So.

Yep yep, that's right, me mackin' with a dude in public. But before y'all get titillated and shit, there's a story behind it -- a sickeningly sweet, darling story, but a story nonetheless.

It was Mer's last night before returning to NYC, and after we'd semi-recovered from Tuesday night's terrible, horrible nightmare (which I'll share the whole visit shortly, once I get it sorted out in my head), we decided we were going to Johnny's Tap, the only real, true tavern in the town where we spent our formative years; it's like, we've been alive 36 years and we'd never gone to the place. So we go, and it's pretty much like we imagined it -- a bunch of guys (and one skanky broad) sitting around the bar after a long day of work -- except it was really, really tidy, even the bathrooms. We sit down and order a couple beers, and this guy comes up to us to ask if we had any particular preference for what he was going to play in the jukebox. I looked at him, and I said "[name redacted since we didn't talk about the blog]." He looked at me, and it took him a couple seconds before he said, "[Broad]," and I was like, "How the hell are you!??" We hugged, and I reintroduced him to Mer, who he didn't remember because she'd left the summer before high school. So we sat there and rapped about the people we all knew, and he said another couple guys we had in common hang out there, too (one I only knew by sight, and the other I was in love with in 8th grade). Then the one I didn't know walked in and joined us, and can I just say he's pretty hot. Reminds me of Nic Cage in a way. But before he got there, the first guy brought up what our connection was: I was the first girl he ever kissed, standing by our bikes behind the town library.

After a couple hours of rapping and (dare I say) the boys flirting with us, Nic Cage said he needed to get going, and Mer was starving, so we all bid farewell, but not before I said, "We have to get a picture of [redacted] and I to commemorate the occasion, because this is too funny." Behold:

Because it looks like our pal Mer will be coming in much sooner than we thought. As in, this Thursday iff'n she can get a reasonably priced ticket.

My heart is a-twitter with anticipation. Oh, the hijinks we will have. And the alcohol we will drink.

Anyone who's ever read Og's blog knows that traveling west off the I-80/94 into Illinois is hell on earth, right? I'm here to tell you that homie ain't lying. Christ on a crutch, man. Any plans you may have of going to Iowa in the near future? Scrap 'em now or get there through Michigan or Minnesota or whatever, because going that far out of the way will probably get you there sooner than I-80 will.

That nightmare, of course, meant that I caught only about two songs of our intrepid heroes' set, but what I heard -- "Life in the Fast Lane" and a U2 song my muddled brain can't remember at the moment -- done did us proud. As I told Lenny last night (Lenny being the sole original member left of BtL), he's finally got a group together that reigns him in and is serious about playing music and not just the whole rockstar aspect. Good stuff. The guys also made sure I had access to the VIP area since I didn't get a VIP bracelet which, love them.

Steely Dan, meanwhile, played none of their new stuff, only the best of the best: They started with "Bhodisattva" then right into "Time Out of Mind," my favoritist Steely Dan song EVER. I was in heaven. Michael McDonald was even good, though he did only his well-know stuff from the Doobies. Eh. And dude's got some white, white hair. But I got the cutest concert shirt; just hope it fits.

Got an e-mail from my pal Lenny about 20 minutes ago telling me that my favorite cover band is not only playing The New World Music Theatre/Tweeter Center/First Midwest Ampitheater Saturday night, but who're they opening up for*!?? That's right:

Steely Dan!


My head just exploded.

For the first time ever, I present to the whole Innerbunny my sibs, or those who share DNA with me:

Talked to Snidgey earlier as I'm wont to do every day, and guess where we decided to go in August? Yeah, that's right:

LOLLAPALOOZA

I'm likely going to be the oldest person there, but I don't care. It's going to be righteous.

Seriously, I was just looking to see what critics have said about the purple leotarded one's latest gig. How was I supposed to know that this O.C. dude was going to write the whole thing verbatim, thereby taking all the work (and remembering, because there was so, so much) out of it for me, whose feet are still swollen from rocking out in 3-1/2 inch wedges all night?

Like I told y'all yesterday, I really didn't have high hopes for the money I spent; I was waiting to be thoroughly whapped over the head with whatever rhetoric Madonna's selling these days or whatever. (Not that I don't agree with her, but sticking it all in a pointy bra doesn't really resonate, ya dig.) But she was just amazing -- looked great, sounded great, danced great, the whole package. And the lighting and images were divine. If you can, pay the money and go see her when she comes to town.

As added icing, BFKAS, B-Dubs and I had a really good time, though I must admit it was more than a little disconcerting to hear my 56 year-old birth mother singing "Like a Virgin." Yes, I know she would've been only 35 when the song came out (to my 15). Doesn't matter.

I'm really tired and I've got the sweat of a frillion people clinging to my hair, but my initial thoughts on the Madonna show? Fork over the money and go when she comes to town.

and resent me -- at no charge -- my order, and can I just tell you that you need to go out and get this right now? Ohmigod, you can't beLIEVE how good the stuff smells, and I'm going to jump in the shower and get myself exfoliated right this very minute. The cocunut milk and peaches Afrodite Delighty cream is good, too (this is my second time ordering it -- in a different scent for summer -- and it's truly the nicest hand cream I've gotten yet), but the SCRUB! And owner Josette personally took care of the resending, so my complaints were taken care of quickly.

I love you, BGB! Thank you!

You know, from Faith No More? I LOVE that guy. I've loved him ever since staring at Wad's Faith No More poster -- the one where they're all in their boxers -- and realizing hey! ol' boy's packing some HEAT, yo!The Real Thing! And now, he's Peeping Tom, and the debut is really good. (Listen to it here; he put the whole damn album up.) Methinks I'll be feeding it to the iPod once it hits May 30.

In other business, guess what I purchased Wednesday? A plunger. I've lived almost eight years in the crib, and I never bought one. Not sure what that says. But it's a nice, discreet plunger with a cover and everything, although the handle kinda looks like a sex toy, all clear plastic and knobby. Not sure what that says, either.

Over at Greta's waiting for a load of laundry to dry (gotta have some fresh towels on hand for my grrrl upon her arrival tomorrow, after all), but when I was trolling around MySpace earlier (I know, I know, I said MySpace is for the young, but that doesn't mean I can't look. It could be research. You don't know) I totally came across a couple of guys with whom I went to high school way back in the day. Now, I know them as Goran and Dejan, two of the hottest and most popular guys in school, but y'all might know them as indie band extraordinaire THE GUFS!

I KNOW! How could I forget that!??

Well, it's easy when they're too cool for NWI and play places like The Double Door and Milwaukee Summerfest instead of McCool's and Rosie's, but even though Dejan and I were in college together, it's not like we were super super close or anything, so you know, you lose track of people and whatnot.

So anyway, I thought for fun I'd add Dejan to my buddy list to see if he might remember me, and whaddya know? He totally does! And -- AND -- he still has a review I wrote about The Gufs from, like, '92 when they played at the Elbo Room! That was the night I picked up this John Cusack lookalike (with Larry, my date, standing right there); "London Calling" was playing in the background, and I was wearing a black mock turtle and put black eyeliner only on the top lid for dramatic effect. How fucking funny. Of course, thinking about how twee and unrefined my writing was back then, I'm kind of weirded out that he still has it, but still. I'm going to have to look in my old portfolio, because I'm sure I still have it in there.

Jooools, you must pick up on this band as well as Goran's solo efforts! I'll bet you would love them.

To all of you who've let scamps like me spring forth from your loins, make sure to enjoy your day in whatever way you see fit.

Picked up my thank-you gift for watching the animals from Poppy and her husband earlier. One of the gifts was a t-shirt from the famous Senor Frog's. The other you'll find pictured below.

So, did y'all hear about the Native American warrior goddess (and I mean that in the most reverant, respectful way, because any woman with cajones as big as hers deserves a befitting title) who, when the fucktards in South Dakota (is that even really a state?) decided they were going to ban abortion, said she would build a Planned Parenthood on her reservation, where the fucktard government doesn't apply? Here's the information to either donate or give her a shout-out for her brilliance and bravery, since you just KNOW the rest of the fucktards are going to nail her to the cross simultaneously: Lookit

[Via mac, of course]

There are days when you just do your job, and you do a fine job, and you go to bed satisfied. And then there are the days when you are nothing short of absolutely BRILLIANT, and you squeal with glee and do the "WHOOMP! There it IS!" dance in your chair. And today? Was one of those days.

Our County Politics reporter, JB, absconded to NYC for a weekend of drunken debauchery with his brother for the High Holiday (bastards! I've already been warned that I'm getting drunk dialed by Mer tomorrow night), so my one editor sent me out to cover a press conference by this new group that claims it's compiling data on candidates so that voters will know who they're voting for. But instead of doing that, they presented a Web site slamming the incumbent sheriff's opponent which, all right, that's par for the course. The problem was, the spokeseperson said -- nay, inSISTED -- that they weren't affiliated at all with the incumbent sheriff. So, I got a wild hair up my ass when I got home and decided that I was going to see if I could find out who the Web site was registered to. I did a whois and discovered that our site owner was trying to not be whois-ed, because s/he put bullshit information (i.e. Lake County for region, 99999 for the zip, etc.) in when s/he registered for the domain. I looked at that and thought, "Hmmmm, there's got to be a way to circumvent that. Who do I know that would know?"

That person? EWK. EWK walked me through how to do it and, well, looky there! Something miiiiiiiiiighty suspicious. So I called my editor, had her look up some information JB had on his desk, and, well, looky there! Now, what was miiiiiiiiiighty suspicious is now downright damning.

Unfortunately, I can't tell you what exactly it is, because the story isn't out yet. (I know -- awwwwwwwww!) I'll throw it up tomorrow, of course, but in the meantime, let's just say that if this "press conference" is the way the incumbent is running his campaign? He's doomed, because that was the most retarded display I think I've seen in, oh, the last three weeks.

So yeah, dinner with my little (alleged) sister was a pretty damn good time. She's cute, funny and definitely has a mind of her own, so we got that in common. Plus, she's loud just like me, and if there were anything in this world that would serve as an identifier, it would be that. (Ok, not really. But still ...)

She also has a past that would make the toughest survivor cringe in sympathy/horror, and that unfortunately has left her very closed up while opened like a festering sore to the rest of the world all at the same time. If I in my two-parent white-bread childhood world thought my other sibs had it bad when they were growing up, I can at least take comfort in the fact that they didn't have it nearly as bad as Baby Girl did. Think, among other things, a multitude of stepdads (and a mother who isn't quite over the whole married thing yet after all this time), a sperm donor who gave up his parental rights so she could be adopted by one of the stepdads, drugs, a real live mohawk and multiple piercings, a failed marriage and her own daughter's death before the age of 20 (!), then a complete life turnaround by the age of 25 and you have the REAL A Million Little Pieces right there. In fact, a great story about the sperm donor: She was 17 and after having last seen him when she was 12, she gets shipped out west to visit him for what was supposed to be a three-week trip, right? Can't remember what day into the trip it was, but he takes her to Old Country Buffet for dinner, which is fine until he starts putting nine, 10 little bowls of condiments on the table and six glasses of milk, then proceeds to eat seven or eight plates of food BY HIMSELF and yells at her in the restaurant that her eating two plates of food "isn't getting his money's worth." And then there was the crackhead that showed up at his door at 3 a.m. and him being all like, "Uh, I TOLD you he doesn't live here anymore (wink, wink)," and the pot smell wafting from his room that really wasn't pot, according to him. Yeah, it took her four days of that before she was like, "I'm out."

No, she has not gotten herself into therapy toot sweet after all this, and that worries me, because underneath the bravado, her terror is palpable. But she seems to dig me; she says we have to be the same because we're both extreme smartasses.

My (possible) baby sister and I are meeting for Mexican tonight at 5-ish, 5:30-ish.

Details at 11, or something.

Woo woo! Have a plum one for me!

[Rock Scissor Paper image, yada yada yada]

To my darling Snidgey, who has a new may-aaaaaaaan. Sort of. We'll see. But anyway, you GO, grrrrrrl.

[Image by the fine folks @ Rock Scissors Paper]

My sisTAH! Go wish her one, everybody!

[image provided by the always groovy Rock Scissor Paper]

After a long, hard night of drinking and drunk sleepwalking into my room thinking it was the bathroom, Snidge has finally roused herself off the couch. Her first words:

I'm picking her up at O'Hare. Yet I'm sitting here posting this post, and my house is not yet clean (which, if you know me, is really a tall order). I guess it's a really good thing that I've never touted myself as anything less than a bachelorette. Sigh.

Covering Blue Chip Casino's grand opening of their yoogemongous new boat Tuesday, and guess who the celebrity guest is?

Just checked the competition's Web site before hitting the sack, and what do you know!?? It's going to have an interview with the guvner about his refusal to give out STIFs for retail.

Hmmph.

Oh, no, that's perfectly cool -- especially when the story they use to introduce it was a story I did several months ago on how sporting goods chain Gander Mountain has been actively campaigning to keep states from giving STIFs when it never asked for nor received that incentive. Even funnier, SO DID THE COMPETITION. So now, it's repeating itself to catch up. And sure, the editors over there may have had the interview planned all along. It still doesn't excuse repeating a story as if it's a first-run.

Man, I would've hated to be the reporter who biffed it originally. Ooof. And I like her, too.

Incidentally, I was talking to a source of mine about STIFs today, and he brought up an interesting point: Daniels and the IEDC don't want to give STIF for retail because it's not bringing in new money to the state, just shifting it around. And that's cool. There's only one problem: STIFs are good only when there's sales tax to be had, and retail is the only industry that generates it (at least to the degree it needs to make it work, anyway; I'm not sure how much sales tax is generated by manufacturing, for example).

Now, I didn't necessarily have a problem with granting STIFs for retail, because (after the way it works was explained to me for the fifth or sixth time before I understood it) it's a good economic development vehicle, and one that Lake County could use. The problem I have with it is that now that there's a Cabela's planned for Hoffman Estates, Ill., which is no more than two hours from NWI on a good day, and other sporting behemoth Bass Pro Shop planned for Portage -- not to mention a Cabela's in Milwaukee already, which is about three hours from here -- you've just saturated the market, and one of them is going to choke, taking with it at least some of the 300 to 400 jobs they promised to bring. One only has to look at Krispy Kreme to see that; when we got the one in Schererville, everyone was all apeshit over it (with good reason, of course, because mmmmm ... Krispy Kreme ...). But then Krispy Kreme went into uber expansion mode, and now, I can get one at the gas station up the street. True, I'm not getting my free hot doughnut when I run to Speedway, but the ones I buy from the Krispy Kreme to take home aren't warm and gooey, either, so what's my impetus to drive 15 minutes anymore?

Damn. Now I want a doughnut.

Our guvner comes out and says we're not giving the incentive NWI needs to bring the alleged economic savior on our trodden ground, and you're hyped up over unfunded liability!??

Homie, where's the love!??

Even better: The competition, which has spent inches and inches of ink devoted to wooing Cabela's so that it'll maybe advertise with them if it comes to towncovering Cabela's DIDN'T EVEN MENTION THE NEWS IN ITS STORY. I LOVE when that happens. Sigh.

After the jump, my work of staggering news acumen:

for fixing my previously cocked-up comments! Now you can all comment with reckless abandon once again without getting a creepy error message! Wooo! It works so good, you might even be able to put trackbacks on this bitch again.

Also, give some joy over at Reese; her boyfriend loves her so much, he's going to marry her!

Back to regular posting later ...

"Ken," by TNP

Let's give our ol' pal Dixon Hill and his lady a round of applause; they're doing the deed. Woooooo! And is that a Tiffany diamond I spy, Mr. Hill?

Got off the phone with Sammy about a half-hour ago, and our friend has just accepted the offer to join the NYT SPORTS COPY DESK.

Let that sink in a moment, yo. THE NYT SPORTS COPY DESK. NYT.

I can't tell you how excited and proud I am. This is HUGE, especially since Sammy's a native New Yorker and I now have a second place to stay when out there.

Our baby's all growed up now, (sniff, sniff).

Just drove by Greta's crib to drop something off, and as I was turning into the driveway, I noticed this tube-like construction thingy sticking out of her and her neighbor's shared parkway, along with a box and something else. That disturbs and intrigues me, coming up on strange construction equipment when it's dark out. Don't know why; it's just a thing.

So, did y'all know that li'l ol' Reese spent a goodly portion of her weekend making sure Chez Broad got its long-awaited revamp when she totally didn't have to? Now you do -- and I'm pleased as hell. There may still be a few kinks here and there, but overall, we're big-diggin' it. AND she was able to tolerate my delusionssuggestions even though I'm quite sure I didn't know what I was talking about, and she did it with grace and aplomb. Make sure to tell her how cool she is in the comments.

Onto the Halloween tomfoolery: The good news is, there are some pictures by which to remember the night. The bad new is, they were taken on the new cell phone, for which I have no USB to retrieve them. And I actually wish I could, because the makeup for my costume got better throughout the night the sweatier I got.

and shaven and siky smoove, I'm going to retire to my chambers for a nice long slumber, seeing as we gain an hour (of glorious, GLORIOUS sleep) in these here parts -- but not before posting, at the behest of Kaffy, a shot of my ever-changing hair color.

After the jump, you will see an almost exact replica of what my hair color was from first grade to, oh, I want to say the summer before my freshman year of high school, when I decided putting blonde mousse in my hair would be cool. Don't know exactly HOW cool it was, but it did lighten my hair considerably, as did the awful body wave that did absolutely NOTHING for my look. Yeech. Anyway ...

that on my hot, extra-badass new phone it was absolutely imperative that I download "Fart Symphony" as one of my ringtones?

Indeed, I AM a lemming who had to copy Snidgey and get the black Moto Razr. Have you held it in your hands? Pure cell phone hotness. And the ringtones they have under "Hard Rock?" Sublime. I think, as I redo my phonebook, I'm just going to have to assign various tunes to various people. Haven't worked it all out yet, but they have "Cult of Personality" by Living Colour, one of my all-time favorite bands EVER! And both "N.W.O" and "Just One Fix" by Ministry! And "Fantasy" by Aldo Nova! And "Superbeast" by Rob Zombie! (That would have to be Poppy's song, just because we saw Zombie at the Aragon three years ago, made up like death chicks and stoned out of our fool heads. I lost my fake nose ring that night, too, dammit.) Right now my ringtone is set to "E-Pro" by Beck, but I also have "Bark at the Moon" and "Cat Scratch Fever." And Fart Symphony. (Hint: It's not nearly as funny as I'd hoped.)

Speaking of new things, my new skin should be up any second, so watch for it.

[Tremendous brunettes at the Park West]

For those of you who believe that animals can tell who's cool and who isn't, it seems my boys have picked out my new boyfriend: Snidge's baby bro, who came up with her for the Mike Doughty show this weekend. As it happens usually, Rube is standoffish and glares like an insolent teen at everyone, while the Ween just hides, not to be seen unless running back under the bed after eating or using the can. But with Rlee? Rube was rubbing up against him like they were best pals, while Ween let him touch him. (Ween also nudged Snidge to pet her during the night, but he knows her well enough now.)

It was another stellar visit this weekend. The Snidge family got in about 10-ish Friday night, so what we do? Head to the land of the Hobartians so that Rlee could experience firsthand what Snidge has been telling him about for months. And it didn't fail to disappoint, either, as it never does: The people turning to stare at you as you walk in the bar because you're not indigenous to them thar parts; the near 6-hillbilly brawl out front of Rosie O'Grady's during heavy metal night; the teenagers walking around well after curfew; Benny coming up and calling me his "Irish Rose," also kissing me one too many times. Yep, all there. And he LOVED it. Also, he loved the Vodka and Red Bulls he was tossing back.

After a vile, greasy breakfast at the Flying J in Lake Station, we got back to the crib, where after a mere four hours of rest I was out the door to an early muni meeting. (The message I left on my editor's voicemail: "My mellow has been harshed," followed by something completely unintelligible about that assignment and the second one I was headed to that wouldn't have to be written up for daily unless the retirees started setting the union hall on fire in protest. Luckily, it didn't happen, because I'm getting too old for that shit.) Meanwhile, Snidge and Rlee headed off to Chicago for some tooling around and shopping, so that gave me the perfect opportunity to come home for a four-hour nap. (Don't judge me.) Both showed great restraint with their purchases, except Snidge bought this stuff from Lush that looks like olive drab gelatin, and I was quite disturbed. (Had I known there was going to a trip to Lush, I'd have told her to get me another bar of Buffy the Buttskin Slayer and another Butterball, but that's all right.) I got up, they got back, we all changed clothes and headed back downtown for the show, starting with a lovely dinner at my favorite tapas joint.

If y'all have never been to the Park West for a show, I'd highly recommend it, because it's a great setting, and one that suited my pretend rockstar boyfriend well, because he ROCKED. OUR. SOCKS. (Yes, pheNOMenal, my friend. Thank you for turning Snidgey on to him.) Opened with "Tremendous Brunettes" and stayed tight the whole show. He did this montage of "It's Raining Men" and "Firetruck" that included the riff from "Circles," but he flatly refused to perform it outright, which was cool. It's just too bad that the crowd didn't seem to be into it as much as they should've, because Doughty's got a great stage presence. Stupid trixies. Anyway, one of his encores? Kenny Rogers' "The Gambler."

My little friend Kate has now joined the blogosphere, everyone! She can be fonded here: Lookit

Watch her as she loses her youth and vitality and becomes bitter just like the rest of us! Woooo!

or at least as clean as it's going to be with me doing all the cleaning by myself today for the imminent arrival of der Snidgen. You might recall, this is Bus demolition weekend, so some of the gang be representin' at the Speedway tomorrow night, followed by the afterparty at JB's granparents' cottage in the dunes. Pictures will be forthcoming*.

My little Kate's all grown up.

Congratulations, youse two! Lots of joy and love!

Do you know why? Two words:

COMEDY. CHANNEL.

That is all.

Guess who I'm going to be seeing, if not meeting, on Tuesday?

No, seriously. Take a guess.

(Big hint: He tends to make bizarre analogies as he's giving advice ...)

Indeed, it would be the man himself, Dr. Freakin' PHIL.

Yeah, he's totally doing a mall tour of Chicagoland, and he's coming to our neck of the woods, and the paper wants ME to cover it! How cool is THAT!?! Of course, they also said I couldn't ask him advice on how to deal with Mother, but what other advice would he possibly give me other than shooting her and dumping her cold, dead remains in the Cal Sag*?

See, y'all with your 401Ks and health insurance -- that's fine for you fancy people. I on the other hand, get to meet Dr. Phil. How you like me NOW!?!

Just got off the phone with Tara, who just underwent one of these: Lookit. I guess she had four teeny-weeny little polyps, but none of them were doing anything funny; nevertheless, he took 'em out anyway so they couldn't. Feel free to congratulate her on her nonmalignant colon in the comments.

I'm off to Rensseltucky today to cover the groundbreaking for an ethanol plant, but when I get back, I'll try to sit down and chronicle the latest. Because what good is utter frustration if you can't get everyone else to beat their heads on the desk, too, I always say.

It's his fucking birthday today. Go wish him one.

[Card image from here.]

Then buy me a buttload of Butterball Bath Bombs.

Oh.

My.

GOD.

I spent the day over at Poppy's folks' pool, and I decided to use it to get the chlorine smell off. It is truly the best thing since sliced bread; with my dry skin, I'm now all good-smelling, soft and sikky smoooooooove.

Now, if only a certain someone would get over shit so we could enjoy this ...

how much I love the cable guy? Not only did he give me a new modem so my broadband won't act retarded, but he fixed my Thunderbird so that I can now receive message from both my accounts! Wheeee! Life as we know it is soooooo much easier! (And yes, darling, I know I could make folders in Webmail, but I have a system! A system, I tell you! And it's all fixed! Wheeeee! No more merely longing to hear Homestar Runner deliver my "eee-maaaaaaaaail!")

So tonight, I covered the Gary Centennial kick-off party at the Genesis Center, and you know, I always think that I should probably dress like a grown-up to these things, but I never do and end up feeling like a big schmuck. Tonight's ensemble? My PDP shirt, cropped jeans and Birks. No no, no drooling, por favor. I'm sure you could've handled the hotness. But anyway, nothing like getting called out in front of eleventy billion people by the Mayor of Gary when you look like you've just got done gardening. Hope that doesn't make the cable show. (He was making sure the Post was there.)

he called yesterday around 5:15-ish -- he and the boys were getting ready to open for the Nuge (that's Ted Nugent, for those not in the know), and he just wanted to see what was up and oh, he hadn't seen the article I did on the band and Roger Clyne (which I posted below for y'all), so could I send it to him via e-mail? Why, of COURSE I could, and did. So then he totally invited me and the hotties to the show when they come back 'round these parts in September. Oh, and to keep in touch.

We're going to be GROUPIES, yo! I'm SO Penny Lane for this bitch. Squeeeeeeeee! And I already know which boob shirt you're wearing to the show, Snidgey.

Ahem. Anyway.

I've managed to hold my resolve and not shoot my mouth off back at TOG because honestly, all that will do is piss him off even more. But it's been real. hard. at times.

You know, the lead singer from Shurman. Know why?

The news is in, y'all: Dangdiggity's Pops be IN THE CLEAR! No non-Hodgkins for him! Hi-OOOHHHHH! So go congratulate her. NOW! Not later, like y'all probably did LAST TIME when I told you to go give her happy thoughts. Sheesh.

Btw, when did she and her family get the good news? Dad's birthday, natch.

These two knuckleheads are off at Starbucks getting us fuel for our next excellent adventure: a day of shopping and merriment in Lincoln Park and the Roger Clyne show at HOB which, if it's anything like last night's show, is going to be fucking UNbelievable. Wow. Just ... wow. And shurman!?!? Holy shit. The COOLEST guys you ever want to meet ever. And they ROCK. HARD. And? They totally wanted to come out and party with us AFTER THE SHOW! Too bad we thought milkshakes were a good idea; we had to pull the car over so Snidgey could barf.

More stories (and pictures) later -- just wanted to let y'all know we're not dead.

Awwwww yeah, yo. She arrived late last night, whereby we proceeded to consume beer and pizza, and now she's making herself all pretty for her lunch date while I lament the fact that I? likely won't be drinking tomorrow night at the show because the Great Infection of June 2005 has not let up and instead is dumping great gobs of green down my throat. It's pretty. And yeah, I know I still gotta get y'all up to speed on the DtR meeting. We'll get there, but suffice it to say, I am up some of my money.

Ok, so remember the Here's to Life show back in March? The one where the Fab FoxWad Five was born? Well, we getting it all back on this weekend for a doubleheader. Thursday night, Snidgey arrives, and then Friday, after Snidgey gets worked over by EWK, we'll be joined by this hottie for Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers plus Shurman and BtL at McCool's once again (no whining, you. Then Saturday will be downtown shopping, where we'll be joined by this chick and her man, and then Roger Clyne at the HoB. Sunday? I'll no doubt be in a coma.

Anyone wanna come clean my crib?

After last week's writing onslaught, I took a bit of a break over the weekend, for those of y'all who're wondering. (I'm looking at you). Wasn't intentional necessarily, but it was much needed; in fact, I didn't start getting my bearings back until sometime Saturday. Yeah, I know I'm not doing hard labor, but two giant stories on top of two dailies is a lot of freakin' copy. But the powers that be were happy about the big blog story (featuring our dear friend Ogger, who was gracious enough to be interviewed. I would've asked you, too, but it was already getting unwieldy.) After the jump, you can read it. Keep in mind that 16 inches -- or the equivalent of one decent sized story -- were cut from it.

Just got the comp of my new skin, y'all, and can I just tell you how FUCKING COOL IT IS!?!? I am totally SHVITZING with glee. Too fun.

That is all. For now.

So the cable guy got here at a little after 1-ish, and since a little after 2-ish, I've been zipping along at break-neck, broadband speed. Woo! It's freakin' fantastic! Of course, now I really ought to do the RAM upgrades I've been talking about doing for about six months, now, but Ima need to pay off this installation bill before I think about that. ($159 bones, y'all!) Still, broadband! And I can use Firefox along with my Thunderbird now, so take THAT, you spammers who try to slip code through Web sites! You won't have the Broad to kick around any more!

So yesterday was Mother's 70th birthday, and we went out to Red Lobster and came back here to watch The OC, but not before filling her birthday present with Dad's ashes. Dad's ashes, you say? Why, yes -- I bought her one of these and had his name engraved on it. It was funny, because as we opened the box -- as I think I've mentioned before, Dad hangs out with me on top of the entertainment center, because she just wasn't ready to keep him -- she was kinda perplexed that the ashes aren't black, like we (Catholics) get on Ash Wednesday. (Aww, look, I called myself a Catholic.) And I was like, "Well, on Ash Wednesday, they burn PALMS, not people, so that's the difference." I don't think she quite got it, but that was Ok, because she dug the gift. I may eventually get myself one, too, but I'd get a claddagh.

Speaking of death, Greta's beloved uncle died Thursday of esophageal cancer, and so she, her sister and I were talking about urn necklaces last night. Her sister thought it was an Ok idea, but Greta was a bit squicked out. On one hand, I guess I'm kinda squicked, too; I mean, Mother keeps talking about how she wants to spread some of his ashes on her parents' graves, and I'm all like, "Abolutely NOT. Like, what if you're leaving body parts that he might need in the afterlife?" But, you know, ashes to ashes and so on and so forth, so my objection probably has more to do with being his keeper, because my plan is to eventually go up to the Boundary Waters in Canada and release them there. It's where he wanted to be more than any place in this world.

In the meantime, Christina and I have chosen the artwork for the new skin, and it is de-LICIOUS! She loved it!

Welp, finally made the call to Comcast: as of Friday between 1 and 5, I'll be coming at y'all broadband stylee. Yeah, you're right -- DSL would've been a bit cheaper and would've handled my needs just as easily. Unfortunately, according to the braintrust that is SBC, DSL isn't offered for my number. (Ultimately, that's a happy thing for me since I was trying to put off going back to SBC as long as I possibly could.)

Next up: Vonage for my phone, because my home phoner will port! Woo!

Now that I FINALLY got paid and my bills are (for the most part) caught up, there's going to be some changes here in ol' Chez Broad, the first of which is an MT upgrade that is supposed to keep the spammer dicks from crashing the party. The rest ... well, Christina over at BonaFide and I have been giggling for a couple days now over the possibilities, so you'll just have to wait and see. (As will I, because even though we've been giggling, I told her she has free rein, so I have no idea what she's going to come up with. But gleefully rubbing hands together is always a good sign, in my book.)

Meanwhile, I'm wrestling with great DSL/broadband debate. I know I need to do one of the two, and after talking with EWK, I was all set to hook up to broadband and then do Vonage for my phone. But then Wad and I did our fajita party last night (well actually, it was burritos because apparently, you have to ask for regular fajitas by name at this joint -- and don't even get me started about the MUENSTER cheese (!) topping said burritos, because even though I love me some Muenster cheese, on a freaking burrito!?!), and he said that DSL would work fine for my purposes. So now, I need to figure out what will be cheapest. Sigh.