Vis! Vis!

So...a lot has happened since last I posted. The most important and #1 occurrence to mention: I quit my job at the Writing Center! So despite the fact that I became the poster child for the Center*, and despite the fact that the URL of this blog may not longer be literal, I will now have more free time to write, which will hopefully lead to more interesting stuff on here. This is the start of something good.

*Word on the street is, the picture has been changed. So just imagine my big ol' face plastered on the front page instead. Geez, I give my two weeks notice and the picture changes immediately! The gods of the Writing Center aren't looking too kindly on me right now, it seems.

#2: Chicago might just be my new favorite city in the country. I spent this past weekend checking out grad schools and rockin' out at Union Park for the Pitchfork Media Festival. Well, actually, the weekend included more than that...

It started, of course, with a 794 mile road trip across PA, OH, IN, and IL. On that trip, we came upon a car with a NJ license plate whose back bumper was plastered with band stickers of the Decemberists sort. "Are they going to Pitchfork, too?" we all asked ourselves. And as it turns out, they were. Our Dodge Neon full of people got so excited by this rare road find that we invited our fellow NJ hipster-mobile to dinner. Sadly, they turned us down, which just made it awkward for the next half hour of driving, because we were going pretty much the same exact speed to the same exact place using the same exact route. (It was not until later that we found out Shaun knew one of the guys in the car; and it was not until today that Nadia and I befriended the driver of the car on both Facebook and Last.fm. Friendships abound from the seeds of Pitchfork!) But in our efforts to get to know the Others while we were driving -- we held up a sign asking what part of Jersey they're from (what a typical Jersey thing to do; at least we didn't ask them, "What's your exit?") -- we discovered a new and fantastic way to pass the time while driving: surveying cars that pass you by. This can only be done with people in the backseat and a willingness to risk being the cause of a five-car pile up. But we risked it, and we ended up surveying, I'd say, over thirty cars (without causing a single fender-bender, I might add). Here are the results*:

Tom Selleck or Burt Reynolds?
Tom Selleck: 7
Burt Reynolds: 15

Ninjas or Pirates?
Ninjas: 10
Pirates: 27

*These numbers are inaccurate. They could be a gross over-exaggeration, or they could be drastically underestimated. I have no idea where the signs with our tally marks ended up once we got to Chicago, so be forewarned, I totally made the numbers up.

We had other surveys (boxers, briefs, or balls out?) and other signs (like "Ouch" for when people shunned us and didn't respond). And I must say, this helped knock down about three hours of the trip in no time. Super happy fun times.

When we finally got into the city, two Things of Great Importance happened: first, we got swindled, as we would so many times that weekend by the Chicago city bums. Our hotel (more about that in a sec) didn't have a parking lot, so we were driving around for quite some time looking for a spot. "Hey, need a spot?" some dude on a bike calls out to us. And stupidly (I'll take the blame for it, as I was the one driving) we say yes. So he bikes away, and tells us to follow him. He does indeed lead us to a spot, but immediately after we park, he asks for money "to get a hotel room for the night." Right. We end up giving this guy $20. And for what? Nothing, because all then get paranoid about leaving the car on the street, and we move it. Damn. We are suckers.

So the hotel... Originally, we had booked a single room (for five people, mind you) at the lovely-sounding (ahem) Hotel Wacker. While we were still driving, we decide to give them a call, to make sure our room was still available even though we'd be checking in late, to make sure they had a parking lot, etc. Well, hint #1 that we should probably stay somewhere else: no parking lot. Okay, we thought, not necessarily a bad thing. But then we get there, and we find it's THE most booty motel you will ever stay at in your entire life. For one thing, we wouldn't have been able to sneak in the whole of our party without looking suspicious. For another, the place had weekly rates. For another, there was some fine sexin' going on inside, which you could tell just by looking at the windows from the street. When we eventually check in to a Howard Johnsons, the check-in lady reassured us that we made the right choice not staying at Wacker. Then she gave us a discount because we got swindled by the bum. So all in all, HoJo=good, Wacker=skeevy. We should've known, when we couldn't find a website, or basically any info for that matter, about Hotel Wacker on the WWW.

On Friday, I got a chance to visit the two Chicago schools I'm considering for my MFA: the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and Columbia College. Both in the vicinity of gorgeous Millenium Park (SAIC actually being located inside the park), both being the main reasons why I fell in love with Chicago. Art school (and debt), here I come.

And if the art schools aren't enough to draw me in, this giant bean is.

This was in Millenium Park, and was a prime impetus for much picture-taking. I don't know what it's for (art for art's sake, maybe?) or if it's supposed to represent anything or what have you, but whatever. It was neat.

At night, we got drunk, of course, and then decided to be typical tourists and get some deep-dish Chicago-style pizza. So we went to Giordano's, a place that calls themselves famous. The restaurant was packed, and even though we took our order to go, it took forever to get our pizza. So while waiting, we found an abandoned pitcher of beer, and then drank it. Which explains why, the next day, when deciding on what to eat for dinner, we chose Giordano's again -- because we were too drunk to remember what it tasted the day before.

And then comes the festival itself. Here's brief rundown:

Saturday commenced with Voxtrot, who were a tad bit disappointing. Part of the reason may have been the sound system, which was rather messed up for a few sets the whole weekend. The other part was maybe their not-so-great choice of a set list. Whatever it was, it felt like something was lacking. However, they ended with "The Start of Something," which is one of my favorites by them, so even though Ramesh (who looks like an old co-worker of mine named Rahul*) was super out of breath singing it, the set ended okay. I'd be curious to see them play another show (like Siren Fest, for example) to see if this was a one-time disappointment. We stood on the sidelines for Grizzly Bear, which I regret, because they sounded really good from there, so I could just imagine how great they sounded if you were actually up front for them. Nothing so far that day, however, held a flame to Fujiya & Miyagi. Depsite performing on the tiny Balance Stage that was hidden behind the Fuse drink stand and the souvenir tents, this band stood out. Two British dudes who know how to kick it and have the power to incite that magic muse of dance that makes even the most uncoordinated of us hipsters look like we're rockin' out. (By the way: Fuse drinks and bottles of water for a buck all weekend -- another highlight, indeed.) Iron & Wine proceeded to sound too quiet for this festival (especially in light of all the sound problems), Dan Deacon and Girl Talk, who were also relegated to the Balance Stage, brought in too big a crowd to be fully enjoyed, and because we were so worn out by the time Cat Power came on, her set wasn't fully appreciated. We left before Yoko Ono played, but as people informed us on Sunday, we didn't miss much besides her urging to say "I love you" to the sky by flashing flashlight beams into the air. Yikes. She's crazy.

MVP of the Day: Fujiya & Miyagi.

*Funny side note about Ramesh & Rahul: Long ago, Rahul worked with Ramesh at a day care center in Austin, TX. Apparently, everyone got the two of them confused, and this pissed the hell out of Rahul, and one day the two got into a big fight. So then Rahul came to work at the Writing Center with me. So even though they do sort of look alike, you can't ever bring this to Rahul's attention, or he will punch you.

Sunday started with Deerhunter, followed by Menomena (like that Muppets song, you know? Me-na-me-na do doo do-doo-doo). But frankly, their sets are not nearly as memorable as they could have been, had it not been for the fact that Jamie Lidell played. Jamie is a dorky white guy who wears thick black rimmed glasses and unimpressive clothes...until he starts his set, and comes out wearing gold lamé robes and shiny foil things taped to a headwrap on his head. And then there is his voice--the most soulful, groovy, "I feel the Lord in me!" sound you'll hear from a white person, ever. You won't even have time to focus on the fact that all of his music is digitized (on stage, he plays with no band) because you will be so enthralled by his power of heart-pounding soul. Although his album is good, his live performance is even better, and this would have snagged him Sunday MVP status, had it not been for the fact that Of Montreal played, and played well. Better than well; they were amazing. Awesome, I would even say (which we learned from people we met from Massachusetts that this is the Jersey equivalent of Boston's "wicked.") Their set was underscored by a slew of theatrics, but for them, it works. We waited for three hours to get an up-front spot for them (missing The Sea and Cake and Stephen Malkmus in the process [which is a shame, because I hear Stephen played some Pavement, and that would've been great to hear], but it was worth it. Kevin Barnes' voice sounds exactly as it does on his albums, and his butt looks exactly like what we expected. They ended (pre-encore) with "The Party's Crashing Us," which is in my top five favorite O.M. songs, and then they did a pretty wicked (ha) cover of The Kinks' "All Day & All of the Night" for an encore. If Nina the tigress wasn't in the picture, I would pursue an affair with Kevin Barnes. Perhaps then I'd get a song like Eva did. Of Montreal overshadowed The New Pornographers for me (being short and only being able to see TNP on a screen didn't help), so my time at Pitchfork was more or less at an end. Before leaving Union Park, I paid a dollar for an ear of corn, I bought a Broken Social Scene poster at the rather rockin' art tents they had, and then we called it quits. We packed up our things, brushed the dust off our feet, and started the long ride home to Jersey.

MVP of the Day: Of Montreal, followed very closely by Jamie Lidell.

With that being said, here's the real reason why I wanted to post today: The Dancin' Doughboy. Never be bored again with this fascinatingly amusing piece of Flash Player magic.