Thursday, July 30, 2009

When You're Strange

You may or may not know that I'm a big Doors fan. Last Saturday night at Bohmann's shindig, while Greg was literally eating a horse, his friend Jeff (also a big Doors fan) told me about a new documentary about The Doors called When You're Strange. I finally had time tonight to look it up, and it looks pretty sweet. It seems like something I would rather enjoy watching in full. Unfortunately, it does not appear to have been picked up by a distributor yet. Hopefully that will change. It's narrated by Johnny Depp, for Christ's sake. Here's the trailer.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Tuesday Top Ten: Things Not to Say to Pregnant Women

At some point today, I realized that I completely forgot to post a Tuesday Top Ten yesterday. Fuckin' mescaline. But I digress.

Jester has been a trooper throughout her pregnancy (thus far), and has dealt with particularly severe and recurring morning (and afternoon and night) sickness, as well as all of the other bullshit pregnant women have to put up with.

What I've learned throughout the last five months is that pregnant women don't necessarily take kindly to things that might otherwise be benign, innocent, or even helpful. Thus, I've compiled the following list of ten things you should avoid saying to a pregnant woman:

10. "How about you get a glass of water your damn self."
9. "Have you tried ginger ale and saltines?"
8. "My number one boy's name is Leon, and that's pretty much non-negotiable."
7. "You don't look fat; you look pregnant."
6. "Let's fuck."
5. "I know exactly how you feel."
4. "Are you having twins?"
3. "My [mom, friend, sister, third cousin, concubine, etc.] only gained 15 pounds when she was pregnant."
2. "Look, I'm sure that's just the hormones talking."
1. "Nice gunt."

Monday, July 27, 2009

Weekend Recap

It's been a while since I've done a weekend recap, so now seems as good a time as any.

Thursday night, I hit up the Double Door to see stellastarr* with Chandler, his ladyfriend Lisa, and several hundred people I've never met. Before the show, Chandler, Lisa, and I met up at Blue Line, where they ate, I drank, and all three of us watched some awesome show on one of the Spanish language shows that revolved around motorcycle and bike accidents and scantily clad women bowling. It made no sense and perfect sense all at once.

Chandler is a bit of a stellastarr* groupie, so he conversed with the guitarist before the show, the bassist after the show, and no one in the group during the show. Anyway, the show was good, and I was happy to learn that the Double Door sells Natty Light for $2.50 a can. Having never paid more than about 42 cents for a Natty, I stuck with Oberon. After the show, I stole a Segway and very slowly made my way home.

Friday was a bit more low key. Jester and I drove out to the burbs, where, in order, we (1) went to Oak Brook mall to buy her a pregnant chick dress, (2) ate a full beef and cheese on garlic at Paul's, (3) hooked up a 60-year-old woman's TV and DVD player, and (4) traded a Segway for a baby's bed.

Saturday was killer. After approximately nine hours of sleep, Jessie (who had already been up) woke me up to let me know that she had purchased a Sausage McMuffin with Egg for me. After approximately two and a half more hours of sleep, I rose from my coffin and devoured the now-room-temperature, but still delicious, breakfast sandwich.

I then used a mobile telephone (my own) to contact Chandler, who was nice enough to risk getting stabbed by going up to Rogers Park with me to pick up a dresser that Jessie arranged to be purchased on some website run by a dude named Craig. Upon our return -- free of puncture wounds, mind you -- we put the dresser into my apartment, grabbed Jessie (figuratively!) and headed to Rocks for a late lunch. The burger of the month this month is the Star Spangled Burger, which includes both cheddar and smoked gouda, chopped-up little smokies, onion strings, and chipotle BBQ sauce. It was awesome.

I then painted the walls of a room that will one day be inhabited by my spawn, while listening to The Last Shadow Puppets' The Age of The Understatement, The Dictators' Go Girl Crazy, and The Dead Weather's Horehound. Meanwhile, Jester painted the aforementioned dresser, which Chandler called a bureau.

Saturday night, Jester and I headed to Resi's Bierstrube for Bohmann's birthday gala. I have never been to Resi's before, but I highly recommend it. We sat in their bier garten (or beer garden, for you English-speaking readers), which was excellent. They have a wide variety of German beer, and a pretty solid menu of German staples. I went with the schnitzel, which was excellent. We also managed to drink them out of Hacker-Pschorr Dark (which was also excellent).

For Greg, it was a birthday he won't soon forget. After filling up on schnitzel, kartoffelsalat, and dunkel, he spent much of the evening splayed out in his chair, laughing heartily as a pert, untouched, and unpolluted young Amish woman hand-fed him slices of freshly made sharp cheddar whilst singing lullabies in Pennyslvania Dutch. He then declared this to be "the Year of the Dachshund," slammed a half liter of a beer with an umlaut in its name, and then did the worm down Irving Park while a crowd of disinterested onlookers avoided his pet monkey, who had momentarily escaped from his cage and managed to pepper the sidewalk with his feces while singing the Alka-Seltzer jingle. What was strange is that the peyote I took never really kicked in. After that, I crab walked home.

Yesterday, Jester and I hit up Home Depot to get some more paint. For those of you unfamiliar with the Lincoln Park Home Depot, it is right next to a Guitar Center. There were all these unkept, hirsute dudes in black Slayer shirts lined up outside Guitar Center. It all made sense when we found out that Slayer guitarist Kerry King was going to be appearing there, probably to shred or not smile or disembowel a woodchuck he caught with his bare hands, or whatever it is dudes in Slayer do on Sunday afternoons.

After that, I put another coat paint in the fetus's room, this time while listening to Ratt's Out of the Cellar, Dokken's Under Lock and Key, and The Answer's Everyday Demons. Then I assembled a crib. At one point during said assembly, I went out onto my back deck -- probably for no reason. My neighbors and another couple were eating dinner on their adjacent deck. Somehow in the twenty seconds I was on the deck, I managed to make an awkward joke about the fact that all four of my grandparents are dead. I then went back inside.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Midwestern Eavesdropping - 7/24/09

Overly giddy librarian on laptop: "Turn the pages of the Codex Sinaiticus? YES PLEASE!"
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Half-drunk early 30s burly man picks up a book. "That's a real book. Whoa. . . "
Eavesdropper: The Loose-Lipped Lithuanian

Early twenties female: "I have great boobs for motorboating. Actually, I was talking to my Mom about them this morning."
--Chicago, in cab near Diversey and Clark
Eavesdropper: Can Can

Old man at a baseball game: "What's that pole doing in the way there? Oh. That's the foul pole."
--Chicago, U.S. Cellular Field
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Drunk fifth grade teacher at a baby shower: "What makes me upset is that I have to drink to feel like a normal person."
Eavesdropper: The Loose-Lipped Lithuanian

Chick: "Fuck that, I don't want to see a dead puffin."
Eavesdropper: Tron

Chick's homemade hat at hotel pool: "The only difference between me and a bottle of tequila is that you can't fit 3 fingers inside a bottle of tequila."
--Las Vegas, MGM Grand
Eavesdropper: GMYH

So-called vegetarian twentysomething special ed teacher: "I want to go to Medieval Times for my b-day. . . . And I'm afraid of horses like that."
Eavesdropper: The Loose-Lipped Lithuanian

Guy: "That's not a forehead. That's a fivehead."
--Las Vegas, MGM Grand
Eavesdropper: House of Payne

Twentysomething dude walking around casino: "She was attractive, outside of the gap teeth."
--Las Vegas, MGM Grand
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Drunk fifth grade teacher at a baby shower: "Deep frying a turkey is like pregnancy."
Eavesdropper: The Loose-Lipped Lithuanian

Twentysomething dude to two stippers: "Are you guys on Facebook?"
--Las Vegas, Spearmint Rhino
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Twentysomething special ed teacher: "Yes, her legs were a mirror to her vagina."
Eavesdropper: The Loose-Lipped Lithuanian

Drunk fifth grade teacher: "Whoa, I can't even grab my purse."
Eavesdropper: The Loose-Lipped Lithuanian

Twentysomething teacher while watching the movie Shopaholic: "I can't believe John Candy is saying that. There's no way John Candy would say that."
Another twentysomething teacher: "That isn't John Candy you idiot, that is John Goodman. But they are all the same. They are all fat Johns."
Eavesdropper: The Loose-Lipped Lithuanian

Twentysomething teacher: "Don't call me Donna, I am NOT a ginger!"
Eavesdropper: The Loose-Lipped Lithuanian

Thanks to those who contributed. For the rest of you, when you overhear something funny, email it to for inclusion in the next Midwestern Eavesdropping.

Ways Not to Get a Job

It's always seemed to me that a job interview is a pretty easy thing to fuck up, but at the same time a really hard thing to fuck up. What I mean by that is that, even though the majority of job interviews may not result in a job, I assume every person in the world knows that there are certain things you should never say in a job interview. I am wrong.

My lovely wife and master of the sleight of hand, Jesterio the Magnificent, sent me a link to an article about dumb things that interviewees have said in actual interviews. When I read this, I was reminded of a guy I interviewed a few years ago. He went to a Midwestern law school that was ranked in the fourth tier (i.e., not great), and he was from California and went to school in California. I asked him why he chose to go to that law school, given where he was from. His answer? "It was the only accredited law school I got into." Brilliant. Needlesss to say, he didn't get an offer.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

New Poll - Van Halen vs. Van Hagar

It's time to settle the debate once and for all, and it's up to you, the GMYH readers to do it.

In one corner we have the original Van Halen line-up: Eddie, Alex, Michael Anthony, and David Lee Roth. In the other corner we have the Van Hagar line-up, which, as you know, is all the same, except switching Sammy Hagar for David Lee Roth.

Here are the stats, the albums, and the key songs from each album:

Van Halen (1978-1984)
Six albums.
34 million albums sold in the US.
5 Top 10 albums.
7 Top 40 songs.

Van Halen (1978): Certified Diamond (10x Platinum). "Runnin' With the Devil," "Eruption," "Jamie's Cryin'," "Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love," "You Really Got Me"

Van Halen II (1979): 5x Platinum. "Dance the Night Away," "Beautiful Girls"

Women and Children First (1980): 3x Platinum. "And the Cradle Will Rock...," "Everybody Wants Some!!," "Romeo Delight"

Fair Warning (1981): 2x Platinum. "Mean Street," "Unchained"

Diver Down (1982): 4x Platinum. "(Oh) Pretty Woman," "Dancing in the Street"

1984 (1984): Diamond. "Jump," "Panama," "Hot for Teacher," "I'll Wait"

Van Hagar (1986-1995)
4 albums.
16 million albums sold in the US.
4 #1 albums.
9 Top 40 songs.

5150 (1986): 6x Platinum. "Why Can't This Be Love," "Dreams," "Summer Nights," "Best of Both Worlds," "Love Walks In"

OU812 (1988): 4x Platinum. "When It's Love," "Feels So Good," "Finish What Ya Started," "Black and Blue"

For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge (1991): 3x Platinum. "Poundcake," "Runaround," "Right Now," "Top of the World"

Balance (1995): 3x Platinum. "Can't Stop Lovin' You"

So which one do you like better: Van Halen or Van Hagar? I'll even give you fence sitters an option: Both the same (although I'm not sure that's possible).


You may or may not have seen this before, but thanks to DBH for sending it along. It's a must see for any Chicagoan, especially for anyone whose favorite store was "Ventures."

New Book - The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell

I finished Everybody Wants Some: The Van Halen Saga by Ian Christe, and it was pretty good. Not great, but pretty good. My main beef with it is that I thought Christe glossed over the production of the albums, especially the earlier albums. I was hoping for a more in-depth discussion of the story behind each song. The story of the band definitely supplemented what I already knew: Michael Anthony got screwed.

My next book is The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell, which has come recommended by many, including, but not limited to, Bohmann, who is celebrating his 31st birthday today, undoubtedly by spraying his monkey with a garden hose from two feet away. "It is your birthday, Gregory. Do with me what you will. I deserve everything. I cannot fight you, Gregory, nor would I want to."

Books read in 2009:
The Informers by Bret Easton Ellis
Oh The Glory of It All by Sean Wilsey
I Hate New Music: The Classic Rock Manifesto by Dave Thompson
Sound of the Beast: The Complete Headbanging History of Heavy Metal by Ian Christe
Tearing Down the Wall of Sound: The Rise and Fall of Phil Spector by Mick Brown
A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole
Everybody Wants Some: The Van Halen Saga by Ian Christe

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Nothin' Doin'

I just wanted to write a quick post to apologize for the dearth of posts lately. I am unhealthily busy, and will be for at least the rest of this week, so it will be sparse here on GMYH for the next week or so. Bear with me.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Tuesday Top Ten: Things I Could Use Right Now

Sorry this is a day late. It seems like I don't have time to do anything these days, and my days seem to run together.

Here are the top ten things I could use right now:

10. God, Buddha, Tupac, and all the other Superfriends to get together and lengthen the day by 12 hours. I tried my damnedest to do this last weekend, but it the results were largely unsuccessful. The whiskey probably didn't help.

9. Whiskey.

8. My wife to switch the channel back to Passenger 57.

7. A job that requires me to work less than 11 hours every fucking day.

6. A zeppelin. For spying, mainly. And sometimes swingers' parties.

5. A lucrative book deal. I feel like there's a pretty solid market for zeppelin-centered swingers literotica.

4. A sweet pair of Airwalks.

3. $5,214,827. You know, so I can buy a zeppelin.

2. A time machine. So that I can prevent myself from taking the LSAT and maybe figure out how to play guitar or build zeppelins instead.

1. Sleep.

Monday, July 13, 2009

Vegas, By the Numbers

Well, I went to Vegas this weekend for my brother's bachelor party. We arrived Friday morning and departed Sunday afternoon. Here is a numerical summary of the weekend:
Guys who went: 15
Hours I was in Vegas: 54
Hours I spent outdoors: less than 1
Hours of sleep I got: 7
Hours of sleep I got after 11 a.m. Saturday: 0
Times over the course of the weekend when, according to one article, I lessened my pain: 431
Times during the weekend I stayed up for more than 24 hours in a row: 2
Meals consumed over the course of the weekend: 5?
Approximate time on Saturday when I arrived at a Tropicana craps table: 10:30 p.m.
Approximate time on Sunday when I left that same craps table: 11:00 a.m.
Times I said "Let's go, shooter" or "Here we go, shooter" during that time span: 391
Strangers whose hands I slapped five during that time span: 17
Strangers who played craps with me at some point relatively early during that span who asked "holy shit, you're still here?" after they had gone to bed and then walked by the table in the morning: 6
Times I won $500 on a $2.50 bet on the plastic ponies at the MGM: 0
Times I was shot at: 0
Times I played Let It Ride: 6
Times I shouldn't have played Let It Ride: 5
Money won on craps over the course of the weekend: approximately $200
Money won on blackjack over course of the weekend: approximately $500
Money lost on all other games and/or spent over the course of the weekend: more than $700
Times I accused dealers of stealing my chips: 49
Times I audibly hissed at dealers: 16
Times I accused dealers of malfeasance: 12
Dealers who were dirty fucking vampire whores: 0
Times I accused dealers of being "a dirty fucking vampire whore": 1
Times I accused whores of being "a dirty fucking vampire dealer": 3
Times I went to the Hooters Casino: 1
Dealers at the Hooters Casino who knew what the fuck they were doing: 0
Times I will ever again go to the Hooters Casino: 0
Guys who purchased Las Vegas t-shirt dresses: 2
Guys who rented Rascals: 3
Elevators at The Mirage temporarily forced out of service due to a Rascal: 1
Rascals driven from the Strip to Spearmint Rhino: 3
Times I shook Mike Tyson's hand at Spearmint Rhino: 1
Times Mike Tyson said it was nice to meet me: 1
Times I was scared: 1
Total number of Iron Mikes I've met in gentlemen's clubs in my life: 2
Times the bachelor puked out of a limo: 1
Drinks I paid for over the course of the weekend: 5
Drinks I consumed over the course of the weekend: more than 5
Chicks I saw who were wearing fedoras: 519
Boobs: 23,401
Ed Hardy shirts: 4,873
D-bags: 4,873
Flip flops broken in: 2
Feet with open wounds: 2
Degree of cigarette burn on my finger: 2
Bruises on my left hand whose origins are unknown: 1
Times I questioned my own mortality: 6
Times I questioned my questioning of my own mortality: 273
Times I asked myself, "What the fuck am I doing?": 27
Times I asked myself, "Is this a new low?": 4
Years I took off my life: 2
Times had: good

Wednesday, July 08, 2009

What the hell is this?

I'm heading to The Meadows, Nevada this weekend to fight Brock Lesnar. Thus, I will not be posting for a few days. In the meantime, I leave you with this picture. This thing appeared on the very small ledge outside my window the other day. My office is over 20 stories up. I have no idea what it is. It's probably 1 1/2 to 2 inches long.
Jester is fairly certain it's (1) a mouse stomach that a falcon (who she surmises is living on my building's roof) threw up or tore apart or (2) the intestine of a bird that tore open in mid-air. Please provide me with a more plausible explanation.

Tuesday, July 07, 2009

Ninja Cheerleaders and the Like

I can tell you right now that I will be too busy today and tonight to dream up yet another fascinating Tuesday Top Ten. I will thank all of you who voted in the "Who's the greatest artist in rock/pop history" poll. Unsurprisingly, The Beatles came out on top with 60% of the vote, with Elvis and Michael Jackson tying for 2nd place with 20% each.

More importantly, it's 7 a.m., and HBO West is showing a movie called Ninja Cheerleaders, a realistic re-telling of the classic story of what happens when three college cheerleaders trained as ninjas (who are also strippers) are forced to take the law into their own hands to rescue their aged sensei from the hands of a mob boss, so that they can get into Brown, where they will presumably hang out with Summer Roberts and Che. Surprisingly, Trishelle from the Real World: Las Vegas (which itself is an oxymoron) was one of the ninja cheerleaders.

Wednesday, July 01, 2009


I figured I probably won't be posting for the next few days, so I owe it to you to leave you with an uplifting story of taking the law into one's own hands to tide you over for this holiday weekend. It is, after all, a celebration of our forefathers taking the law into their own hands.

Tuesday morning at approximately 5:30 a.m., Gregerson and his ladyfriend Emily were, for some reason, in Greg's bedroom. The circumstances of why they were awake or together in a bedroom at that time, given that they are not wed, is unclear, but that is irrelevant for purposes of this story.

Gregerson's bedroom is at the back of his building, overlooking the parking spots. Emily's car was parked in one of the aforementioned parking spots. Greg and Emily heard a bit of a raucus outside. They didn't think anything of it until they heard what sounded distinctly like Emily's car window breaking and what sounded very distinctly like Emily's car alarm.

Greg, being the gentleman that he is, looked out the window to see a teenaged rapscallion grab Emily's work bag from her car and take off in the direction of the front of Greg's building. Seeing this, Greg sprinted through his bedroom, down the hall, through his living room, and onto his front balcony to see the street tough turn the corner to head down Diversey. Not sure what to do from his second floor balcony, rather than jump Jimmy Superfly Snuka style onto this kid, Greg yelled, "Hey, jerk!" or something equally as ineffective.

The criminal looked up at Greg, cackled like a hyena, made a crude thrusting motion with his hips toward the bag, and then took off running down Diversey (which is a pretty busy street, for those of you who are unfamiliar with Chicago thoroughfares). Greg shrugged his shoulders, said, "Eh, I tried," and then called 911 from his balcony.

No more than ten seconds later, he sees Emily -- barefoot and wearing only a tank top and shorts -- bust out of his front door and sprint down Diversey in the direction of the doomed man who took her work bag from her car. What she was doing in only a tank top and shorts at Greg's apartment is unclear, but that is irrelevant for purposes of this story.

Figuring all's well that ends well, Greg went back into his apartment, made himself some bananas foster and watched some Empty Nest reruns that he had DVRd. Then he began to worry about Emily, since she has tender feet and an unhealthy bloodlust.

Greg went downstairs to follow Emily, expecting to see the tattered remains of a foolish thief. Instead, he saw Emily walking gingerly down Diversey toward him, with her work bag slung around her shoulder and no blood in sight. Apparently, our fearless criminal stopped running less than a block from Greg's apartment, once he was out of sight of Greg's eagle eye. Feeling cocksure, our miscreant strutted down Diversey with some stranger's employment-related valuables in his hand. Until he looked back to see white lightning in a tank top heading towards him with a full head of steam, at which point he threw the bag in some bushes and sprinted away with his tail between his legs. Why this dude had a tail is unclear, but that is irrelevant for purposes of this story.

Anyway, Happy Fourth of July.