Land Ho!

Well, it's official. The wife and I now own a house, or at least about 20% of one-sixth of a building in which people reside. I can't tell you how much of a relief it is to finally be allowed to vote. 54 40 or fight! In addition to our suffrage, this purchase will certainly change some other things:

• Now, when someone asks what I do, I can say, "I don't like to brag, but I own some land in Illinois" or "Well, Jessica Alba, I'm a mortgagor. And a lover."
• I now have a crawlspace in which to hide, uh, things. (By ", uh, things" I mean "goat fetuses and jars of jam and whores")
• My dream of an IU/Beatles/Bears/Air Bud/George McGovern/abortion themed entryway is finally a possibility.
• In one fell swoop, I have risen from fourth place to first in the most recent AP Number of Bathrooms in Dwellings Owned by My Immediate Family Poll, and I plan to stay there, putting bathrooms in every room in my house and removing showers in my dad's house to ensure my reign at the top continues indefinitely.
• The band can finally get back together and record some new songs. "Abortion Monday" and "Burning Urination" have run their course, at least stateside.
• The other band can finally get back together and record some new songs. "Your Daughter Got Abducted" and "Ding Dong Bitch" have run their course, at least continentally.
• Two words: sex swing.
• Two more words: key parties
• I can finally quote 2 Live Crew's "Get the Fuck Out of My House" without feeling like a phony.
• Punching holes in the ceiling and urinating on the carpet while binging on speedballs will not cost me any security deposit money.
• Multiple bedrooms = multiple wives.
• We finally have room for all those dildos! (By "dildos" I mean "pots and pans and whores")
• When someone asks "what were you up to yesterday?", I can truthfully say, "I was masturbating to What's Happening reruns, at my home."
• A second and third bedroom will allow for a real-life version of "You, Me, and Dupree," although this time it would actually be humorous.
• Jester and I shall use our newfound power as a means to fight for the proletariat, so that we can harness his trust and thereafter exploit him for our personal gain.

Midwestern Eavesdropping - 4/24/08

Here you go:

L conductor over loud speaker while at a station, where twentysomthing mother is trying to enter train but her kids are running all over the platform: "Please mind your children."
Mother (yelling while standing in the train, but sticking her head out of the open door): "Please mind your fuckin' biz-ness!"
--Chicago, Clark and Lake L station
Eavesdropper: GMYH

A fortysomthing man and woman have a fairly audible conversation in very public hallway of court:
Man: "Are you in Al Anon?"
Woman: "Yeah"
Man: "So you have a problem."
Woman: "I'm an enabler."
(Conversation continues and turns to man's friend)
Woman: "Does he drive anymore?"
Man: "No, he's dead."
--Wheaton, IL, DuPage County courthouse
Eavesdropper: GMYH

At 9 a.m. in a courtroom, two strangers (a twentysomething male and a fiftysomething woman) strike up a conversation:
Man: "The one day I take off work to go to the Cubs game I have to go to court."
Woman: "What time is the game?"
Man: "7."
Woman: "I think you should be fine."
Man: "Yeah, but I wanted to be able to drink before the game."
--Wheaton, IL, DuPage County courthouse
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Secretary sternly talking on phone at 8:30 in the morning: "Do you know how bad those people were? They hated this country."
--Chicago, Madison & Wacker
Eavesdropper: GMYH

One middle-aged business man to another while briskly walking to work: "You gotta help me find this guy and we gotta kill him."
--Chicago, Madison and Franklin
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Another submission that isn't technically eavesdropping, but worthy of inclusion:
At 7:45am on a Wednesday, an approximately 45 year old man blasts MC Hammer's "U Can't Touch This" from his car, with all his windows down.
--Chicago, Kennedy Expressway
Eavesdropper: Trashton

Thank me for my submissions, and Trashton too for his. For the other 5,999,999,998 of you, keep those ears open at work, home, in the bedroom, etc., and when you hear something funny, send it to gmyhblog@yahoo.com for the next installment of Midwestern Eavesdropping.

Phantom!

Around 10 this morning, I made my first trip to the latrine, parking myself in the third stall. I'm sitting there minding my own business, silently weeping, when someone barges into the first stall. Normally, this wouldn't be an issue, since it is common for males to excrete waste in the men's room. But this was no man. This, my friends, was a phantom. I don't even think he pooped. It sounded like he walked into the stall, closed the door, dropped trou, sat down, took one pull on the toilet paper, pulled his pants back up, flushed, and exited. He did have the courtesy of washing his hands, which, in this instance, I don't even think was necessary.

Also, with regard to the 20-song mixtape, I feel extremely guilty that I will not be in the office tomorrow for Hair Band Friday (and thus unable to share an HBF mixtape with you), so I felt the need to give you something.

The First 20 Songs I Listened To Today That Mixwit Had, Not Including Repeated Artists

New Book - The Rules of Attraction

I finished reading Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris, and it was good. From a first-person plural ("we") perspective, it tracked the goings on of an advertising agency, dealing with layoffs, shrinking business, and the idiosyncrasies of co-workers. I would liken it to a more realistic and more depressing version of Office Space. It's definitely an engaging book for anyone who has worked in an office setting, or anyone who has worked with nutjobs. I assume that covers just about everyone.

I haven't had enough lethality or immorality in my reading as of late. Sex, blood, hyperkinetic drug use, and the combination of the three have eluded my recent reading. Frankly, I haven't had enough Bret Easton Ellis. Because Jessie never bought me Less Than Zero, even though I swore on my dog's future grave that she did, my next book will be Ellis's The Rules of Attraction, which revolves around the tangled web woven among several students at an overprivileged New England liberal arts college in the mid '80s. In typical Ellis fashion, the book is tangentially related to his other works -- for instance, one of the main characters is Sean Bateman, younger brother of American Psycho darling Patrick Bateman, and another character is Victor Johnson of Glamorama fame. You may remember the underachieving film based on the book that came out in 2002, starring Dawson as Sean Bateman, Jessica Biel and Kate Bosworth as extremely saucy tarts, and that chick from A Knight's Tale as an arty chick who wishes to be deflowered. Maybe it wasn't as underwhelming as I remember it. Nonetheless, I'm assuming the book will be better than the movie.

Earthquaaaaaaake!

As I'm sure you've heard by now, there was an earthquake yesterday in southern Illinois. Apparently the tremors could be felt as far away as Michigan. I slept through it, although some people I work with claim to have been awakened by the quake. Whether or not I believe them is not the point. Surely people in Chicago have better things to do than lie about earthquakes. Many do not.

Many of us have been waiting for over 17 years for the New Madrid Fault to live up to its billing as the second biggest fault line in the U.S. Back in early December 1990, the hallways of Park Junior High were abuzz. Helmut Kohl had just been elected Chancellor in the first all-German free elections since 1932. Macauley Culkin was delighting audiences with his thought-provoking brand of slapstick. And Whitney Houston was everyone's "baby tonight." But bigger than all of that combined was the coming earthquake -- as inevitable as the upward progression of counting from 1 to 10. Except then changing 10 to a 0. Yes, 1234567890 held all the answers. Nostradamus himself couldn't have figured it out, but everyone in Illinois apparently could. It went like this: On December 3, 1990 (123, 90) at 4:56 p.m. (456), an earthquake with a magnitude of 7.8 (78) on the Richter Scale would strike the New Madrid fault line. It would be a quake the likes of which the New Madrid fault line had not seen since the infamous 1812 quake that temporarily reversed the flow and permanently changed the course of the Mississippi River, or maybe the 1895 quake that was felt as far away as New York, South Carolina, and Louisiana. And the princesses in California get their panties in a bunch when a World Series games gets interrupted.

Much of the student body was gathered at a girl's basketball game in North Gym, anxiously watching the hands of the clock push towards 4:56. The tension was palpable. Students were under the bleachers, fucking like rabbits. Teachers and janitors were engaged in a Roman-esque orgy. The end was so very near. And then it happened. 4:56. Maybe the clock was a couple minutes fast. As the hour hand crossed the 5, the anxiety-ridden sound of rising zippers was deafening. Boys and girls alike sobbed, most committing suicide instantly. Awkward promises of "staying with you even if you don't get an abortion" were insincerely doled out by teachers and students alike. Screams of "Good God, what have I done?!", "I lost my virginity to Jim Gora! And Ali Roopani!," and "Even Mr. Granger's dick smells like a Twinkie!" could be heard as far away as the cafeteria. After the dust cleared, the petting returned from heavy to zero, and the broken condoms were laughed away, it became painfully clear to us what had happened: the earthquake would hit in 2090 -- a concern not for us, but for the children and grandchildren of the lives conceived on December 3, 1990.

Hair Band Friday - 4/18/08

Black Keys -- Still Awesome

Saturday night, I had the pleasure of attending the Black Keys concert at The Riv, along with Bohmann and Tradd. As expected, it was a great show. Dan Auerbach's beard is reaching Billy Gibbons proportions, and I am convinced that Patrick Carney hates his drums more than anything else on the face of the Earth, given the force with which he repeatedly punishes them for their misgivings.

As you may or may not know, the Black Keys recently released a new album, Attack and Release, which was produced by Danger Mouse, of Gnarls Barkley and "Grey Album" fame. The new album is a slight departure from the Black Keys' delightful fuzz-infused garage blues rock that we have come to know and love. Attack and Release is not devoid of fuzz or blues, but there are more melodies and more instruments involved (i.e., not just a guitar and drums). All in all, a highly suggested CD. 5 Handrews.

New Poll - Crean!

At the behest of a deceased former IU player who manages to post comments to this abortion I call a blog, I would like to say a little something about IU's hiring of Tom Crean as the head basketball coach. As discussed at length in my several lists of who I would want as IU's next coach, Crean was far from my top choice. That said, after Tony Bennett said no to IU (which I still think was a huge mistake), the ballgame changed somewhat. I was fearful of a "well if he doesn't want the job, neither do I" domino effect. Thus, when Crean was hired, I thought it was a great hire. Since he has been hired, he has done nothing but impress me, and I am increasingly happy with the hire. He is a tireless recruiter who knows and respects IU's tradition, and I think he will do very well in the coming years. Unfortunately, his cupboard is fairly bare at the moment, given the loss of the seniors, Eric Gordon to the NBA, and our two best recruits for next year (and possibly Armon Bassett and Jamarcus Ellis -- who needs point guards?).

This leads to this week's poll question: How will Tom Crean do in his first year at IU? Losing record? NIT? NCAA first or second round? Sweet 16? Final Four?

(By the way, in response to the last poll, 70% of you said that you would rather be anonymous in life and famous in death, while 30% of you said that you would rather be famous in life but forgotten about as soon as you die.)

Dear Landlord

My landlord shares a name with a duck. He is both an idiot and an asshole, and he is unlikely to bag Lea Thompson. I'd like to share a recent exhange he and I had via telephone. It is important to understand the pretext. Our lease expires at the end of April. Last month, we were under contract to purchase a small palace, but our closing date was not going to be until the middle of June. I politely requested that he extend our lease 2 months, so that we didn't have to sign another 12-month lease. Even though someone else in his office told me that they have done this in the past for people moving into condos, Landlord informed me that we would have to sign another lease and then sublet. Essentially, we were to do his work for him, as a reward for paying rent on time every month for the past 2 years. Fine, asshole. Send us another lease. Someone from his office emailed us a lease renewal, informing us that we had until April 10 to re-sign.

Well, the deal for the small palace fell through in the last week of March, on account of unreasonable and non-negotiable seller demands. Thus, we were back house hunting. We found another place a little over a week ago, and we are closing before the end of the month. Hence we did not re-sign our lease.

On Friday (April 11 -- the day after our deadline to re-sign), as a courtesy, I emailed Landlord to let him know that we were not re-signing our lease and that we would be moving out by the end of the month. Shortly thereafter, I received an email from him that said, "Please call me today to discuss." I also received a frantic voicemail from him that said, "GMYH, it's Landlord. Please call me as soon as you get this." I was worried that he had accidentally thrown a molotov cocktail into our apartment (since he knows I'm a tsarist), so I called him back, leaving him a voicemail that was something along the lines of, "Look you Bolshevik mothertrucker, that intimidation shit may fly in Petrograd, but here in America, two-bit proletariat hacks like you are a dime a dozen. By the time you receive this message, your entire family will have suffered the same fate as my apartment. Feel free to give me a call at work or on my cell. Tootles!"

About 26 minutes later, he called me at work. At this point I was covered from head to toe in strawberry-kiwi-flavored massage oil and doves' blood, wearing a black latex mask, and in the middle of receiving a rusty trombone in my office from some Irish-Cuban chick with a tongue ring named Sadie while listening to Danger Danger, as it was Hair Band Friday. Regardless, I answered the phone.

Me: "Ground Leaf Leaf Removal. You rake 'em, we take 'em. This is GMYH. How can I help you?"
Landlord: "This is Landlord."
Me: "Hey, how's it going?"
Landlord (confused by my question): "Um, uh, okay."
(awkward pause)
Me: "Good."
(awkard pause)
Me: "So, uh, what did you want?"
Landlord (on the verge of tears): "I just want to know what happened."
Me: "Well, we were under contract on a place that was supposed to close in June, but that deal fell through and we found another condo where we can close by the end of April, so we don't need to sign another lease."
(several seconds of silence)
Landlord: "Well, I guess I'm just a little taken aback."
(pause for several seconds as I simulatenously reach climax and try to digest why he would be "taken aback")
Me: "Uh, okay. I don't know what to tell you. You guys emailed us the lease renewal and said we had until April 10 to re-sign our lease. We didn't need to re-sign, so we didn't."
Landlord: "So you didn't sign another lease?"
Me (confused, since I assumed he could comprehend English): "Right."
Landlord: "I guess I'm just a little confused."
Me: "Okay."
Landlord (speaking as if he hadn't given me until the day before to sign a new lease): "Well, we're going to be scrambling to find someone to lease the apartment, and we're probably going to be in and out of there several times on Saturday and Sunday showing it."
Me: "Yeah, Woman from your office already emailed me and said you would be showing it tomorrow at 1."
Landlord: "We'll try to give you as much notice as possible about showing it, but sometimes people just walk up to it and call us and we have to show it to them. We're really going to be scrambling."
Me: "Okay, well, as I told you in the email, give us as much notice as possible because our dog is a shelter dog who was abused, so she gets skittish around strangers. For everyone's sake it's best if she's gated off when you show the place."
(silence for 7 or 8 seconds while I assume he stared blankly at the phone, given the obvious gravity of the whole situation)
Me: "Landlord? You still there?"
Landlord: "Yes."
(pause for another several seconds as I expect him to react in some manner)
Me: "Uh, okay, well, just give us as much notice as possible."
Landlord: "Okay. Thanks."
(he then hangs up)

What the hell just happened? "Taken aback?" Are you kidding me? If anyone should be taken aback, it should be me at the fact that he was so absolutely dumbfounded by the fact that we didn't re-sign a lease by the deadline he gave us. And then the man has the balls to put up a sign that says our apartment has central air. Technically, there is air in the center of our apartment, but it is not conditioned in any manner. He knows this because he told us that there was central air. When we called him after we moved in to ask him how to turn our central air on, he nonchalantly said, "You guys don't have central air." I'm no lawyer, but I'm sure there's an Illinois Consumer Fraud Act violation in there somewhere. The tsar will have his revenge.