Hey dildos! It’s Monday and you know what that means, right? That’s right! It’s time to talk about the grammys! Now, I know that grammy is short for gramophone, which is appropriate, as the gramophone is an out dated dinosaur of a machine, and what better synecdochic metaphor is there for the music industry, am I right? Woot. That’s galactic poetry again, folks. Anyway, I was gonna make a joke about how the grammys could be named thusly because it was nothing but out of touch grandmothers and shit up there, but well, a few things happened. First, I realized that the gramophone thing was better, then I didn’t watch the grammys, so, well, this is what you call post modern, utilitarian, formalist comedy by way of essay. This is the future. The grammys, and music in general, is the past, man. Quit living in the past, kay?
I don’t really have a lot to talk about today. I’m tired. I was up late and I got up early to take my kid to his new school where all he seems to want to do is cry and reach for me and really put the screws to me in the whole daddying game. Wow. That’s not interesting. Uh, what else?
I have a show this Friday at the Mutiny. It’s free. I’m playing with Joe from Smoke or Fire, in honor of our cool new acoustic split record that’s coming out. Also, I guess punknews and some other fine folks are doing some auctioning for the people of Haiti, and one of the items you can bid on will be the test pressing of said record. Pretty exciting. It’s an analog leak. How future primitive.
Okay, I just ate a cheeseburger the size of my face, and I lost my atm card and I think I may need to take a nap. Also, I need to know where a good spot for hip hop in Chicago is. Like a bar, or a club or even a store or something. Any ideas? You’d be helping me out immensely.
I feel like there’s something else big going on right now that I’m just leaving out of this, but I’m tired and I don’t feel like thinking, so I’m gonna go rub cocoa butter all over my body and fall asleep on the bathroom floor like I usually do on Mondays.