite song, and it made me want to listen to other tapes of records my dad had made, such as Hall & Oates, Air Supply, and Billy Joel. Before I knew it, I was out of touch, making love out of nothing at all, and fucking Christie Brinkley.

8. Marvin Gaye - Every Great Motown Hit. I lost my virginity to this album, or at least a 23-second segment of the 13th song on this album. That was definitely life changing. At least for one of us.

9. Michael Jackson - Thriller. Anyone under the age of 30 in 1982 who says this album didn't change their life is a goddamn liar. Anyone who has ever owned parachute pants who says this album didn't change their life is a goddamn liar. I was 5 when Thriller was released and I have owned at least one pair of parachute pants ever since. Case closed.

10. Culture Club - Colour By Numbers. This is the first tape I ever bought with my own money, and second tape I ever owned behind -- cough -- the Annie soundtrack. Buying it made me realize that, even though I was only 6, I had the power to shape my own musical collection without relying on my parents to buy something for me. Granted, I didn't have a lot of scratch lying around, so I had to save up my allowance to purchase any new music, starting a trend that would last for years to come and cause me to spend nearly all of my disposable income on music. Thank you Boy George.

11. N.W.A. - Straight Outta Compton. Fuck the police? Are you serious? Yes, they were. For all of the shit N.W.A. gets for swearing and misogyny, this album was the most "real" album I had ever heard in my life when I purchased it in 1990. If Appetite for Destruction took my innocence, Straight Outta Compton beat it up, threw it on the ground, put a sawed off to the back of its head, and pulled the trigger without a second thought, broadening my thinking about street life, gangs, drugs, the man, and race relations in the process. I had listened to rap and hip hop before this, but being prompted to "bust a move" or even "put the needle on the record so the drum beat goes like this" is not quite as thought-provoking as "fuck tha police" or "to the kids looking up to me, life ain't nothin' but bitches and money." It's no coincidence that I don't really trust cops anymore, that I have a wife, and that I became a lawyer. Essentially, I'm living the dream that N.W.A. implanted in my head.

12. The White Stripes - White Blood Cells. Before I got this album in 2002, I was in a new music lull. Nothing new (aside from rap and hip hop) really grabbed my attention. But this album inspired me to look at other new artists and to get Rolling Stone, which snowballed into me getting much more music. All of the new rock music I've grown to love in the past 5 years (The Black Keys, The Hold Steady, Kings of Leon, Louis XIV, The Greenhornes, Arctic Monkeys, Kaiser Chiefs, The Killers, etc., etc.) can be traced to how blown away I was by White Blood Cells and the fact that it made me want to see what else was out there.

Honorable Mention: Beastie Boys - License to Ill; The Beatles - Abbey Road; The Doors - The Doors; The Jimi Hendrix Experience - Radio One; Led Zeppelin IV; Outkast - Speakerboxx/The Love Below; Otis Redding - The Very Best of; Bruce Springsteen - Born to Run; Velvet Underground - The Best of the Velvet Underground: Words and Music of Lou Reed; Muddy Waters - Greatest Hits.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Aerosmith Christmas

Friday night, Jester, Ari, Kyla, Alex, and I went to dinner. We attempted to fill our wurst void by going to Laschet's Inn, but we were informed that it would be an hour wait. Fuck that. I could kill a German and make sausage in that time. Thus, we went across the street to O'Donovan's, where I ate too many wings.

After dinner, Alex, Kyla, and Ari left, and Jester and I headed up to The Annoyance Theatre to see An Aerosmith Christmas: A Christmas Wizard Adventure, which is directed by the same guy who directed No Offense, Assh*le. I knew this was going to be a special night as soon as Jessie and I hopped into a cab to head up there, and in the arm rest on the door was a mostly full pack of Benson & Hedges. 100s. Menthol. My favorite minty tobacco combination on the planet.

The show itself was great. Joining us were Australian Andrew and Heather, one of the actresses in NO, A. All of us were big fans of An Aerosmith Christmas. It runs every Friday night at 10 until January 4, and I highly recommend going to see it.

After the show, we hung out for a couple drinks at the Annoyance's bar, and then Heather was nice enough to drop the other 3 of us off at Paddy Long's for some brews. Jessie was overly concerned about a table of douchebags and trixies that in no way impacted our table or drinking experience. Hucker and his ladyfriend Julie showed up, and we closed the bar down. I love when bars kick you out at 1:45, even though they're open until 2. Australian Andrew went off in search of a cab to take him to get a burrito, even though he had consumed three tacos just before the Aerosmith show. The rest of us headed back to our apartment and drank a few beers, since going to bed before 4 on a Friday night is apparently unacceptable to me.

Yesterday I did pretty much nothing, except get that tattoo (more on that when I upload a picture -- rest assured, it's elephant ears on my upper inner thighs) and watch some 3-year-old win a public pissing match with her mom. It was a shitstorm here in Chicago, and by "shit" I mean "snow." I was overjoyed to get 10 1/2 hours of sleep last night, and I probably could have slept for another 12 or 13 had Jessie not been a nazi about me getting out of bed. She's reading an Eva Braun biography, and I've noticed some changes in her behavior lately.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Hey Stellaaaaa!

So I was in Walgreen's about 26 minutes ago, grabbing some Curel to care for the tattoo I got 12 minutes before that (more on that once I take the bandage off and upload a picture). Anywho, I was walking up towards the front of Walgreen's, dreaming of what life would be like as a merman, when I encountered an empty double stroller with a mom standing behind it and her two daughters running rampant by the candy shelves at checkout. One of the girls was about 3 and named Stella, which a lot of people don't realize has been a dog name since the 1960s. Stella had managed to grab a king size Butterfinger, bent it in half (I guess there are two parts) and was gnawing on the outside of the wrapper. Instead of taking the Butterfinger out of Stella's hand and delivering a painful open-handed blow to Stella's mouth, the mom feigned authority and said "Stella, oh my God. What are you doing? Get back in the stroller. Now we'll have to buy that." The mom, of course, made no attempt to put Stella back in the stroller or any attempt to enforce her command, instead choosing to walk away and tend to her other young daughter who was probably named Bailey or Fido or Santa's Little Helper.

Undaunted, Stella continued her assault on the Butterfinger, figuring out that the candy bar itself tastes better than the wrapper. She managed to open the wrapper and toss half of the candy bar on the floor, then she picked it back up and started to eat it. At this point, her mom once again got "mad" at Stella by sternly saying, "Oh my God, Stella. You are being a bad girl. Stop eating that and get in the stroller." Stella, realizing that her mom is about as likely to punish her as I am to fake an orgasm, strutted nonchalantly towards the stroller happily eating the Butterfinger. As expected, the mom did not take the candy bar from Stella, nor did she ensure that Stella actually got into the stroller, nor did she grab Stella and shake her into unconsciousness. Rather, this "mother" walked in the opposite direction to look at a beautiful sale display of handsoap. I had to censor my instinctive reaction to say, "You're a horrible mom, and your child is an unruly monster who would probably behave if you actually put as much effort into punishing her as you do announcing to all of Walgreen's that your daughter is a disobedient malefactor. To you ma'am, I say good day." This woman is why most kids today are assholes. At what point did parents stop parenting? If I tried to pull that shit, my mom or dad would have grabbed the Butterfinger out of my hand and probably paid for it just so they could throw it away in front of me or hit me with it or eat it themselves. For those of you who are reading this who have young children, please do everyone a favor and treat your children like what they are: children. It's okay to yell at them, punish them, and snatch a stolen Butterfinger from them every now and then. Thank God I'm sterile.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

GMYH Hall of Fame Nominations

Well, the votes are in, and here are the nominees for the inaugural class of the GMYH Hall of Fame, in chronological order:

Voting will last for one week. The top 3 vote-getters get the HOF nod. You can vote for multiple posts. Now get out there and help shape history.

Josie's On a Vacation Far Away

Thanks to the Floppy Burrito for this one.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Don't Forget...

To put in your two cents for GMYH Hall of Fame nominations. Before Thursday evening, nominate as many as you want, and I will put the top 5 to a vote. It will be both cathartic and orgasmic.

Sunday, December 09, 2007

No Offense, Assh*le videos

For those of you who didn't get the chance to see No Offense, Assh*le in person, thanks for nothing. You're in luck, however. You can now watch every sketch as many times as you like. The final performance was taped, and since I am generally unsavvy when it comes to digital video splicing, I spent far too long splitting it up and posting every sketch on YouTube. All of the videos are available at Here are the sketches, in the order they ran:

"No One Gets Offended Anymore"

"Gary Spongecake"






"Immaculate Deception"

"No Commitment"


"There's Something About the Virgin Mary"


Thursday, December 06, 2007

Midwestern Eavesdropping - 12/6/07

It's been far too long since I've posted a Midwestern Eavesdropping, so I just wanted to make sure you all know that it has not died and that you should still be submitting your eavesdroppings to me at

Fiftysomething male cab driver, referring to house music that he is blaring: "This is how you take down communism."
--Chicago, somewhere on Lincoln Ave.
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Art Director at an advertising agency: "Well I only went to real college for 1.5 yrs. Then I transferred to art school where everyone smells and loves anime."
--Chicago, Wacker & Dearborn
Eavesdropper: RDC

A guy and a girl at a party discuss a club the guy was involved with in high school:
Girl: "You had something called Plant Lovers Club in high school?"
Guy: "Yeah, it was all stoners and kids with Down Syndrome."
--Chicago, Irving Park & Marshfield
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Crazy chick talking to friend on cell phone about calling some dude: "Uh huh . . . uh huh . . . uh huh . . . no, it only shows up as a missed call, not how many times I called him."
--Chicago, somewhere on Addison
Eavesdropper: Popper

Twentysomething special ed teacher: "I thought Angora was a type of cat."
Eavesdropper: The Loose-Lipped Lithuanian

Two twentysomething females on L:
Female 1: "I used to want to be an archeologist because I thought it would be cool to dig around in dirt to find old stuff but then I figured I would have to do it the rest of my life."
Female 2: "Plus you'd have to work with old people in hats."
--Chicago, Brown Line train
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Twentysomething special ed teacher: "I'm afraid of a herd of dolphins attacking our boat."
Eavesdropper: The Loose-Lipped Lithuanian

Twentysomething female outside bar: "Why is that woman fighting with two short gay men?"
--Chicago, Corcoran's, North & Wells
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Someone not familiar with names of extremely famous baseball stadiums: "Coming up on the left you're going to see Cubs Park."
--Chicago, Addison & Clark
Eavesdropper: Tron

Guy on cell phone, on crowded L train, loudly: "This guy this morning on the L wouldn't stop talking loudly on his phone. It was incredibly annoying."
--Chicago, Brown Line train
Eavesdropper: RDC

Waiter at a Japanese restaurant to table of 10 people sitting in private room: "You guys, if a Mexican comes in here, he has your beer so don't shoot him. He's nice."
--Bloomington, IN, Japanee, 8th & Walnut
Eavesdropper: GMYH

This one falls into the category of not really an eavesdropping, but it's worthy of inclusion anyway:
While I was standing in the security line at a Cook County administration building, I noticed a sign above the security gate with a few dos and don'ts, including this one:
"Disrupted behavior is not allowed."
--Chicago, Sedgwick & Superior
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Thanks, as always, to everyone who contributed. I am going to try to once again make this a weekly (or at least bi-weekly) thing, so please keep your ears open. I love you all.

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

GMYH Hall of Fame Nominations

After my "I Hate Purdue" post, I got several comments, including one from "Begrudgingly Boilermaker," who suggested that I include the post in my "GMYH Classic" section on the sidebar. The GMYH Classic posts are back-dated posts about subjects/events from before I started GMYH, so "Classic" relates to the fact that those are things I would have posted had I had a blog before August 27, 2005.

However, given that I have had this abomination I call a blog for over 2 years now and given that I occasionally write things that a small (and disturbed) fraction of the readers find funny, I think it's time to establish a GMYH Hall of Fame. With all the crap that I post, new visitors to GMYH should be given some sort of guidance as to the cream of the crop.

Thus, every couple months, I will ask you guys to nominate a post for the GMYH Hall of Fame. Then we will put it up for a vote, and the top vote getter will be enshrined. There are no rules about how old the post must be, and for the first "class," I'll take the top 3 vote getters.

So with that, post a comment below about what posts you think I should consider. I'll then take the top 5 of those -- the inaugural GMYHHOF ballot -- and put up a poll, and then the top 3 vote getters will be enshrined in the inaugural class. This is truly a watershed moment in the history of GMYH, blogging, writing in general, self-aggrandizement, and time.

Playing 13

It's official. IU is going bowling for the first time in 14 years. The Hoosiers will be battling the Oklahoma State Cowboys in the Insight Bowl on New Years Eve. I am unbelievably proud of the team. I know it must have been very hard to lose their head coach over the summer, but Coach Hep is looking down with a giant grin on his face because his dream of playing 13 has come true.

Jester and I will be in Tempe for the game, and thus far so will Wee Wee & Lesli, Jamie, Shepley, Holt, Judson, the Davidsons, and many more. For all you IU fans out there, if you can afford to go -- and you should, since you've had 14 years to save up for this -- you should definitely head out to Tempe to support the team. It's been a long time coming, and hopefully this is the beginning of a more-than-every-14-years stretch of success for IU. But the bottom line is that the Hoosiers will need to put butts in the seats to show that we travel well, so that next year's Rose Bowl will be equal parts IU and Washington fans. That's right, I said it.

Saturday, December 01, 2007

New Book?

I just finished reading Can't Stop Won't Stop: A History of the Hip-Hop Generation by Jeff Chang, and it was pretty good. It essentially traces hip-hop from its origins in the Bronx to the present. I think Chang does a really good job of putting everything into historical perspective, blending the important events of the day and the important events in NYC or LA with how those events impacted hip hop culture and vice versa. I also enjoyed the fact that the book wasn't just about music, but about hip hop culture in general, discussing (in addition to music) graffiti artists, b-boys and other dancers, cultural and political activism, and street gangs, among other hip-hop-related topics. The parts about the gangs were good, mainly since street gangs are always interesting. I also thoroughly enjoyed the section on N.W.A. My only complaint is that there was practically nothing on Tupac or Biggy.

I'm not sure what I'm going to read next. Maybe some literotica to freak everyone on the train out. Or turn them on.

Drew P

I've been largely silent about the whole Drew and Stacy Peterson fiasco. Frankly, I don't give a shit whether or not (1) she's dead, (2) he killed her, or (3) he killed his third wife. He's obviously an asshole, based on the interviews I've seen with him and his general demeanor. Nonetheless, they haven't found a body or charged him with anything. Just because he an enormous dickhead doesn't necessarily make him a murderer.

Now the latest in the story is that a clergy member has come forward -- anonymously, of course -- to say that, in August, Stacy told him that Drew killed his third wife and made it look like an accident.

Here's what I find troubling about this anonymous clergy member spilling his guts:
(1) There is something called the priest-penitent privilege, which means that any communications between clergy members are privileged and confidential, so long as the communications are made to (or from) the clergy member when he or she is acting in his or her professional capacity as a spiritual adviser and for the purpose of seeking (or dispensing) religious counsel or advice. This privilege is not the clergy members' to waive. Rather, the person seeking the clergy member's advice is the only party who can waive this privilege. Thus, this anonymous clergyman had no business divulging the details of his conversation with Stacy, assuming of course the communications occurred in the course of Stacy seeking religious counsel or advice (which I'm guessing they did). Granted, there are exceptions to any rule about privileged communications. For instance, if a child reveals that he or she is being abused, the priest is obligated to report it, or if the penitent threatens to harm or kill someone, then the priest can report it. The communications between Stacy and her priest, however, doesn't seem to fall within any exception, which means the priest should have kept his yap shut. Furthermore, if it did in fact fall within an exception, then priest should have alerted the authorities immediately, and not waited over 3 months and anonymously told a Sun-Times reporter.
(2) If Drew told Stacy that he had killed his third wife and made it look like an accident, why the hell did she stay with him after that? Why didn't she tell the police? Why didn't she tell her family? My only thought is that perhaps it was an abusive relationship, and she was scared. However, I don't think there have been any allegations that Stacy and Drew's marriage was an abusive one (which obviously doesn't mean that it wasn't).

And the other new twist to the story is that Drew Peterson paid a relative to remove a giant rectangular box from his house the day Stacy disappeared. Of course the relative told a friend that it had to be Stacy's body in there "because it was warm." As we all know, dead bodies emit lots of heat, so this makes perfect sense. I tend to agree with Trib columnist Eric Zorn when he asks the legitimate question, "How dumb do we think Drew Peterson is?" He was a police sergeant familiar with homicide investigations. Why the hell would he hire someone to remove his dead wife's body from his house?

I have found one piece of evidence that implicates Drew Peterson. In 1988, Guns N' Roses released the GN'R Lies album, which includes a song called "Used to Love Her" with the following lyrics:
I used to love her, but I had to kill her
I used to love her, but I had to kill her
I had to put her
Six feet under
And I can still hear her complain

I used to love her, but I had to kill her
I used to love her, but I had to kill her
I knew I miss her
So I had to keep her
She's buried right in my back yard

I used to love her, but I had to kill her
I used to love her, but I had to kill her
She bitched so much
She drove me nuts
And now I'm happier this way

Before today, I had never put 2 and 2 together, but think about this: when Guns N' Roses released this song, Drew Peterson's third and fourth wives were still alive (granted, Stacy was 4 at the time). Drew Peterson was also alive in 1988, and he may have heard this song. And now, a mere 19 years later, his third and fourth wives are dead. As if that alone wasn't enough to convict him, "Used to Love Her" is the 6th song on the album. 666, number of the beast. Hello! The beast is Drew Peterson. Drew Peterson is the devil. Think about it.