Let me take this opportunity to wish 18-time Barber College MVP Scott a happy birthday.
On behalf of BC’s staff and loyal readership, Scott, please accept this box of puppies.
I named them all Scooter, but you can feel free to rename them. They may not be house-trained yet, but they love the Clash. Oh, and I taught them to kill balding 20-somethings whenever they hear post-rock.
Hey. I’ve successfully moved to New City, and after a long battle with Comcast, I have a reliable Internet connection. Thanks to Webmaster Gordo for filling in last week while I was staring at the ceiling and crying over my lack of connectivity. So here I am. Expect things.
I was checking through our logs the other day, and it seems after J-Ho’s spam article we had a few hits from people looking for MegaDik reviews. Seeing an opportunity to actually make some money off this site for a change, I contacted the fine people at MegaDik to discuss an exciting new business partnership. After hours of intense negotiations, I am proud to announce our new corporate sponsor.
I thought I’d take my last post here in the Midwhat (I’m moving to New City of Residence tomorrow) to do some boasting about how great I am. Last week, C-Ho, who gets paid to write words, was in town for a few days, and we renewed our Scrabble rivalry after a two-year hiatus. In the past we’ve been closely matched, but last week, it wasn’t even close. I won 8 of 11 games, and the three I lost were the day after my whiny dog had kept me up all night. Here’s a recap (we play under assumed names, usually with a theme):
So I was having dinner with C-Ho and Webmaster Gordo tonight, and we were playing some trivia. An elderly man was our only opponent for the first couple games, and he played using the handle MAGIC. Naturally, Gordo changed his name to AIDS. Classic.
Here is a text message exchange I had with my big brother, C-Ho, who is flying home for the weekend:
C-Ho: Are you ready for me? I don’t think you are.
C-Ho: Hey, my flight’s still on time. 11:23 arrival.
J-Ho: I’ll be there.
C-Ho: Thanks dude. I’m about 6-foot, brown hair, air of awesomeness.
Jeebus, it was hot this weekend. J-Ho came to Chicago and we all sweated in the same time zone for a change. We were rocking it with well-wishers and more than a little beer was downed at the Long Room and various other BC-endorsed haunts. At the end we closed the proceedings by ceremoniously placing our shoes together to form a super Japanese space robot (not pictured).
By the way we all set up emails this week. Give your favorite Barber a shout and bask in the glory of our recent brand alignment efforts.
J-ho - j-ho@barber-college.org
A. - a@barber-college.org
Scott - scott@barber-college.org
Dire nights here on the North Side of Chicago. Too much exasperation at work and too many untouched dust-gathering side projects on my plate to pay honest attention to you, our many thousands of BC readers.
It’s sticky as a mofo besides. Literally clogging up my Mac’s keyboard with humidity. I guess I’ll blame that for my limited posting of late. Thanks to TV’s wonder twins for picking up the slack while I slack.
While the Sandman won’t come this evening, let me say a few simple mean-spirited things about Lollapoolza, which me and the Misses did venture downtown to catch this past weekend.
A. In the middle of the Hold Steady fantastic, spirit-lifting set, I came to a crushing conclusion that I would never like them as much as I did right then. My fandom peaking with each consecutive fist pump, I wondered if I ever will like any band that much ever again.
B. Lots of professional and semi-professional rock pencils racing around all weekend. Made me wonder if I was ever cut out to be their competition back in college. I got detoured by a sluggish economy, sure, and a drug-crazed editor or two, but was I really ever up to it anyways? Eh. I coveted their fancier wristbands, studied seriousness and general energy all weekend.
C. After conferring with lots of reports and eye-witness accounts, Modest Mouse had the worst crowd I have ever seen. The Mice were good, even if their setlist didn’t bother stretch into the ’90s (what the fuck? Johnny Marr won’t learn “Doin’ the Cockroach”?) Anyways drugged up high school kids who won’t shut up, stop noodle dancing or generally pissing me off. Chicago’s suburb’s a breeding ground apparently for effing tards of the worst degree.
D. Pearl Jam = dictionary definition of “meh.” A. you have 48 hours to explain these jokers once and for all.
It was a nice, fairly well run festival though, with just as many heartwarming moments (thanks welsh kid from Los Campesinos, who was ecstatic just to be there and see people wearing Pavement shirts) . Look for a more complete write-up at record-reviews sometimes this week.