Gonna Make You Sweat--Whether You Like It Or Not, Part Deux

Ummm...so, is it me? I feel like it must be. I have no other explanation for why I always seem to manage to stand directly behind or next to the most obnoxious person in the crowd every single time I go to a live show.

Case in point: I went to see Art Brut and The Hold Steady at the Marquee Theater last night. It was a fairly full room, but it wasn't close to sold out. My friend and I pushed up toward the front after Art Brut to get close for The Hold Steady. I stood behind what seemed like a perfectly nice, normal young man and waited for the show to start. Cue the music--and cue this dude turning into the most ridiculous Hold Steady superfan you've ever seen. He jumped up and down like a rabid bunny to every song, even the slow ones, shouted every word to every song to the point where it was difficult to hear the lead singer, and- sweated up such a storm--onto me--that by the end of the show, I looked like I had been caught in a torrential downpour.

And this is not the first time this has happened. Nay, I seem to be have some sort of strange magnetic pull over Mr. and Ms. Overzealous Show Goer, to the point where they sense I will be some sort of safe haven for their crazy rocking out. And in some ways, I guess I am.

Yes, it sort of bugs me when I realize that I am yet again standing next to Joe I-Know-Every-Lyric-To-Every-Song-This-Band-Has-Ever-Written-And-I-
Will-Make-Sure-Everyone-Around-Me-Realizes-How-Much-I-TOTALLY-LOVE-THIS-BAND-
YEEEEEEEEAHHHHHH!!! But then again, I never move to another part of the room. Why? Because even this is part of the reason I love live music. You don't get Joe's energy and--how shall I put this delicately?--obvious enthusiasm for the band when you sit at home listening to a CD. Warts and all, there's something truly exhilarating about seeing a band you love--or even a band you're not that familiar with--playing for a room full of people who are there because they just want to hear something that resonates with them. It's one of life's pure pleasures.

So hey there, Joe, you belt those lyrics out, hold up your lighter and shake your sweaty head, drenching everyone within a 5-foot-radius with your perspiration. Because you, my friend, are part of what makes live music fun. And if I ever get sick of smelling like your bodily fluids, I'll bring a poncho and keep my mouth shut.

Gonna Make You Sweat--Whether You Like It or Not

So yesterday, my friend and I tried bikram yoga. For those who don't know, bikram yoga is basically regular yoga done in a room that feels as if you are walking on the surface of the sun. There's no other way to put it: it's balls hot. And you're doing all these crazy awkward yoga poses, trying not to look like a complete dork next to all these people who look like they came out of the womb in the downward dog, and all the while, you're also concentrating on not passing out.

Sounds fun, no?

Surprisingly, it is. Actually, maybe fun isn't the right word. Perhaps torturous would be more accurate. But when you leave that room, I am telling you, you are the most relaxed you have felt. Like, ever.

So, like everything in life, it's something of a trade-off.

Oh, That's Supposed to be a Costume?

So, as many of you know, Arizona is like another planet. At least it feels that way a lot of the time. Case in point: Halloween. I was warned about Halloween in Tempe by several people.

"In Tempe, most girls' idea of a costume is to take something totally normal and turn it into something completely slutty," was the basic consensus.

Yeah, that was the understatement of the century. We went to a "grown-up" party on Friday, so most people were dressed relatively demurely. "Ha," I thought. "This is nothing. Everybody looks very nice, actually." Flash forward to the next evening, when we attended a far less grown-up party, followed by the bars on Mill.

Pick your run-of-the-mill Halloween costume, and there was a slutty variation worn by at least one chick. I swear I saw a slutty nun. I'm not joking. Even the guys who thought it would be funny to dress in drag were in slutty drag. It was all quite amusing to me, especially since the group of friends I was with were all mostly covered up.

But, in the interest of full disclosure, I might as well say it: I was Slutty Little Red Riding Hood for Halloween. There it is. After spending the last two years dressed as a dude, albeit an awesome, kick-ass dude (If you haven't seen me dressed as Slash, you haven't lived), I decided to join 'em rather than trying to beat 'em. As they say, when in Tempe...

Kickin' It in Tempe

Sometimes hardworking girls like yours truly need a little R&R. For times like these, we turn to our cousins, lovers, confidantes in the desert to show us a good time. My cousin Jenifer was kind enough to host me this past weekend at her pad in Tempe, AZ, my possible future home. Why not? Home to Arizona State University, well known for its mass comm/journ program...who's to say it won't happen?

In any case, here are some highlights:

--Watching 3,235 billable hours of Arrested Development and undressing Jason Bateman with my eyes while doing so.

--Me never turning off a light when I left a room, followed by Jenifer asking if I was raised

in a barn. At one point, I thought I caught her not turning off a light, but was then put

in my place with, "Do you see where my hand is?"
--Buying Placenta Shampoo (or Champu de Placenta for our Spanish amigos) at the local dollar store: For those days when you just don't feel like there's enough afterbirth in your hair.
--Acting completely insane and ridiculous at Jenifer's birthday party
--Eating copious amounts of awesome Italian food at Buca de Beppo

All in all, it was quite the good time. And who knows, maybe this time next year I'll be kickin' it in my own house in Tempe. Yeeeeeeeah!!

Glutton for Punishment

So...I've decided to have another go at the Chicago Marathon this year. Because apparently I just can't get enough of my thighs chafing, sweating my proverbial balls off and having my toenails turn black. Yeah, I'm something of a masochist.

As most of you probably know, I'm not really what you would call a "runner" in the traditional sense of the word. I don't really enjoy it, I'm not really good at it, but at the same time it's something I feel compelled to do. I guess that's why I'm so amused by this running subculture I discovered last year and I'm beginning to rediscover this year.

These people lose their f-ing shit over running. They wake up at like 5 in the morning so they can run 500 miles, and they do it WITH SMILES ON THEIR FACES like some sort of crazy cult. Apparently, they drank the Kool-Aid. They spend hundreds of dollars on products like BodyGlide, which is supposed to keep you from getting chafed and blistered, but really makes you feel like you're preparing your body to get basted like a Thanksgiving turkey; nipple guards for the dudes, which keeps them from getting bloody nips while they run, which, um, gross (any sort of activity that would cause me to bleed from the breast-al area is not an activity in which people should really be participating); and Power Gu, which is a jelly-like substance that comes in small packages and is supposed to keep runners feeling energized during long runs but which instead makes me want to stab puppies because it tastes like their crap.

So I've been known to buy some of that stuff from time to time, but the one ridic thing I will cop to doing as a runner is being a freak about my iPod. Some people say that running with music is "cheating," but I say that those people can go screw themselves. Whatever gets you through, man. So anyway, I'm a little obsessed with making an awesome playlist, interspersing inspirational 80s tunes with hardcore rap to find that perfect balance that'll keep me going when all I want to do is stop and take a walk break.

I'm a bit ashamed to admit my power songs, but I'll do it anyway, if for no other reason than that perhaps there is a runner out there who is also a bit ashamed of their power songs and is afraid to share. I want to break the spiral of silence.

So, for posterity's sake:
Hold the Line, Toto
Jump Kriss Kross
Mama Said Knock You Out, LL Cool J
Born to Run, Bruce Springsteen

Got any of your own, reading public?

Barack My World

Does anybody read this thing anymore? I know it's been awhile...I think I was blogged out for a bit. But after reading a comment on my last post asking if my blog ate me, I decided I would give the blogging thing another go round. Perhaps it's too late; if that's the case, I'll update for myself, dammit. I realize writing a blog for yourself is sort of the equivalent of sending yourself Valentine's Day cards on Valentine's Day, which is pretty much the most pathetic thing you can do (my apologies to anyone who actually ever did this), but I don't care. I never said I wasn't pathetic, yos. Anyway, I hope to keep up with it this time.

So for those of you who haven't had me rub their faces in the fact that I got to attend Friday's taping of Late Night With Conan O' Brien, please let me take this opportunity to do so. That's right, bitches, I know you're jealous. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Don't hate me cuz you ain't me.

OK, now that I've gotten that lame attempt at sounding cool out of my system, I must say it was a pretty sweet experience. We waited in 35-degree rain for three hours, but it was totally worth it. I met two cute Canadian boys in line who said things like "aboot" and "eh" but looked at me like I was crazy when I told them they had accents. We played Go Fish using a deck of cards they had bought on their trip to the Shedd Aquarium earlier that morning, so we asked each other for things like red-bellied piranhas and Australian lungfish instead of 7s and queens. I'll never play Go Fish with regular cards ever again.

When we finally got inside, I got to check out George Wendt giving Chewbacca a massage, LaBamba from the band dressed like the Empire carpet guy, and see Wilco for the third time.

But the real highlight of the day was getting within 50 feet of my boyfriend Barack Obama, or as I like to call him, Baracky. Sigh. He's so dreamy. He was pretending to engage Conan in witty banter, but let's be honest, he was totally making eyes at me the whole time. It's cool, baby. I was able to interpret all the winks and blinks. And the answer is yes, I will rendezvouz with you at your timeshare in Antigua.

I'm ancient

So I'm a quarter century now...I was kind of depressed about it before, but I had a great weekend and I'm looking forward to the second half of my twenties. Thanks to everybody who came out or sent their birthday wishes.

I'm not really quite sure what I'm doing in this picture (thanks for playing photographer, Alana). I'm a little afraid of myself (and my brother). I'm pretty sure I'm also the worst dancer of all time. I get very Elaine Benis-y, especially when I've hit the sauce. So I apologize if I injured anyone with my insane dance floor convulsions.

On an unrelated note, was anybody at work on Friday? I apparently missed the memo that declared St. Patrick's Day a national holiday. I took the day off, and judging from the crowds at the bars at 1 p.m., I'm guessing a lot of other people did, too. Seeing everybody getting drunk on green beer in the middle of the day made me a little nostalgic for U of I's Unofficial St. Patty's Day. It's nice to know that it's still acceptable to ditch class/work in favor of turning your tongue green while boozin' it up.