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

Yesterday morning, we awoke to an unusual amount of noise coming up from the Unknown Biker’s (a Puerto Rican biker bar across the street, nicest dudes ever).  To our delight, we found that it was the 35th anniversary of their biking club.  We also learned the origin of the empty plot of land next to the bar (where in the video below you’ll see tables set up).  Turns out that back when Williamsburg was one of the roughest neighborhoods in Brooklyn – a mere 15 years ago, pre-condo build/hipster migration, myself included – the lot had a building in it that was a crack house.  The original owner of Unknown Biker’s decided he didn’t want to raise his kids with that sort of thing around.  So he did the most logical thing: burnt it to the ground.

Needless to say, these guys rule.  Below you’ll see a video of the very beginning of the block party viewed from my roof (with cameos from my roommate Kris and friend Sophie), the display of motorcycles, and the skid mark left from a dude peeling out in the most epic way possible: by drawing a circle and cutting it in half with his rear wheel smoking out the whole time.  So gnarly.

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.

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.

“Please don’t confront me with my failures,

I had not forgotten them.”

Thanks to Brett Westnedge.  Visit his blog here.

BooHoo is a blog by Joe Dummitt.  He’s the one who is living in Argentina and whose voice occasionally shows up in the Covers Project portion of this blog.  Check out what he’s doing down South.

Brett Harmon is a close friend of mine who travels too much.  He also does some good things in terms of design and photography.  Check out his (huge array) of talents here.

Seminary Co-Op Books is a great book store in Chicago.  I occasionally write book reviews for them, so check out their blog of wonderful, intelligent front table books.

And some things keeping me happy:

The Mountain Goats.  Singing “One Fine Day.”  He goes from playfully giggling to unbelievably intense by the end.  I encourage watching this one straight through.

And here is The Mountain Goats playing “Cubs in Five,” this version especially poignant since it’s in Chicago.

Lyrics here.

From the beleaguering rant of the Penguin to the exasperated yet calm face of Batman… all the way to the condescension in the moderator’s tone and the side of the screen the candidates appear on, this is frighteningly familiar.

Oh Adam West… what ye could have taught were we listening.

I really hope there’s a lot of ::BAM!:: and ::WHACK!:: in November…