So I’m sitting in JFK airport right now, about to head to Long Beach, California. I’ll be meeting up with four friends from Chicago who were in Las Vegas last night and we’re all staying at some friend’s place in Long Beach. Afterward, we’re riding in the Rosarito/Ensenada bike race.  It looks to be a great time.

There will be a long-form post of all the pictures, words, idiocy, etc. on this blog at the end of the trip.  In the meantime, if you feel like keeping up, check out my Tumblr.

http://listlessintellectual.tumblr.com

Please wish me, my friends, our legs, and – especially – our livers good luck.  To the Conan The Barbarian-run state and Taco Bell-land I go!

And for more Kermit action, here‘s a site made by someone with this absolutely brilliant idea: “Soon after the death of Jim Henson, Sad Kermit spiraled downward into a life of addiction, romance, and pain.  The songs and videos on this webpage shed light on Sad Kermit’s descent into his dark, hurting world.”

Sad Kermit

The Myers-Briggs test was first given to me during my freshmen year of college.  Approximately 48-hours after returning from an alcohol-induced hospital visit (thanks, big 10 colleges and bigger-10 egos), I found myself filling in an unending amount of bubbles on an 8-page scantron.  The visit to a school therapist was mandatory in order for me to maintain residency in the dorms, so I decided not to voice my displeasure with the idea that this overweight, underworked human being could glean a portrait of my personality based upon a #2 pencil and unending writer’s cramp stemming not from a Kerouac-esque stream of consciousness, but nearly an hour of responding to questions by elementary “coloring inside the lines.”

For those who don’t know, the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) is a tool that is commonly used in psychologically evaluating individuals and is used in situations ranging from medical (my original experience) to business management strategizing (my most recent encounter, a management class in graduate school).  It is a questionnaire that extrapollates the personality preferences defined by Carl Jung in 1921.  Each person, after taking the questionnaire, is assigned one of two of the following dichotomies: Extraversion/Introversion, Sensing/Intuition, Thinking/Feeling, Judging/Perceiving.  The result is a four-letter acronym (one of 16 types) that supposedly tells you something about the person and how they handle a variety of life’s concerns.

This creeps me out (oh, you haven’t figured that out yet?  It does.)  I have never liked the idea of people knowing things about me until I tell them.  I know that limiting people to only what I directly communicate to them is utterly impossible, but that doesn’t mean I can’t wish for it.

Anyway, six years ago in college, I was told that I was an “INFP” (Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Perceiving).  One would think that I’d made some changes since then.  Yes, I quit the frat that I was pledging 2 weeks after the aforementioned visit to the doctor.  Yeah, I ended up graduating with honors and getting into graduate school and really shaping my life up.  I even got healthy and started working out, went vegetarian for a bit, wrote a few dissertations, etc etc. By all accounts, I’ve changed.

I took the test again today.  I am an INFP.  Still.

Here’s a link to what being an INFP supposedly means about me.  Personal favorite (most ridiculous) excerpts:

“Every encounter and every piece of knowledge gained gets sifted through the INFP’s value system, and is evaluated to see if it has any potential to help the INFP define or refine their own path in life.”  [translation: paranoia]

“They focus on the way that the conflict makes them feel, and indeed don’t really care whether or not they’re right. They don’t want to feel badly. This trait sometimes makes them appear irrational and illogical in conflict situations.” [I cannot tell you the amount of times I've caught myself doing this.]

“They might go for long periods without noticing a stain on the carpet, but carefully and meticulously brush a speck of dust off of their project booklet.” [Sorry to anyone I've lived with...]

“Under stress, it’s not uncommon for INFPs to mis-use hard logic in the heat of anger, throwing out fact after (often inaccurate) fact in an emotional outburst.” [Sorry to anyone I've ever argued with... particularly while drinking or dating]

“INFPs have very high standards and are perfectionists. Consequently, they are usually hard on themselves, and don’t give themselves enough credit… Without resolving this conflict, they will never be happy with themselves, and they may become confused and paralyzed about what to do with their lives.” [sorry, Brain & Heart.]

“INFPs are usually talented writers. They may be awkard and uncomfortable with expressing themselves verbally, but have a wonderful ability to define and express what they’re feeling on paper.” [or blogs?  This is getting just plain weird.]

Take the Myers-Briggs test yourself.  Leave a comment here about what type you are.  It’s actually kind of interesting in the end.

Since I usually can’t catch it when it airs (sorry, I do have slightly more important things to do Saturday nights…) I subscribe to the podcast that updates every Monday with his segment, “News From lake Wobegon.”  Garrison performs this monologue every week by himself without a script and it’s usually one of the most uplifting, honest, and accessible portions of the show.  This week’s was particularly good, ending with the line:

“He says, ‘We’ll think about it…’ that’s all you have to do, is just think about it.  If you think about it you will say ‘yes’ eventually.  We know that.  Life is irresistible.  Love is irrisistible.  If he thinks about it, he’ll go.”

Here’s a link to all the podcasts, the first one is the most recent/the one I’m talking about (like I said, it’s a good one).

On Thursday, I rode the subway all the way through Brooklyn, to the AirTrain, straight to the ever-festive, newly remodeled Terminal 5 at JFK.  I fly in and out of this terminal quite often, as I’m building JetBlue points for free trips to such charmingly demure locales as Bogota, Colombia soon.  Nonetheless, it never ceases to amaze me.  This place makes me feel like Schaumburg, Illinois took a Woodfield Mall-sized dump on Queens and JetBlue decided to jump on the shitstorm that ensued and open shop.  What results is an airport terminal complete with fountains, skylights, plants, a LaCoste store, numerous places to get drunk and eat Buffalo wings, and a food court:

A quick vid of Terminal 5:

Upon boarding the plane, I realized that I was flying during a recession.  Thank you, JetBlue, you do have the most legroom in the sky.

Being from the Midwest, I’m used to only seeing flat land and maybe the city of Chicago when I take off.  I always think the coast as we lift off from JFK is fascinating.  Check the video of take-off and the first few minutes of flight.

After only a few minutes, we flew over what must have been the North Bronx, as I was given a spectacular view of Manhattan Island from the North:

An uneventful flight involving numerous episodes of Scrubs (thank you JetBlue cable TV), The Watchmen book, and many awkward eyes from a girl with a pixie-cut who went to the bathroom 3 times put me down at O’Hare International on schedule.  The pleasantry was short-lived, however, as I experienced the true frigidity of Chicago: a stiff 20 degree drop from the weather in Brooklyn and me without a heavy coat.

Fortunately, upon a airport-retrieval that George Costanza would have been proud of by my Dad, I was soon warm again and got to meet our new dog, Harry.  I, of course, did what anyone in my CuteOverload.com-obsessed generation would do: pulled out my digital camera and took copious amounts of pictures and videos.

Aaaannnnd video of Harry playing.  He rules.

After the obligatory family time, I made my way downtown via El Dad-o’s Miata in order to meet up with the ever-elusive Jerome (fellow whiskey and Miata afficionado… and the king of dressing like a 1960′s British professor).  He typically refuses pictures, but I couldn’t resist documenting him sitting alone in a club drinking whiskey:

The next morning, I sat and contemplated the reasons that I didn’t mind coming home to the suburbs once in a while.  Was it the home-cooked meals?  The reassurance straight from my parents’ mouths that I was doing okay?  The connection with where I spent all of my formative years?  The idyllic household with a backyard that opens to a park and field where children and pets run wild and free?  No.  It was none of these.  What truly filled me with joy was drinking coffee out of my Wolverine mug.  Don’t screw with Logan:

Friday evening handed me two options: stay in and do homework or head to Chicago to hang out with my friend who is starting up a club in Miami and various other derelicts.  I think we know which option I picked.

The derelict entourage, L to R: Jenny “CatNaps” Lee, Dan “Twilight” Atteo, Juan “Miami Vice” Herrera, and Jay “Dark Lord of the Sith” Patch.

After numerous free Colt 45′s at a space-club (Sonotheque) and a photo shoot that should be up on EveryoneIsFamous.com soon, we moved on to Hub51.  Normally, I wouldn’t get caught dead at an establishment so full of baseball caps, popped collars, and Lincoln Park trust fund kids, but Juan had promised all star treatment.

He delivered.  After driving up in his BMW, we immediately got the car valet’d and skipped the line of over 100 bros yelling about how they shouldn’t let the kids in tight pants and scarves in.  After a brief conversation with the doorman, Juan led the way  in and downstairs, where only a few moments later a bottle of Gray Goose showed up.  Things get blurry from here, but please note that at one point the Dark Lord fell asleep sitting up.  After these pictures were taken, we ended the evening at our usual establishment, where all the classy kids hang out: The Flat Iron.  There’s a reason there are no pictures from here.

The crowd at Hub 51:

The Goose got us loose:

Jay got a little too loose:

As a much needed change of pace, I went to my cousin’s wedding (what I actually came to Chicago for).  The occasion was appropriately elegant and over the top.  While I enjoyed that the service and reception were in the same room (allowing for a minimum of time in between nuptials and the open bar/dinner), the service was ridden with enough anti-feminist innuendo to choke even the most moderate of liberals.  Vows to “serve the man” and scripture readings that may as well have included the word “subservient” put a damper on my (and my date’s) good mood.  Commence witholding of vomit, dinner, and awkward drinks.

In all honesty, I don’t care, though.  Whatever makes you happy, who am I to say?  I still can’t help but think that they set women back about 50 years, but who really cares about the elimination of double standards and civil rights?  (It is at this point that I pray readers are attuned to my sense of sarcasm.)

Anyway, they seem happy.  How can you not be happy when you’ve got a bowl of ice cream that big with sparklers sticking out of it?  Amazing.

This morning, my mom took it upon herself to document how roughed-up I looked post-wedding.  Thanks, Mom.

Which brings us up to now.  We just got done handling my medical bills (phew) and later tonight I’ll head downtown to meet up with people that I’ve been working with remotely for the past year and have never met.  Hello, awkward HeaveMedia kids!

I head back to Brooklyn at 4 pm tomorrow, where I look forward to being in quiet solitude on the plane, hopefully getting picked up by my roommates, riding my bike as fast as possible, eating copious amounts of bagels and coffee, and gazing at the always-inspiring and Hepatitis-giving East River.

On Friday, I fly to Las Vegas in what is possibly one of the most irresponsible trips I’ve ever taken: planned less than 2 weeks ago on a limited budget with a person whom I’ve never traveled with before.  We’re gonna tear Vegas up.  If you hear about someone getting kicked out of the Luxor hotel for making hand puppets on that giant light on top of the pyramid, look for me in the Nevada detention system.

Until then, hope you’re all as well as life has been lately.  Which is really damn well.

21 Maps of New York, real and imagined by amazing artists.  It really draws out the idea that this place, where I am, where you are, wherever we go, is just as much experiential as it is the numbers on the buildings on the labeled streets.  It makes all this asphalt animated.

My favorite: Lordy Rodriguez re-imagines Manhattan in an almost Blade Runner mindset.  Fragmented, angry, outposts of calm, a downtown financial district fortified by a wall and extensive security.

See the entire project here.

The blog it’s from is pretty great: here.

Part of me weeps, for I’ll never get a chance to become the “him” portion of Zooey Deschanel’s non-musically oriented relationship (check out the album she made with M. Ward under the name “She & Him,” Volume 1).  Yet, another part of me is raising my fists in triumph, for Ben Gibbard will no longer have to write another sad song.  After seven sap-filled Death Cab albums, being married to such a fashion-fox will hopefully cause Ben to fall down some particularly “narrow stairs” and go all “transatlantic” on us, possibly garnering a new sound (or, if nothing else, an album not built on a bed of tears).

With Zooey and Ben off the market, it might be a good time to start planning your seduction of the rest of their “Top 10 Indie Rock Crushes” of 2008.  I’ve got dibs on Emily Haines and Feist.

Jump here to the article.

Jump here to the Heave Homepage.

La Blogotheque made me do all 3 of these things then made me drop my coffee mug on the floor. This got the attention of the baristas who were on duty and, after paying for the mug, I showed them the site as well.  They agreed, it’s a veritable gold mine of “indie rock” excitement (zeus, how I hate that term).  Though a lot of the site is in French, the key features are displayed in English as well.  For instance, scroll to the bottom of that opening page and click on “All Take Away Shows.”

Here, you’ll find a collection of improvised “shows” by any band that Pitchfork heralded in the past few years.  They are all performed “spur of the moment” in public places, oftentimes involving more people than the typical band line up.  The results are almost always serene, buoyant, transparent versions of songs that are left out of the deepest part of your heart due to production on an album.  Here, each artist is stripped of all semblance of modernity and left to perform the song however they see fit.  The results: inspiring.

Some of my favorites:

There’s a level of intimacy in this one that is just TOO much for me to handle.  It’s wonderful.

I normally can’t stand Beirut. But this video and the execution make me want to listen to them again and again. I suppose that’s the point where you realize whether something you’re doing is a success or not: whether you’re changing people’s minds. Congratulations everyone at La Blogotheque and Take Away Shows. You win.