Chorizo Tacos. More please!

Is there really anything better than Chorizo tacos? Shit.

The texture, the saltiness, the greasy goodness.

I love Arturo's Tacos on the northeast corner of Western and Armitage. Their chorizo is great because it's not too salty and it has a good smokiness, which when mixed with salsa verde is beautiful.

When I lived in the neighborhood many years ago (as a poor kid going to art school), I lived on their veggie burritos because they were like $4, and could easily be rationed into 2-3 meals.

It's a perfect place to go, after having too many drinks or beers elsewhere. I often stop in for a few tacos on the way home from a bender because their tacos are the perfect late-night emergency nosh to kill off the odds of a morning hangover.

After all, I'd rather have indigestion in the morning than a hangover.

Mmm...chorizo...

Homophobia=Identity Theft

I am getting REALLY SICK of hearing about gay teenagers killing themselves because of either bullying from their peers or from being marginalized by their classmates and friends or family.

It makes me briefly sad, but ultimately very angry that we live in a country that allows this to happen because we allow homophobia to be tolerated. It should be a total fucking embarrassment, yest sadly is just another sad allegory for the total (lack of) moral backbone in our nation.

The suicidal death of Tyler Clementi last week (an 18-year-old student at Rutgers) was the last straw.

This young man, who was apparently very timid and struggling to come to grasp with his own sexuality was betrayed and outed by his own dorm-mate Dharun Ravi, who took it upon himself to record Tyler having sex with another male classmate in their room (without Tyler's consent or knowledge), and then betray him even further by posting it on Twitter for the whole world to see. Dharun though it was all fair game...good fun and folly for their peers.

Obviously, it was a crime and should be treated as such. What is more disturbing though is that it's also a complete breach of human decency. It is completely inexcusable.

This poor young man, who may have been uncomfortable accepting himself or allowing himself to come out of his shell, sadly ended his own life out of embarrassment. He probably felt like he was backed into a corner by such a careless betrayal of trust and humanity.

Dharun Ravi (and his accomplice Molly Wei) hijacked this young man's identity. By posting this video, they "outed" him to all of their peers without his consent. No matter how you look at it, it is more than bullying, it is akin to identity theft. By spilling someone's secrets to the world, aren't we stealing their identity? Aren't we deciding for them who they are by our standards? Aren't we making them vulnerable to predators of this world?

Charging these two simply with invasion of privacy charges is more than adding insult to injury...it's an outrage. Trading one life for a slap on the wrist and probably 1-2 years of jail time (if even convicted) for these two is just outrageous.

They are almost certainly responsible for the death of this young man. The only thing they could have done to make it quicker would have been to push him off the bridge.

I can't imagine what the defense team will come up with as their excuse for such behavior. I certainly know that it will only make me MORE angry. I hope it makes LOTS of people angry, because the people in this country need to know that this is intolerable.

I sincerely hope that what comes out of this crime is a renewed understanding of civil rights for EVERYONE. We all deserve exactly the same rights under the law. We all deserve the right to be who we are, in an environment that protects and celebrates our diversity.

America can no longer be the "home of the free" unless ruthless homophobia is wiped out of our society. This story proves that it is one of the most pressing social issues of time, and it's time has come.

Tyler Clementi, a shy, 18-year-old Rutgers University freshman and gifted violist, jumped to his death from the George Washington Bridge after his roommate and another classmate allegedly used a webcam to secretly broadcast his dorm-room sexual encounters with another man

Thirty-Five Years and STILL Getting Older.

I'm 35 years old. It's true, people.

It's funny...I never think about aging as a painful process at all. Obviously, it happens to all of us. There is no shame in it, and frankly, there is nothing more annoying to me than people who will not divulge their age when queried. What's that about?

Despite that, just thinking about turning thirty-five this week feels pretty bizarre. I mean, how did THAT happen? It seems like yesterday I was this carefree guy skipping through art school lectures and late-night darkroom stints, drinking three dollar Guinness pints at Tuman's. Oh, wait! That was thirteen years ago! YIKES!

For me, it's not the fact that I am aging that disturbs, but more the boggling passage of time.

Every once in a while, I will catch myself telling a story as if it was current events, and then it hits me that it's more like ancient history! I would love to blame that on my mother, who is occasionally somewhat short on reference points in conversation, but I have to admit that I dig my own glorious holes where memories are concerned.

I have a stunning recollection of childhood, and can recollect memories from my youth that are so thick with minute details (smells, people, which Rolling Stones song was playing at any given moment). I am sure that if the CIA questioned me at length about those memories, some of my stories might not hold water, but I am pretty accurate at least.

It is adulthood where I get a little lost. Shall I blame all the recreational drugs in high school, or is my brain just simply filled with too much extraneous information to make accurate memories possible?

How did I get here? Wait...what are we talking about?

Oh, yeah...I'm getting older.

The other thing that's weird is that when I look in the mirror, I still see the same twelve-year-old boy I used to be (staring in the mirror). I often wonder if that is a survival mechanism we develop to deal with aging, or if it is just part of our introspective behavior. I know that I am looking at a thirty-five year old man in the mirror, but because I don't feel a day older than twelve, my brain cannot process the fact that I am evolving. It feels comforting to have that kind of disconnect, yet ridiculous all at once.

I am proud of the fact that I don't rely on anyone else's perception of me to define myself. I used to struggle with being self-conscious but have long since graduated from that phase. I don't try to look good or act a certain way for other people. It is way too taxing, and furthermore boring and counter-productive.

I am also grateful that, aside from my criminally thinning hair (which started at 20 years old), I don't really show too many signs of aging. YET. Every Spring though, I do realize that taking off the perennial 5-10 Winter pounds I gain becomes more and more of a chore! I also realize that staying-in (as opposed to going out) appeals to me more and more. Staying out until 3AM...are you nuts?!

However, I do FEEL my physical self getting older. My knees creak. I pop acid-reducers at regular intervals. I always feel like I have to pee. I am growing hair on the strangest parts of my body. I have a militant moisturizing regimen. The tell-tale signs of aging are mounting, and I just deal with them all one at a time. What else can one do?

What defines a person of thirty-five?

WHO KNOWS?

What I do know is that it is strange to think of myself as approaching middle-age. It doesn't disturb me enough to lie about my age (I would never do that), but letting the words "thirty-five" escape my mouth has surprised me a bit this year.

I'm sure I am not alone!

Costumed or Doomed?

I am suddenly hit with a perennial quandary: What am I to be for Halloween?

Halloween comes on the same day every year, so it always amazes me that I am at a loss for ideas two pallid days away from the big day. I fantasize a couple months out about how I am going to outdo myself this year, yet I always end up pulling something out of my ass at the last minute, with mixed success.

A couple years ago I went as a "Page," after the political page scandal took down Mark Foley (the magnificently leotarded Republican Congressman from Florida) who solicited sex from one of his under-age pages. The costume was crudely made with pieces of ordinary copy paper. SO CLEVER...Pages of paper! WOW, what a stunning achievement! Not so much...

Occasionally I can put a critical-hit costume out of my ass. About a dozen years ago, after being a last-minute invite to a friend of a friend's Halloween fete, I quickly ran to an office supply store and bought an armful of colored-dot price stickers...the kind one uses for flea markets and sad church bake sales. Then I threw on the only suit I owned and covered every inch of the suit and my face/body in a web of polka-dots. Every year, this party apparently awarded one reveler as having the Best Costume. The winner was always chosen by the hostess' mother, who would be woken late in the evening and paraded through the throngs of guests to find the finest specimen. That fine year, it was me (of course)!

For the past ten years, I have also made countless over-ambitious threats to pull out THE ULTIMATE HALLOWEEN COSTUME: Dawn Wiener from Welcome to the Dollhouse. Specifically, the outfit Dawn wears during the anniversary party at the end of the movie. You know, the fantastic blue & white ruffled belly shirt and green leggings, complete with a pom-pom headband and heart earrings. It would give me the chance to utter one of my favorite quotes from any movie, when she says "Just because he's a faggot doesn't mean he's an asshole!" I am confident that if I ever, for once, actually plan ahead and start hitting thrift stores in September, I will amass all the gems I will need to make Todd Solondz proud. Sadly (for the world), it has yet to come to fruition.

Last week I was invited to an early Halloween party in the burbs (I know...CRAZY!), and I once again was forced to create a last-minute costume in a frenzy. Talking me down from a moment of unbelievable stress, my friend Kristen pointed out the obvious: I have more clothing in my closet (more like exploding out of my closet) than anyone else. Who am I kidding? I have a veritable vintage clothing store in my closet, covering at least 40 years of the 20th century. I settled on wearing a favorite charcoal pin-striped suit and going as "Ron from Accounting," complete with a gorgeous Pierre Cardin leather attache case from the 1960s. I thought it was pretty good, considering I had about 10 minutes to pull it together before I had to run out the door to catch the ride to the burbs for the party.

The other thing I always struggle with is going to a Halloween party in drag. I don't mean a drag queen, but a female "character." I've done that WAY too many times, but it's kind of too easy (Dawn Wiener being the ONLY exception, naturally). Of course a guy in a wig is funny! My thing is that I secretly deplore the idea of being "THE GAY GUY IN DRAG" at a party. It's too cliche! Straight guys can pull off drag costumes with aplomb because it's more ironic and ridiculous.

When something is really important, I never lie...I am always interested in generating awe, laughter and a little bit of jealousy with a costume. This year is no different. This Halloween is lining up to be rich with worthy parties, especially since it falls on a weekend this year. Tomorrow I am going on my yearly thrift store blitz, and I am hoping to find rich inspiration along the way.

Here's to hoping I stumble upon an endless rack of leggings and ruffled blouses!

Swine Flu and You (and more importantly, Me).

SARS failed at the gate, monkey pox was little more than a whimper.

People...you thought the pandemic craze had fizzled, when it really just receded from the limelight long enough for the media to focus on the last election cycle.

Folks...please welcome, direct from the tropical vestiges of Mexico...the SWINE FLU!

I'm beginning to wonder if the makers of those protective masks are responsible for all these virus outbreaks. Maybe they had a board meeting in the 4th quarter and decided that they had to please their shareholders by brainstorming a new superbug, so they could unload some more masks. Something trendy-sounding, that hasn't been done to death...SWINE!!  SWINE FLU!!!

Ooh...and maybe fashion designers can get in on the action.  I can see a silkscreened leather Marc Jacobs/Richard Prince mask in my future!

Seriously though, one thing I think about with regards to viruses that are out to kill me are the disheveled losers on the bus who NEVER ONCE either cover their mouths when they sneeze or in fact sneeze right into their hands (which they will inevitably drag across every surface in my way).

When you take public transportation as much as I do, it's almost like you're stewing in a virtual petrie dish of disease and well, swine!  These people floss their teeth across the aisle from me, eat an entire bucket of KFC and lick their greasy fingers while on the Red Line, sneeze violently into the air and generally lay around in their own filth (much like their pig counterparts).

Didn't the whole world get the memo by now on how the flu is spread?

Well...here is my promise to the swine among me:  if I get so much as a sniffle, or a tingle in my throat, I will pull a Carrie White on your asses! 

Or in the least I expect a designer mask on my doorstep, along with a 2-week supply of tom yum chicken noodle soup, and the entire Arrested Development DVD collection to help nurse me back to health.

And a nude Justin Theroux to rub medicinal oils on my ailing parts....mmm!

Wait...instead just give me Theroux and I'll happily succumb to the flu!

In other words, cover your mouths when you sneeze and keep your germs contained!

Looking Forward to Licking My Spoon at Pitchfork

I am generally not down with three day music festivals, what with the throngs of unshowered hipsters and potheads.

However, the line-up at Pitchfork in Chicago this year is definitely intriguing.  http://www.pitchforkmusicfestival.com/

Yo La Tengo, Built to Spill, Tortoise, The National, Yeasayer, The Flaming Lips, Grizzly Bear, M83, Vivian Girls, Women and the Black Lips to name just a few.  YIKES!

I can see myself in trouser shorts and an irony-laced tee shirt already...and an umbrella.

I will probably show up on Sunday only, because like many other things in my life, I cannot commit wholehog.  I am most jazzed about seeing Women and Grizzly Bear, because I really adore their music.  Women's self-titled debut is delicious, and in heavy rotation in my world.  I love their jangly pshycho-pop sound...the song "Black Rice" has a 60s Phil Spector quality that is intoxicating.  Grizzly Bear (as well as Department of Eagles) are also excellent, but I am curious to see them live, because their music relies heavily on vocal harmonies and subtle guitar work.  Hopefully it will translate well to such a venue.

I wish a couple acts that are booked for Lollapalooza would play here instead, namely Santigold, TV on the Radio, Of Montreal, Deerhunter, Animal Collective and Crystal Castles.  Bummer.

BTW: I'm dying for some new music...any suggestions?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=otn8CG5Lazc

A Word About Frat Boys, Bros and Their Pussy Beer

One of my favorite guilty pleasures in the world is seeing a pack of dim-witted "dudes" fretting over which 24 pack of cans to consume en masse...MGD or Bud?

Dudes...what the fuck is up with the bromance for pussy beer?

Here's what I think could be going on:

1.  They don't have a brain to share between them.

2.  Half of the fun of drinking a low-quality lager is crushing the can on your forehead (and perhaps also to save space in the recycling bin).

3.  They have to save their complex taste buds for eating "ma chick out."

4.  Nobody told them that MGD and Bud taste like watered down piss, only with less complex flavor notes.

I would like to share with these mentally challenged, and yes-somewhat hot boneheads, that picking a higher quality craft beer makes more sense on SO many levels.

The first being that your chick will be impressed that you can read, after she sees you buy a six-pack of Abbaye De Floreffe.  The second being that craft beers tend to have a higher alcohol content, which means you don't have to drink as much to get "SO fucked," which means that much more time on your hands to wonder which Olsen would look better in a thong...Mary-Kate, no WAIT...Ashley!  The third being that you will spend a lot less time pissing away all the low-quality ingredients that went into making your 13 cans of MGD, since the 4 Maudites you consumed still haven't sent you to the bathroom.   

Lastly, just grow the fuck up already.  You might just squeak through business school and get that lame consulting job you've been dreaming of since '05 (the one where you can wear just underwear during conference calls), so maybe you should learn to cultivate a taste in finer things.

Craft beer is an excellent place to start, young man!  It's made by passionate folks who are taking every care to produce a product that is an fine source of pleasure in our exceedingly stressful lives.  It's made by a pair of brothers in DuPage County, a retired nurse in Milwaukee, and yes-a few monks in Belgium (one of them small states over there by France).

I tastes great with duck confit, Mutter Paneer, and even Chicken Wings.

Craft beer also won't make you look like a retard if you're wearing a Hugo Boss suit and heading over to a neighborhood fete.

FInally, you might attract a higher class of Trixie to your jock, after she sees you pay $30 for a lovely bottle of Nora in line at Binny's (while your Bebe-infested big-curl addicted train-wreck-of-a-current-girlfriend is waiting in your Bronco to return with her MGD 64). 

Think about it, dudes.

Or not.  It'll still crack me up to see you shitheads carrying cases of pussy beer to consume.

God luv ya...