Wild Things

I bought this for my mom's birthday present because I am, quote, "the best daughter on the face of the earth." She was the first one to call me excitedly when the trailer hit and she read me the story the 3 billion times I requested it growing up. There is no one I would rather see it with. Sadly, it's looking more and more like she cannot attend.

When I sent the link to Chad, he responded with something nothing like "OMG! AMAZING! You're the BEST GIRLFRIEND ON THE FACE OF THE EARTH!" and something more like "39.50 a ticket!! Psh no thanks, I have a mortgage." It was the day we signed on the place, so while he was trying to play the cute new homeowner card, he quickly proved to me that he has no soul/imagination and absolutely does not deserve to be my date. So, who does?

As we speak...

My boss is claiming he has never thrown up in his life.

Canal Street

I’ve been playing this whole it’s funny if it’s awkward card for so long that I think it has evolved into my real personality. Which is probably why I ended up in Chinatown after Friday’s Sox game, sitting at the bar of an empty, closed restaurant explaining to a horrified bartender that if I only did half shots it wasn’t as bad for the baby. (The baby being about 200 fortune cookies I stole out of a box in their kitchen and stuffed into my hoodie.) My face and neck, along with my 10 cohorts, may also have been covered with ink from a rubber stamp that said Catanasia in big bold letters. The shots were from a dusty bottle we convinced them to sell us for forty bucks, labeled only with a Chinese dragon and the number 56. It could have easily been floor cleaner. While I was leaving I tripped over some caution tape, landed face first and smashed my stomach to bits. Then we went a few doors down, rented a private karaoke room after being told, “You can do anything in there…no drugs” where everyone promptly lit a cigarette, took off their shirts, and started dancing on tables. I actually sang, which is a testament to how drunk I was. Such, such fun. See you next weekend Three Happiness.

Bean Town

Boston was oppressively hot and hectic. I did enjoy the following though:

Tom Brady smiling at me. Ok…smiling in my direction. Ok…just smiling.

A police motorcade escort to the venue. It was all very Kennedys until our audio engineer stepped on the gas, hitting the sergeant and knocking him over on his motorcycle before we even got onto the highway.

The accents: Hahdware. Pahking lot. Cable cahds. Oh, how I swooned.

More updates soon. Last night of kickball tonight. Also, we're closing on the Wolcott place in one week!

I am stressed the fuck out you guys. Blogger has become that pillow you're supposed to punch in D.A.R.E. instead of killing your brother or something. I have to wake up around 4:30 in the AM to get my flight tomorrow and have a thousand things to do before then. So, logically, I feel the need to procrastinate until at least 3 in the morning. I doubt I'll ever write any kind of comprehensive recap of my trip, so I think I'm going to start posting my favorite moments with absolutely no context. Enjoy?

doom, doom, doom

So I'm moving and craigslisting a ton of shit that's been on my back porch untouched since we moved in 2 years ago. Do you think on items like the microwave and minifridge that I need to disclaimer the fact that they may or may not have been doused in lighter fluid at one point, or will "perfect for dorm rooms!" be sufficient? 

Dear Blogger, Are you there? It's me, Kim. Sorry I've been neglecting you. If I get a spare hour (doubtful) in the next few days I shall make a triumphant return to posting, starting with my glorious Seattle/LA/San Fran trip. I know no one cares but shit like this makes coordination for 68 crew guys who never answer emails a real bitch. I'm off to Boston this Friday. I might be upset about it if the majority of my "work" day didn't revolve around hanging out with awesome creative types, driving around golf carts filming b-roll drunk fan footage in the sun, and drinking Jack on the side of a stage in a stadium filled with 60,000 people. Summer's almost over and this year I actually have something to show for it.

This weekend was pretty great, which is good as I probably won’t have another one for a month or so.

Friday my parents surprise dropped into Chicago so we went to dinner, drank in my backyard, and watched some terrible Nick Cage movie. Saturday I drank and tanned during the kickball allstar game, rushed the field for a league all-out dance party during the seventh inning, went to frontera grill, street faired with lisa, dana, and bfs, went to jack’s, went to lazo’s and all around had a fantastic day.

Sunday my softball team (translate: the softball team that everyone signed me up for despite the fact that I had no interest whatsoever beyond sitting in a chair on the sidelines drinking) kicked assed and qualified for the playoffs. Then we cooked an awesome dinner and went and watched Raiders of the Lost Ark on the outdoor theater in Concord Park.

This Friday I’m off to Seattle for my first Kenny Chesney 3D shoot, then stopping in LA for a few days to see a few of my favorite people before heading to San Fran/Napa to meet up with Chad.

Oh yeah, and for those of you that don’t know, Chad just bought a place. 22 foot ceilings, 2 floors, 3 decks, and it’s 2 apts from Happy Village. Get ready for the best fucking housewarming party you’ve ever seen.

Trip cancelled. We're going domestic.

I just killed my travel bug dead by booking a trip to London, Paris and Amsterdam the first week in August. Woowee!

Good Samaritan

Honestly.

Honestly?

Did I just really just hook a 39-year-old, double-pierced-in-each-nippled lady named Holly Woods' bra for her in the middle of the bar because she couldn't do it herself? Did I really just listen to her slurred monologue about how she wanted to become Maggie Jr on a volunteered 30 minute out-of-my-way ride home?

Je-sus. Can't wait until next week.

One of these days I will post a blog highlighting all the amazingness going on in my life as of late. But for now, a query.

We have meet and greets with the artists for every show. Usually it’s like 30 MC VIPs, radio winners, fan club, some of our sponsor people, and some staff and I standing in the back facilitating. The standard thought is that it’s unprofessional for us to pose for photos and I kind of agree. Every so often though, we’ll jump in on an artist we really love and MC will send me print outs.

I recently received this via FedEx:














Please tell me that a woman I have worked with for over two years does not think that idiot is me. The idiot posing like an idiot with Fall Out Boy. Please guys! That doesn’t resemble me, right? I don't do idiot things like that, and especially don't give off the impression to my co-workers that I ever would, right? I mean I have dark hair and sometimes wear glasses, but seriously?

Gold!

I was just flipping through a Brian Wilson biography at work where they describe my boss as:

"a tall sturdy man with a waterfall-like mullet."

So perfect.

her hips spoke broken english

come one, come all, right? right!

tonight is already a recipe for disaster.

can never go home again. the house/last 20 years of my life is neatly packed away into boxes.

ah well, must move along. at least tomorrow is destroyer with my friend crush.

Skeleton Me

Oh boys and girls there is much to discuss.

on the subject of germaphobes in power, part 2:

Maybe they're on to something?

Everyone in my office is deathly ill but him.

Maybe the cure for the common cold/H1N1 is not alcohol as I previously thought, but rather a paranoid, obsessive avoidance of human contact.

on the subject of germaphobes in power:

When SARS was the “pandemic” in style, my boss made Christine stay home for a week because her boyfriend’s band toured Asia shortly before it hit the media. I sneezed and he was about to demand quarantine.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m all for a little hypochondriac hysteria every so often. Self-diagnosis is fun. If fatigued: narcolepsy. Stiff neck: meningitis. Red bump: ticks/lyme disease. I get overreaction, but enough already.

On my drive in, I was asked to pick up 11 bottles of hand sanitizer, one for each employee. I went to five stores and every place was wiped the fuck out. Desperate, I considered jumping an elderly man carrying a bag with contents resembling soap in the parking lot. An hour later, I arrived dejected at work with 4 travel-sized bottles. Devon said, “You know hand sanitizer doesn’t work on viruses, right?” effectively and immediately planting a facemask seed in my boss’ head.

I work in a large converted warehouse roughly 45 miles outside of Chicago. There are farms 15 minutes in every direction. Sometimes deer run through our parking lot from the field in back. One would think we’re not the most susceptible candidates.

However, today his daughters’ school closed due to a probable case of swine flu and Howard Hughes is now running my company, citing statistics about the Spanish flu and wiping his phone down every time he gets a call.

push the envelope

To qualify for this Illinois tax production credit (otherwise known as the bane of my existence) we have to demonstrate education outreach. As a result, I have become the new “Internship Coordinator” for my company. With no real intention of hiring anyone, we posted some ads and today my inbox was flooded by a bunch of idiots. Idiots I tell you!

Nice weather and a golfing boss do not make for an efficient day.

These have been the highlights of my productivity:

- Walked into the audio room to hear “Cue the music!” The lights dimmed, Loveshack started blasting and everyone started dancing like Carlton. I have since walked back there for no real reason other than to initiate this 11 times.

- Spent 10 minutes talking about palm reading. Spent 5 minutes googling palm reading in St. Charles. Spent 2 minutes being frustrated after realizing St. Charles is not a hotbed of psychic abilities. Spent 15 minutes researching free online palm readers. Spent 8 minutes experimenting with scanner settings to achieve the perfect Christine hand scan.

- Had wheely chair races down our hallway.

- Wrote this.

Two more hours. Tonight’s goal is extreme debauchery. Wolf in sheep’s clothing. Possible/most likely encounters: deerhunter and crystal castles at 1104 Wabash, fog machines, mag d’s event at crocodile, bikes, stolen sponsor whiskey, alex’s event at version, shanetron.

work, work, blah, blah, blah

My absolute favorite thing about my job is learning famous people's pseudonyms. They're so wacky! God, I'm bored. Which is nuts because there are so many gigantically amazing gigantic projects going on at work. I fear that if I list them my brain will explode. For now, just know that the KC 3D project may take my summer hostage. Maybe say goodbye to hangouts on the following weekends:

June 6-Pittsburgh
June 13-Chicago
June 27-Philadelphia
July 18-San Francisco
Aug 1-Seattle
Aug 15-Boston
Aug 22-Detroit

7 day work weeks. Ugh. I love my job right?

Quinne, assess above and figure out when we should gallivant in LA. Also keep in mind the weekend of Aug 7th is out because of Lollapalooza, as well as 4th of July weekend.

Quinne, you should probably come into town for this. The headliners are shit, but there's a few standbys.

In town friends, you should probably just buy tickets. If nothing else just to drink wine in the sun for three consecutive days.

Also: go self-promotion! I think they're being a little generous myself.

Slightly confused...

...but also slightly amazed? Mostly because:

I bought an 18-year-old wearing shorts, a blazer and skater shoes a whiskey sour tonight at the bar. Emily got hey mistered, declined, and I picked up the slack. Hahahahah. Sorry Maggie?

But still you're surprised-prised-prised when I eat ya

My life is in shambles.

Just didn't want to forget this:

"Shaking his hand is like grabbing a peep."

This could be dangerous or this could be fun.

Christine and I will try it out and then report back.

Report: It works. Genius! If only I had a really awkward situation at hand.

spooky little lizard girl where did you run to

in case anyone was wondering, pbr followed by french martinis followed by saki followed by warm tequila shots followed by more pbr is not a good idea.

Liner Notes

love at first conference call

Death Cab. I've been really worried about working with them in case they turn out to be total asshole douchebags, which will in turn make me hate their music and some of my most beloved memories.

But, guess what, they aren't! I know this based on one single fact. They requested Hot Doug's for lunch.

Fuck you "economy"

There have been rumblings of having a mandatory office shutdown every Friday from Memorial Day to Labor Day. 15 Fridays unpaid.

I am intelligently responding by going to New York with Chad the first available extended weekend. Then about a month later when I'm really broke, Quinne and I will meet in LA for some summer lovin.

I have a pretty jaded sense of production so maybe I'll be ambitious and try freelancing. Columbia's summer semester starts then so I might be able to pick up some tutoring hours at the WC too. Suckface.

At least oh, 6 times a year, people ask me how I broke my nose.

I have never broken my nose.

Reduced to Begging

What the fuck is this Epiphany place and why have I never heard of it before? I am losing my grip because no one will ever go to shows with me! Yes, you guys, the 4.5 of you that read this! Start going to concerts with me before I kill myself.

Apparently it's a church on Ashland. The Mountain Goats are playing there. Someone, anyone, go with me?

Also, I got lazy and didn't force anyone to buy tickets and now The Books show at the MCA is sold out. The Books at the MCA! Gah! And so is the Ratatat show tonight that Johnny told me he bought tickets to but didn't. Hate! I was so looking forward to it. Last time I saw them, I spent the entire night dancing and thinking about all the casual meaningless sex I could have with the sweaty scumbag looking keyboard player if not for Chad. Then, in a karmatic event, Evelyn spilled an entire bottle of rum in Chad's car (that I wasn't supposed to be driving) to punish me and when i attempted to wash off the rubber mat in her bathtub i doused my entire head because someone put the showerhead on. Then we ran into said keyboard player. The night was such great fun despite the shitty 2 sentence portrayal.

This is somehow everyone else's fault. I am very much in the mood to dance. Maybe you are too? Maybe you want to go to the The Faint/Ladytron show with me? Or maybe the Junior Boys? Or maybe Crystal Castles? Even The Sounds? Anything. Please!

Also, I would really enjoy if someone would go see Great Northern/The Dears with me.

This music void of mine has officially become a black hole. I finally succumbed and bought a new iPod. I will spend the next three days fine-tuning it to perfection.

my own little winston

Cliches are cliches are cliches are cliches.

I'm getting a puppy.

Its name will be Chainsaw.

Kim vs. the Brooklyn Brewery, Round 2

Chad and I got really drunk last night and when we woke up this morning we had flight confirmations to New York in our email. I would like to get this kind of drunk more often. See you on Memorial Day.

At some point I turned into a caffeine fiend, again. I probably could (and will) support a coke habit with the amount of money I’ve been shelling out for my mid-day coffee breaks lately. As a result of this I have become scarily efficient and finished my duties for the next 8 days. I’ve been dicking around the internet and came to a realization, my life is not nearly as ridiculous as it should be. Solutions:

Remember about a year ago when it was Chad’s bday and I was trying to find a group activity to do that surpassed skydiving? Remember when I found that company that would give us group trapeze lessons for relatively cheap? Remember when you guys all scoffed and laughed and told me I was an idiot/asshole for even suggesting it. Well, I do too, and I’m still pissed about it. What else are you doing people! Just learn to trapeze with me. Give me one weekend for christ sake.

Also, remember when we were all going to get our foid cards and go to the gun range and then Chad was the only one that did and we all told him how creepy and typical conservative republican he was. Well he does too, and he’s pissed about it. Come on, it would be soooooo funny?

Also also, remember when you scoffed and laughed and called me an asshole about the trapezing and then I found that company that would teach us to sail and you all complained about how poor and boring you all were. Well fuck you, let’s lock it in for this summer. The champagne’s on me.

rapture rapes the muses

I think I have spring fever? 40 to 70 to 35 to 60. I need out of this city, brain, skin. Give me a reason.

Production. I feel like I have nothing done and the first show is April 1. Thankfully the Green Day San Fran show got cancelled. One less stress meltdown.

Boring, boring, boring!

Kim=Mik

Well hello.

About an hour ago I was eating 36 perfectly cooked eggrolls in my bed. How they were cooked and whether or not the stove is still on is a mystery. Now, I am supposed to stay up until 7 when i should wake rebecca up to go to some forest park barcrawl with gwen. she told me this is the first time she's ever drank in the day. never tailgated, never dormed it, never celebrated st patricks day in chicago. pa-fucking-squse-me? theres too much pressure. she left my flask somewhere. my flask. my best friend for years, my only number one standby, its gone. depressed. the fact that i am even awake right now is a feat, much less the concept of waking her up to go out AGAIN. ugh. seriously, just call me. i will drunk talk the shit out of everyone right now.

Update, sober: My flask was here the whole time. It was Chad's flask that was lost, hopefully in the depths of Maggie's fridge.

See you at Metro

I would like to present you with something that recently made my brain explode:

April 20 - 18+over
Alkaline Trio * Saves The Day

April 21 - All Ages
Alkaline Trio * Saves The Day

Take a trip back to 1999 with me.

I like your stories, I love your gun

You can't die from a hangover right? That's a physical impossibility right?

Estates

Ugh. Mega ultra huge serious relationship talk last night. Deciding what we need to decide and me fighting it at all costs. He had a meeting with a financial advisor to address investing, his taxes, his will, and a few other things. I kept maliciously laughing and saying it's all coming together, you're going to give me everything and then slitting his throat, suffocating him with his pillow, various other death scenes. Jokes. Then he told me he actually did write me into his will, with a clause of course. Heavy. Then after a little Woody Allen and an irrational refusal, I launched into everything that I was unhappy with ever with no reason or resolution and barely an explanation. Ah, commitment issues, where would I be without them. And now he's off to Colorado for a long weekend and I'm stuck with an empty house and only my thoughts. Sigh.

Only unfulfilled love can be romantic.

So I just watched Vicky Cristina Barcelona and have all these very silly ideas of saving up every spare little penny and taking an overseas trip with Rebecca this summer. And by silly I mean intended. Hot balmy nights before we both decide what we need to decide.

Nashville was a whirlwind. Don't ever let me complain about my job again.

So the charges finally registered on my bank account. 4 seperate 100 dollar charges from the same gas station. YOU MOTHERFUCKING CUNT FUCK FUCK FUCKERS. FUCKERS! AH! YOU FUCKERS! HATE!

Seriously, is there any way the gas station FUCKER is not in on it? He will be dead by morning.

Demands

Dear friends,

There a thousand amazing bands coming to Chicago soon. Start going to shows with me or I will kill you.

Best,

Kim

PS. Don't let me forget to buy early bird tickets on March 31 for Lollapalooza. And, if I do forget, don't let me justify not buying them because I'm "in" the music industry and will find some hook-up that will get me in for cheap or free. I won't. I'll just wind up buying tickets from extortionists like I do every year.

PPS. Also don't let me not buy the 3-day pass for Pitchfork this weekend. It's totally worth it for Friday even if I don't think it is now. We get to pick the playlist. Worth it.

Dammit, dammit, dammit! Procrastination has gotten the better of me and now all the wonderful details of my trip have faded. I am officially out of post-production. Heading to Nashville this weekend to do some MC promotion with Chesney and then three months will go by and I will have nothing to show for it but work. Soon I will not remember the concept of eating dinner at home, much less vacation in paradise. I must trudge on with my epic tales of Manuel Antonio. Maybe later tonight?

So this is my first real big girl business trip. Usually when we do out-of-town shows, we're there for a few days and I bring my suitcase. No one is the wiser. But now I'm jetsetting in for one day and my adidas gym bag ain't cutting it. I need a sophisticated, chic carry-on bag. Where does one go about buying this?

To Twitter or not to Twitter?

Discuss.

Everybody else is doing it?

Dias Tres y Cuatro

Are you tired of reading about Costa Rica yet? Well, I don’t care. I still have eight days to detail.

The majority of the vacation was Chad manipulating me into doing activites that I had no desire to do in my lifetime. Example B: Spa Day. The only thing I hate more than traipsing about in water is people touching me. Thankfully, we had switched to a nicer hotel and I had no chance of running into that little reflexology skank. This hotel was amazing and overrun by gigantic rabbits that all wanted to be my friend. I was tenser during the massage than should be humanely possible, which only made her try harder to make me relax, rubbing aromatherapy shit on my face and the likes. Apparently Costa Rican masseuses need to be added to my nemesis list. I struggled with not lashing out, kicking her in the throat, and triumphantly declaring "MUERTE!" the entire time. Instead about 20 minutes into our joint couple session, I whispered it and Chad broke into a bonafied giggle fit. The kind of prohibited church giggling where the more you try not to, the harder you laugh. In short, I complained enough about how awful it was that we switched gears and headed to the hot springs. They were awesome and we had a full authentic 4-course meal there. Went back to the hotel with a couple of forties, took a bath in our outdoor private jacuzzi, listened to Van Morrison, had a bunch of sex and crashed early. Perfect.

A short digression on Costa Rican entertainment: 1) They fucking love Hitch. It was constantly airing and once was on in a bar. 2) Our hotel listed American Beauty and Munich under the comedy genre and Dodgeball under action.

The next day we went ziplining. You would think that after jumping out of a plane at 14,500 feet with absolutely no fear that canopying over a rainforest with a harness would be a cakewalk. But, for some reason I was a little hesitant. Maybe it was my recent brush with mortality? Whatever the case, when we get to the platform, 800 feet in the air, ready to zip a mile to the next platform, I took a glance at our cohorts. They were all over 75, insanely enthusiastic, and making a lot of sex jokes. I’m 95% sure they were real life versions of the people from Cocoon. My fear evaporated and it was fucking amazing. A view of the volcano and Lake Arenal over the course of 9 cables, 30 miles an hour through the tree tops, never forget it. Then we went into town and a pack of wild dogs that we’re dying to be friends followed us around while we went to a bunch of sodas and got wasted off Imperial. Sex, sex, jacuzzi sex, hitch, sleep. Perfect.

Dia Dos

So Arenal is centered around a six-block town called La Fortuna and the 2nd most active volcano in the world. Totally undeveloped, laid back, third worldish but safe. The majority of tourism revolves around outdoor adventure escapades. The second day we decided to do this private rainforest horseback ride to a 150-foot waterfall.

Johnny was our gaucho type leader. I had this maniacal ego freak horse that could not handle being second in command. Over the course of two-hours Marlena would abruptly break into unprovoked gallops to take lead. Chad’s horse was not having it. We would have 5 minutes intervals of gladiator style races, fording rivers, hurtling logs; it was thrilling. I may as well have been Annie fucking Oakley.

When we get to the rainforest the gaucho leads and we hike and hike and hike, down 300 uneven too-tall steps, across tree bridges, 400 more steps, to pure and unadulterated nature. The waterfall is gorgeous and oh such raw roaring power after 6 days of torrential raining, and Johnny points and shrugs at the raging 25-foot wide river we need to cross to get to it.

And. I. Would. Rather. Die.

It’s my worst nightmare. But Chad is paying and Johnny’s watching so I suck it up and resolve and repeat one consistent mantra that I am not a pussy and I will fucking do this. And I step forward wearing only a bikini and a beat-up pair of diesels and plunge in. My legs immediately get swept out from under me and suddenly I am Bear Grylls rushing toward the rocks because the current is so strong from the storms and I am screaming and I am going to die and drown and Chad will have to take my coffin back and my parents will look at my bloated unrecognizable body and I am a pussy and we should never have done this and my head is almost under the water and I am far downstream already and I am dying and then, there is a pit bull locked on my arm and I am safe. Always, with him. And he smiles and shrugs, “We probably shouldn’t have done this, I think I just peed a little,” now on dry ground, still vice gripping my arm. But Johnny, bemused, tells us, tu eres estupido, wrong crossing technique, and I am not a pussy and I will fucking do this. We oregon trail it across and it is so worth it. Massive and breathtaking, pool upon pool all to ourselves.

And we get back to our hotel and I need a fucking drink. I have these horrific rape bruises on my arm and the stewards are becoming suspicious, but the barkeep loves us nonetheless. And I have 5, 6, 7? margaritas alongside just as many cervezas and I am drunk and alive! And Chad and I are reminiscing about all the stupid shit we've gotten ourselves into in Europe and he tells me about how in Mexico he paid some dude to drive him back to his hotel after agreeing “no muerte me.” Soon after he leaves to get a complimentary reflexology massage on our porch. I stay at the poolbar because me and Ricardo are good buddies by now. But then I get lonely and want my hero and I cannot recall where he is as I stumble onto our bed, blacked out to the max. And I see him, through a veil of silk curtain getting a foot rub from some silhouetted tramp. And I am pissed. And I mutter, muerte. And she stops and looks to Chad. And then again, muerte! And Chad says, mi novio is muy comico, hahahah, and I laugh along from the bed, abruptly stopping to yell MUERTE. Then I start watching Hitch in Spanish and resume my muerte yelling whenever the commercials come on. And that was my second day in Arenal.

Back to Reality

The office is in the process of getting remodeled and there’s a bunch of workers here that don’t speak English. It’s like I never even left. I’m not sure if it’s the slightly hallucinatory inducing stench of carpet glue or the fact that for the last 10 days I’d be drunk by now but I can’t force myself to tackle my daunting to-do list. I’m pretty sure the only reason I woke up this morning was to try the espresso I bought in Costa Rica.

The trip was truly fucking fantastic.

San Jose is basically the equivalent of smashing together New Orleans, Spain, a noise band, and an amusement park. Thankfully we only stayed for the night.

The next day we took our first domestic flight to Arenal. The airport had no running water BUT there was a baptism taking place. Seriously. Holy water or no water.

I’ve done some pretty stupid shit with the pretense of experiencing life to the fullest, but a 45-minute flight in this shanty fucking plane took the cake. 10 seats, 2 engines, a pilot that looked like Lou Reed, and constant bone shattering turbulence. Quinne would have shit her pants. I’m seriously surprised there weren’t crates of chicken in the cargo area and/or Indiana Jones racing down the runway to hitch a ride. It was totally worth it though. Arenal is fucking gorgeous.

I will write more about it tonight because if I don’t get out of my office in the next 5 minutes I might go all Allison the Huffer.

See you in 10 days.

Costa Rica.

So Lux Interior died yesterday. This sparked an intense lunch conversation about music that eventually evolved to how Christine used to be in a band that eventually evolved to how Christine doesn’t think she can sing but loves karaoke that eventually evolved to the decision that we are going to have karaoke Friday in our recording studio at lunch. Usually we have dance party Fridays. The audio boys pick a new song every week.

Because Joi’s asian she owns a magic mic. Let the games begin.

Also, the Sears Centre is having a rodeo this weekend. We did the Faith Hill show there and have a pretty good relationship with them. On Saturday everyone I work with is going to watch from the owner's skybox, full bar, the works, on the house. Half of our staff has already gone to Alcala’s and bought boots.

People, I love my job. It's the equivalent of getting paid to go to a sleepover every day.

Last night I discovered what my favorite restaurant in the world is: Bon Soiree.

Just go. It’s amazing. I will attack the underground dining scene with vigor.

Also, I tried fois grais again. What is wrong with me! It wasn’t as revolting this time.

Also, also, what the fuck is up with me blogging so much?

This is amazing

Kate sent me an email with the subject "Be careful out there."

This was in it: http://www.downwithpinatas.com/