FLICK: Something completely unexpected happened today.

I saw a trailer for the new Robin Williams movie...and I laughed.

I'm not saying I'm going to see the movie. I'm just saying that I'm definitely not not going to see it.

CHEKIT: 1,667 words a day, for the next 30 days.

That's right, kids. Something had to get this piece of shit rolling and it might as well be the insanity of National Novel Writing Month. In case you haven't heard, NaNoWriMo is a challenge to writers of all stripes and talent levels during the month of November - write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. It's more of an sadomasochistic writing exercise than anything else, and a good way to build a framework for future projects. It's also supposedly fun, though anyone working on this sort of thing will tell you that it's more like walking into the room of infinite monkeys and infinite typewriters of one's mind armed with correction fluid, bananas laced with PCP and a menacing, monomaniacal bellow that sounds more like the coxswain's urging to STROKE, BITCHES more than anything else. I'll be posting excerpts here, and full entries over at A Nightmare of Chickens and the Civil War. And I'd like to apologize in advance for the absolute crap you're about to endure.

CHEKIT: Virtual "L" Navigator

If you know what you're doing, you can pretty much get anywhere you want in Chicago via public transportation. The buses and trains may not always be the most luxurious vehicles in the world, but they are cheap and clean enough ("eco-friendly" and "pro-sustainability," according to L-o'-lantern carver thirdrail). Problem is (and I use the word "problem" in the same way that someone giving you a million dollars in quarters is a "problem") there are so many cool neighborhoods in this city with so many cool places to check out, it's hard to decide where to go, and how to get there.

Enter centerstage.net, and their incredibly handy and intuitive Virtual "L" Navigator. Find a stop on any CTA transit line, and the Navigator will provide a list of bars, restaurants, stores, parks - pretty much anyplace worth checking out - within walking distance. You can also work it the other way, and click on a neighborhood, find a place you wanna be, and the Navigator will tell you which line to take, and where to get off. In a town full of incredibly useful city guides, this is one to bookmark and keep handy.

MUZIK:The PosTunes Project

Okay. Think about this, Dispatches readers:

Hypothetically, let's say you and a bunch of your friends read a blog called, oh, I dunno - Mismatches. And let's say that the guy writing this blog (who is also your friend) made you guys a proposition: each of you would send him a burnt CD (or the downloadable archived equivalent) of some choice music (whether it be an album or a mix of your own) and in return (once he gets, oh, say, 20 responses) he mails back, to everyone involved, a double-data-disc set of all the music he received, along with all the marvelous, nerdy liner notes his marvelous, nerdy friends woulda sent in. Yes, it would take some time, and yes, he'd be out the cash for the postage. But he (and all of the blog's readers) would get to experience all the wonderful, disparate selections sent in. It would be time well spent.

Would that be something you'd be interested in? Hmmm?

POLITIK: 15+ Dem majority in the House? ONLY IF YOU GET OFF YOUR ASSES, BLUE BLAZERS IN RED STATES!

Eyes on the prize, bitches.



No, you're not hallucinating - that map is a lot bluer than it used to be. And according to RT Strategies and Constituent Dynamics (the two firms that make up Majority Watch - ohhhh, polling data HURTS, don't it, red-staters? It BURNS, don't it?) it only looks like it's getting worse for the GOP.



But motherfuckers - and by that, I mean my Blue Blazers, my blue brothers and sistahs - that don't mean SHIT.

Listen up, dammit. I'm talkin' to you, Mr. I Need To Get An Oil Change. I'm poking you in the chest, Mr. I've Got A Regular Basketball Game. I don't care if the incumbent in your district is gonna win by 28 points - and I definitely don't care if all you've heard is how the Democrats are gonna make the Republicans their butt boys this fall.

VOTE, MOTHERFUCKER!
PLAN TO GET YOURSELF TO YOUR POLLING PLACE ON ELECTION DAY AND DO IT TO IT, OR I WILL CRAM A DIEBOLD MACHINE SO FAR UP YOUR ASS YOU'RE GONNA BE SPITTING PAPER RECEIPTS.

Do you UNDERSTAND how crazy those right-wing get-out-the-vote organizers are? I'm talking about thousands of mysterious black vans patrolling GOP strongholds across the country, pumping out radio signals that control tiny neural microchips implanted in conservative base member's brain stems - and suddenly, millions of disaffected (but registered) Republicans who were planning to sit this one out are stomping, zombie-like, into their local precincts. Don't tell me I'm crazy. DON'T TELL ME CRAZY SHIT LIKE THAT DOESN'T HAPPEN HERE IN AMERICA. A steroid-injecting, womanizing, Austrian who used to get paid for wearing a furry codpiece is the Govenor of California. The second-most powerful man in the country has the nickname "Turd Blossom," bestowed upon him by THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES.

Go to Jiffy Lube TOMORROW. Your regular game - schedule it for that Wednesday. Get your hair cut later. Wake up early the day of. Treat yourself to a doughnut. AND PUNCH THOSE HOLES - TOGGLE THEM LEVERS - PRESS THOSE TOUCH SCREENS. Because, goddamnit, if we fuck up this momentum, if we manage to squander the biggest blue push since the New Deal, I will personally find every single one of you lazy motherfuckers that "forgot" or "didn't have time" to vote and beat you with a desk calendar to within an inch of your life. And then I will go to my Republican neighbor's house, grab her 10-year-old-son's shotgun, and shoot you dead.

See you at the polls, bitches. GO BLUE!

TV: Avatar: The Last Airbender

I've got a thing for children's TV. Teen Titans, Fairly OddParents, Kim Possible, Arthur, Blue's Clues - along with all the supposedly more sophisticated fare on the Cartoon Network's Adult Swim. I don't know if my tastes are getting broader, or more shallow, or if the quality of the writing on these shows is increasing, or what - but I do enjoy them. For the most part, they're the programming equivalent of a Wendy's Frosty - not something you'd make plans or go out of your way to consume, but if you're passing by, you might take in a little and enjoy with no significant investment of time or energy.

For the most part.

Except for one.

I don't know how to describe Avatar: The Last Airbender to you in a way that doesn't sound completely insane or silly. But if you like martial arts films in the mold of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Hero, have some familiarity with feudal Japan and the conventions of modern anime, enjoy season-long arcs of character development and the upper-octave-piano-keyed delight of awkward, adolescent longing, then this may be a half-hour worth watching. Set your TiVos and VCRs. And be surprised by what Nickelodeon is passing for kids' fare these days - you may find a slightly less racy, but no less satisfying analog to Buffy the Vampire Slayer following a helium-addled sponge.

MUZIK: I'd give it a month, actually.

WARNING: The following post about Justin Timberlake was written in earnest.

It's true. The new Justin Timberlake album has at least one song that, thanks to the evil machinations of beat-pimp Timbaland, will bore a hole clean into your brain through the thought centers responsible for self-consciousness and hipsterism, and drive a rhythm right across your synapses. We're talking pop music that infiltrates the nervous system at a cellular level, people.

I know. It's crazy talk. But you CAN'T FIGHT IT. I've given up the fight myself. Besides - the lady at the beginning of this video makes me feel kinda funny. Cellular level, indeed. Mmmmmm Hmmmmmmm.

HOUSEKEEPING: Dispatches Returns October 16th

Dispatches and Lava Lamps & Cheap Beer returns to keep you toasty warm through the long cold winter. It's like a pair of knit wool socks for your heart and your brain. If your heart and brain had feet.

We're back on October 16th. See you soon.

LL&CB: I, we, will.

In an alternate universe, she’s living a hand-to-mouth, video-store clerk existence as the fiddler and backup singer in The Most and The Least, an alt.country band pounding out rockabilly, bluegrass and western swing retreads of ABBA and Barry Manilow songs. In that universe, after missing weekend gig after weekend gig at Monsieur Cracklins, the rundown neighborhood honky tonk, her neighbor Todd Newison finally makes it one Saturday night, and calls his friends who show up and sing along during the loud numbers and sway during the ballads.

MUZIK: Taylor's the short money. And the safe bet.

I'm not an American Idol fan. The few tastes I deigned to consume during the first few seasons were reminiscent of Mariah Carey's ass-funk, which is why I've stayed away from it. But, according to Jody Rosen over at Slate, there are more than a few reasons to tune in to the Fox juggernaut nowadays - and the music of past Idol winners and also-rans ain't so terrible, either:

Consider the track record. Carrie Underwood (the 2005 idol), Fantasia Barrino (2004), and Kelly Clarkson (2002) have all recorded solid-to-excellent albums, none of which sound remotely amateurish or karaokelike. (Only Studdard, the 2003 champ, released a dud.) More surprising are the toughness and eccentricity of those records. Underwood's chart-topping country single "Jesus, Take the Wheel" is a ballad about a young mother's spiritual crisis and near-fatal car accident, and Fantasia's hit "Baby Mama," is an even grittier depiction of single motherhood. Clarkson won Idol on the strength of her feathery Mariah Carey-style melisma, but she has since moved out of what Abdul would call her "comfort zone." Her 2005 smash, "Since U Been Gone," which placed third in last year's Village Voice's Pop & Jazz's critic's poll, was an angsty breakup ballad with an irresistible hook and a galloping hard-rock chorus. All the qualities supposedly drowned in the ooze of Idol's "aesthetic of kitsch optimism"—regional peculiarity, lyrical realism, the jolt of a well-struck power chord—are present in these singers' big hits. Fantasia's Free Yourself even includes three collaborations with Missy Elliott, arguably the current pop star most committed to enlivening hit radio with sonic surprise and general freakishness. Idol has not only produced successful recording artists, it's produced interesting ones.

And for those of you interested purely for sporting reasons - Bodog.com has Katharine McPhee running as an 8/5 underdog in tomorrow's final; even the internet bookies are putting their money behind Crazy Legs Hicks.

CHEKIT: Lordy, lordy, Lordi loo.

An email, from friend and frustrated Dispatches reader Jenny R:

Ok, so it's summer and I work in academia and that means I'm bored. So I check your blog. And I check your blog. And then I check your blog. What the f? Update your blog!

That is all.

I'm sorry I've been so busy, Jenny, but hopefully this will make up for it:

Believe it or not, Europe voted for its favorite song of the year - and these guys won. And while I know they look like Gwar with better production values, trust me - they RAWK (though this interview indicates that their front man is nothing but well-mannered and polite.)

By the way, WTMX asked me back to this show tonight. I'm flattered and depressed about it. Tune in at 8 CST if you want a good laugh.

CHOW: Hungry Mag

A few months ago, I was thinking - Why not put together a team-managed blog encompassing restaurant reviews as well as product profiles and short essays about interesting food experiences for the hardcore chowhound, all of it wittily and snarkily written?

Apparently, I wasn't the only one.

They've got that shit DOWN, yo. Check the noise from their introduction -

We are an online magazine covering all things tasty. We are not foodies. At least not in the elitist sense. We know the house salad at Olive Garden is just prepackaged circles of red onion, bits of frozen iceberg lettuce spit out from a commercial food shredder, tasteless black olives from a petri dish that have never even seen an olive branch, big fat garlicky salty croutons from the box, pepperoncinis cross bred to remove any sense of real spiciness so as not to offend “families”, all tossed with a sweet italian vinaigrette, and if you are lucky, the hapless waiter or waitress will offer a fresh crack of pepper from the spicemill.

That being said, here is our dirty secret: We love the house salad at Olive Garden!

Something about throwing all these commercialized and overfarmed ingredients together yields something tasty, something we think about occasionally when we haven’t been near an Olive Garden in years.

On the other hand, we do shop regularly at farmer's markets. We have spent hundreds of dollars on artisanal balsamic vinaigrette. We have been to the French Laundry, in fact, we once scheduled a whole vacation around reservations to the hallowed restaurant.

Yet, we know that people have guilty pleasures like the Olive Garden salad, or God forbid, the Big Mac. We do not hate those people, and in fact we are, at times, those people.

We don’t expect to have regular Coke tastings, or Olive Garden reviews, but there will be room for some fun. If it’s bad, it’s bad, and if someone genuinely likes it or thinks there may be merit, lets talk about it, not write it off due to snobbery and politics.

Above all though, we do intend to tell stories of the corner taquerias, rib shacks, and exceptional neighborhood joints. We will ignore celebrity for celebrity’s sake, dig deep into the history of food, look for artisanal, or frankly, folksy backwoods producers of the finest ingredients. We will look at all kinds of ethnic cuisine or even the best ways to prepare roadkill. We hope to do this with a smart, focused, and occasionally irreverent voice.

Much love to Secret Squirrel for the tip.

CHEKIT: Perplex City

From the BoingBoing post:

...the gist of Perplex City is that you buy packs of six cards for $5 a pack and enter a world of puzzle solving, interactive fiction, and real-world/fantasy crossover. (The makers of the game are happy to admit the inspiration came from Kit Williams' 1979 treasure hunt book, Masquerade, which provided clues to help readers locate a valuable "golden hare" hidden in the real world. The current edition of Masquerade includes the solution to the puzzle.)

Each Perplex City card has a puzzle on the front. Sometimes the puzzle will lead you to a faux corporate website or blog with additional hints. By entering your answer on the Perplexity website, you get points and can compare your ranking with other players.

Some of the cards have delightful gimmicks, like heat sensitive or ultraviolet inks that contain hidden clues. In addition to the obvious puzzle (I think there are 260 cards in the entire series, half of which have been released), each card contains elements of meta-puzzles of varying complexity.

Apparently, the makers of Perplex City have determined that I don’t NEED any spare time in my life. So if you see me, say, sometime in November, bleary-eyed, mumbling something about $200k and a cube that needs finding, you know why.

CHOW: I LOVE cilantro. Lots of other folks don't.

Cilantro is my second-favorite herb, after basil. I’d use it in everything if it was appropriate and if most of my friends didn’t hate it so much - it's a hatred so deep, they've refused to eat food cooked near anything that has cilantro in it. I thought they were just being jerks, but apparently they’re not alone.

CHEKIT: The Google Maps Guide to Ghostbusters

The flowers are still standing!

If you’re a fan of ectoplasm, total protonic reversals, 600-pound Twinkies and real smoked salmon from Nova Scotia, Canada, then this Google Maps mash-up is for you. (Much love to Scavedot - VEGAS, BABY!)

MUZIK: Tax Day Playlist

If you're still feeling the sting from getting a smaller-than-expected refund, or if (horror) you had to actually pony up some cash, check out CMJ's Tax Day playlist, which, I expect, could also be titled "CMJ's I Wanna Kick Something" playlist, or "CMJ's Get The Fuck Outta My Way" playlist. I mean, songs from Black Flag and Minor Threat, along with Circle Jerks' "World Up My Ass" aren't exactly bunny-and-ducky fare. Enjoy.

MUZIK: Spring Mix 2006

So...I know I said this would be ready in March, but...you guys don't mind waiting, right?

I'm just about done. The following is a nearly-complete list of artists featured.

SPRING MIX 2006
featuring:

Alison Krauss via Dolly Parton
Appleseed Cast
Belle and Sebastian
Ben Folds
Bettye Swann
Billy Bragg & Wilco
Blossom Dearie
Blue States
Brendan Benson
Bright Eyes
Byron Lee and the Dragonnaires
Camera Obscura
Cat Power
CCC
Charles Wright & The 103rd St. Watts Rhythm Band
Crosstide
David Holmes
The Detroit Cobras
Devics
Dick Brave & The Backbeats via Run DMC
dj BC and The Beastles
DJ Dangermouse & Zero 7 Featuring Doom
Dokaka
The Dresden Dolls
Eef Barzelay
Elvis Costello & The Metropole Orkest
Elvis Presley
Esthero
The Faces
Feist
George Jones
Gnarls Barkley
Hall & Oates
Inara George
Inger Marie Gunderson via Everly Brothers
The Jackson Five
Jamie Lidell
Jay Dee aka J Dilla
Jean Grae
Johnny Cash
Jose Gonzales
Kings Of Leon
The Knife
Laura Veirs
LCD Soundsystem
Linda Lyndell
Lisa Loeb
The Long Winters
Louis Jordan & His Tympany Five
Lynden David Hall via The Beatles
Lyrics Born
Mia Doi Todd
Michael Penn
Midlake
Minus Five
Mos Def
Nina Simone via The Beatles
Over The Rhine
P.O.S.
Paul McCartney/Michael Jackson
Peggy Lee
Phil
Princess Superstar
The Raconteurs
Regina Spektor
Rogue Wave
The Rosebuds
Sam Roberts
Shelby Lynne
Shelley Short
Shuggie Otis
Sing-Sing
Stars via Smiths
Suzanne Vega
Swollen Members
Tapes 'n Tapes
Tears for Fears
They Might Be Giants
Thievery Corporation (feat. Gigi Rezende)
Thompson Twins
Torero
Wolfmother
Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Yes
The Zombies

Much love to Sara Z (Brooklyn, bitches) and Jenny R and all the MP3 blogs that made this possible.

If you want some of this goodness, well - you know how to get a hold of me.

MUZIK: Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Blogging about the Yeah Yeah Yeahs at this point is, I realize, a little like writing a cooking column about SPAM in the 1940s. "I've discovered this tasty new spiced ham product that would delight you and your family in casseroles or as a main dish!" the column would say. "Dinner won't ever be the same after you've tried SPAM!" Meanwhile, every pantry in America is already stocked with cans of the stuff, ready to be served to kids already so sick of salty, gelatinous potted meat that they're eating their victory garden carrots first and hiding their meat-pucks in the dog's food bowl.

Actually - the metaphor doesn't hold - Not NEARLY enough Americans are digging the lunatic stylings of Karen O and the boys. And with oufits like these, I don't think YYY retreads are going to be making it to the muzak playlists of your local megachurch's foyer. Regardless - check out the new album. And in this Pitchfork interview, learn that it takes influences like Michael Jackson AND Sam Cooke AND Freddie Mercury to make one of the most interesting lead singers in rock today.

MUZIK: Gnarls Barkley

The upcoming Gnarls Barkley album, like everything else hyped to within an inch of its life, probably won't be as good as everyone says it will be. But you wouldn't know it listening to some of the tracks already making their way about the web, including "Crazy," which went #1 on the UK charts based on download sales alone. Every other music blog I hit seems to mention them at least once a week - and with good reason - web-released tracks "Just a Thought" and "Crazy" will ride a Tilt-A-Whirl inside your head until you manage to slip your synaptic carnies some malt liquor. Fans of DJ Dangermouse (of various collaborations, and, most famously, The Grey Album) and Cee-Lo (of Goodie Mob fame) should just about crap their pants if the album is half as good as the early singles. And if the quality of the first video from a new group correlates to the level of fame and awesomeness to follow, well - it's gonna get a little ridiculous real fast.

MUZIK: Cinnamon Girl

Today's post begins an all-MUZIK week here at Dispatches. Headphones and head-nods and surreptitious lip-syncing on the bus not included.

Enjoy.

Scott over at the 'Gum has 11 (ELEVEN) covers of Neil Young's "Cinnamon Girl," from Radiohead, Matthew Sweet and Hole, among others - which is, by my lights. six more than absolutely necessary. But you can decide for yourself.

CHOW [and BOOZE]: The Bourbon Sidecar.

Sorry I've been away. It's been a crazy couple of weeks.

To make up for it - here's a cow in a racing helmet in on a motorcycle.

From Eric Asimov's new blog in the NYT:

I hate to pigeonhole myself, but when it comes to cocktails I love the classics. I want a martini made with gin, not vodka. The same goes for a gimlet. In fact, I don’t really care for vodka at all, unless it’s straight, iced down and served with caviar, or Peking duck. (That’s flexibility, no?)

I prefer a Manhattan made with rye rather than bourbon, just as the original recipe calls for rye. Rye has a racy, dancing quality in the mouth, like Sichuan peppercorns, while I find that Bourbon tends to be a little sweet and flat, and mixes best with ice cubes.

I’m not doctrinaire or snobbish about these things. Years of experimentation simply confirm the wisdom of the originals, despite the well-intentioned creativity that leads to the lesser variations. And I’m not the contrary sort either, although certain members of my family might disagree with that assertion.

And here’s proof: the bourbon sidecar.

Being a cognac/Cointreau/lemon juice man myself, I've never used bourbon in a sidecar, much as I've never used the word doctrinaire in a sentence until just now - neither would have occured to me. But it's looks like it's something worth trying.

CHEKIT: LEGO Worldbuilder 2

Last week I was at work late because we were on deadline. This week I was at work late because I want to trap and kill some lions with my Freezebot. Trust me - you'll understand.

CHEKIT: Jenny makes the case for Bloomington, Indiana.

This is called nature and most New Yorkers only see it if they schlep up to Central Park [or Prospect Park, which we all know is the better of the two].

Jenny (in addition to being cool and cute and (sigh) married) can smack verbs and nouns around sumthin' fierce. Check out her newest published stylings here - though I will say I doubt there's a decent bagel to be found in the whole of the state of Indiana.

POLITIK: The Hammer resigns

From the NYT:

In an interview Monday night, Richard Cullen, Mr. DeLay's principal criminal defense lawyer, said that his client had been pondering a withdrawal from the race for some time and that "it had nothing to do with any criminal investigation."

"The decision had absolutely nothing to do with the investigation," Mr. Cullen said. "It was a very personal decision and a political one."

Yes. Very personal. In the way rinsing half-eaten mashed potatoes off a food tray in a federal prison cafeteria kitchen feels very personal.

CHEKIT: Bow before George Saunders. Kneel before George Saunders.

From The New Yorker:

...I used to love music, back when it had melody and chords and lyrics. But now it has no melody and no chords, just thwack-thwacking, and they even seem to be cutting back on the thwack-thwacking, so now it’s sometimes just thwa, and, as far as lyrics, do you consider these lyrics?

Hump my hump,
My stumpy lumpy hump!
Hump my dump, you lumpy slumpy dump!
I’ll dump your hump,
and then just hump your dump,
You lumpy frumply clump.

I’m sorry. To me? Those are not lyrics. In my day, lyrics were used to express real emotion, like the emotion of being totally stoned and trying to talk this totally stoned chick into sleeping with you in the name of love, which lasted forever, if only you held on to your dreams.

George Saunders isn't just a pimp. He is a platform-shoed, befeathered-hat-wearing hermit living atop a mountain that pimps climb and ask of him how they, too, can achieve perfect pimpitude.

He's got a new book coming out. And in case you haven't already, read this one and this one, too.

CHEKIT: Iraq War Coalition Fatalities

Press the button.

I'd go on and on and on as to how cool this is, BoingBoing, if it wasn't so sad and moving and disturbing.

HOUSEKEEPING: Apologies and peppercorns

I promise - more posts after the weekend. Until then:

Get yourself some Spice House action. The UPS guy just delivered some rib rubs, jerk seasonings, barbecue sauce makings and TELLICHERRY PEPPERCORNS, yo. I'm a happy man.

CHEKIT: Conan O'Brien is coming to Chicago

Please, please, PLEASE let Triumph come along. PLEASE, GOD.

CHEKIT: Happy St. Patrick's Day, ya poser.

Anyone can turn the lights down, install a lot of dark wood booths and benches and brass accents in a room and call themselves an Irish pub, but it takes the efforts of the Irish Pub Company to turn the art of faux O'Boozery into an profitable, worldwide enterprise:

In the last 15 years, Dublin-based IPCo and its competitors have fabricated and installed more than 1,800 watering holes in more than 50 countries. Guinness threw its weight (and that of its global parent Diageo) behind the movement, and an industry was built around the reproduction of "Irishness" on every continent—and even in Ireland itself. IPCo has built 40 ersatz pubs on the Emerald Isle, opening them beside the long-standing establishments on which they were based.

IPCo's designers claim to have "developed ways of re-creating Irish pubs which would be successful, culturally and commercially, anywhere in the world." To wit, they offer five basic styles: The "Country Cottage," with its timber beams and stone floors, is supposed to resemble a rural house that gradually became a commercial establishment. The "Gaelic" design features rough-hewn doors and murals based on Irish folklore. You might, instead, choose the "Traditional Pub Shop," which includes a fake store (like an apothecary), or the "Brewery" style, which includes empty casks and other brewery detritus, or "Victorian Dublin," an upscale stained-glass joint. IPCo will assemble your chosen pub in Ireland. Then they'll bring the whole thing to your space and set it up. All you have to do is some basic prep, and voilà! Ireland arrives in Dubai. (IPCo has built several pubs and a mock village there.)

Erin go Bragh! (which is Gaelic for "gratuity included.")

CHEKIT: Doctor Who on Sci-Fi.

I want to make it clear to you, gentle reader, that I am in no way excited about the US premiere of Doctor Who this Friday at 8 PM CST on the SciFi network, that I have not been anticipating the stateside release of the first new episodes in fifteen years in any way, and that I will not be programming my TiVo to record all the new episodes of Doctor Who or any old ones that SciFi, BBCAmerica or PBS sees fit to release in conjunction with this, the least-looked-forward-to debut of any show this year. Just in case you were wondering.

MUZIK: Belle and Sebastian, New Pornographers AND Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! Live, downloadable and free.

JACKPOT.

Live sets from three of the best bands in the indieverse today, all from the grand arbiter of tunedom, All Songs Considered. Streaming or downloadable, bitches. Go get it.

CHEKIT: March Madness.

Your comments, suggestions and ridicule are welcome.

And YES, I did pick Winthrop. So did a bunch of other folks. Leave me alone.

MUZIK: Dave Chapelle's Block Party

Big booty people gotta share with a small booty.

The trailer promises. Dave Chapelle delivers.

I loves me some Mos Def. Some Kanye. Some FUGEES, for goodness sakes. And if you were in the Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood in Brooklyn that glorious day two summers ago (when Dave was at the height of his powers, before he went AWOL from Comedy Central) you would've been lovin' it, too. Go see what all the hubbub's about - and enjoy one of sweetest, funkiest, funniest and most joyous movies I've seen in the last year. If the theater weren't half-filled by grumpy white folks, I would've been workin' it in the aisle.

MUZIK: M is for MUZIK

The spring mix is in the works. Email me to suggest songs or request a copy.

CHEKIT: The Crappiest Invention of All Time

Nick Schulz over at Slate has some issues with that creepy bathoom convenience, the auto-flush toilet:

To understand why hands-free toilet technology stinks, you must first understand three things that any well-designed loo should permit you to do.

1) Clean the pool. You must be able to flush the toilet easily before sitting down, in case any detritus remains from a previous, inconsiderate visitor.

2) Clean the pool, again. You must be able to flush more than once after you are done. Some of us are more prolific than others, and courteous patrons will want to ensure that Point 1 is unnecessary for whomever follows.

3) Issue a courtesy flush. If you plan to settle down with the sports page, you should flush immediately after dropping the kids at the pool. There's no need to let the kids linger any longer than absolutely necessary. This is for the benefit of other visitors.

Remarkably, the automatic-flush toilet makes all three of these tasks more difficult. Consider the following scenario: You enter a nearly full house, and only one stall is free. This is probably because those who got to the restroom first saw the remains of someone else's visit and moved on to one of the cleaner stalls. (See Point 1 above.) What are you to do? The only way to clean the pool is to sit down and let the latrine laser register your presence. Then you must get up and hope you sat on top of the foul commode long enough to "tell" the laser to issue a flush command. Meanwhile, the other patrons are probably aware that you are going through this humiliating exercise, as they saw the stall's condition before you arrived.

I, too, have experienced the dreaded "ghost flush" in which an auto-flush toilet initiates the flushing process while you're still in situ, spraying toilet water up onto your bum. If this were a bidet, that would be one thing, but it's most likely an airport toilet, where God-knows-what - including what you've just contributed - is being splashed up onto you.

MUZIK: Natalie Portman, the Lonely Island boys, and SNL

I've always liked that Natalie Portman gal. Such a sweetheart.

CHEKIT: H5N1 be DAMNED. I want some eggs, yo.

I've toyed with the notion of raising a couple of chickens for a few years now - ultra-fresh eggs taste like a soft-boiled miracle - but I never really gave it any serious thought. (Okay - I did call city hall to see what sorta restrictions there were on keeping farm animals - to their credit, they didn't laugh at me on the phone - at least, not at a volume that I could hear.)

And then, I got this email yesterday:

Hello!

A while ago you contacted us to find out if the eglu was available in the States. Well, we’re just writing to let you know we’ve made it! You can now order an eglu and in recognition of your enthusiasm and pioneering spirit, we are offering you an exclusive opportunity to be one of the first eglu owners in America!

We have developed a brand new website just for you where you can find out more. If you visit www.omlet.us you’ll find all you need to know about the eglu, how to order and of course the useful guides on keeping chickens and rabbits.

Omlet is offering a full service in America – you deserve nothing less! As well as the full range of eglus, in all colours, you can also order fully grown chickens to be sent directly to you. Visit the website and have a look at the beautiful Gingernut Ranger, who is an excellent egg layer.

If you have any questions then we are here to help, you can call us Toll Free on 1-86-OMLET-USA or email info@omlet.us. Our telephone lines are answered between 8am and 6pm CST with an answerphone at all other times.

We really hope you enjoy the website,

Yours,

James, Simon, Will and Johannes

PS. If you order an eglu right away, you’ll benefit from a special introductory price.
PPS. There is a full 30 day moneyback guarantee on the eglu so you have a no risk way of finding out if the eglu is right for you.

Dudes. I think there's a chance of some really asskicking frittatas in my future. Though I have to question the wisdom of the 30 day guarantee. How does one return a chicken via UPS, exactly?

FILM: Nacho Libre

The quiet little mice over at AICN had this a month ago - but we're all following Harry on this kind of stuff, ain't we?

Hey folks, Harry here... Many of you are addicted to pootykat fracking lame American Wrestling... but the FACTS are, that's exactly what it is... pootykat fracking lame American Wrestling! Real men wear Mexican Masks and Wrestle for God! That's right... Real Wrestling Heroes Pile Drive for the Lord! And there's no more real a Mexican Wrestler than JACK BLACK as NACHO LIBRE! You know it, I know it... and God sure as blazes knows it! First... Behold the Masked Mexican Marvel!

To be fair, I Googled the movie after reading about it on Kotaku, so I gotta credit them both - but I'm realizing that, after posting an excerpt of an internet movie news site item that I read about on a video gaming blog to my own collection of links and web-heavy snarky commentary, maybe I should stop with the posting and the linking and maybe find out what it's like to kiss a girl.

Of course, not all of us can be like Kip, chatting online with babes all day.

That is Pedro, by the way, in the bottom photo, standing next to Jack Black. Nacho Libre is Jared Hess' follow-up project to his 2004 feature about Sir Godfrey of the Nessie Alliance, who summoned the help of Scotland's local wizards to cast a protective spell over the lake and its local residents and all those who seek for the peaceful existence of our underwater ally.

Many thanks to PBP and Kingmaker, who, upon hearing I'd never seen the first film, plopped me in front of their TV and Pay-Per-View'd me into cringeworthy, large-taloned bliss.

CHEKIT: Anna Nicole + Antonin

I wanna root (hee hee) for Anna Nicole Smith. For her and her and her ridiculous jibblies. Even though I know she'd spend the whole wad on bonbons and pink velour track suits. And her dead husband's son? Who WOULDN'T root against that tightass? I mean, Anna Nicole may be a golddigger, but at least she never tried to forge three pages out of her father's will.

The problem is: a certain former Texas govenor is also arguing for the former Vickie Lynn:

Speaking of wealthy Texas oilmen whose lawyers can justify just about anything, the president has joined this appeal on Anna's side. Assistant to the Solicitor General Deanne Maynard has 10 minutes to argue (not surprisingly) for giving more expansive jurisdiction to federal courts. The justices question her very little as she argues that the reason people create trusts—as opposed to wills—is precisely that they want to avoid probate. So, why is this a probate matter at all?

It's not that I'm reflexively opposed to anything il Bushe has to say. It just gives me the creepy crawlies when he and I want the same thing - though I'm convinced his position is less about expanding the power of the Federal courts and more about having an excuse to giggle when discussing filing amicus curiae briefs. ("hee hee! I'd like to be a friend of her court! Ha! Briefs! Hopefully mine! Wooo! She's a Texas girl, right, Dick? She knows how to party!")

Sex, money, and distinguished legal commentators making veiled comments about enormous boobies. I love SCOTUS!

CHEKIT: America's Best Restroom

If you're anything like this guy, or just generally squeamish about using public restrooms, the folks over at Cintas have five places for you to do your business in:

–– All Season Bistro, Lansing, MI
–– Borgata Hotel Casino and Spa, Atlantic City, NJ
–– Hemenways, Providence, RI
–– Quad City International Airport, Moline, IL
–– Wendell's Restaurant

As ridiculous awards go, this is one contest I can actually get behind. Because I ain't going back to any restaurant with a nasty loo no matter how good the chow is.

Well - maybe this place.

FILM: OscarPool Reminder

Don't forget to send in your OscarPool 2006 picks! The big shindig is this Sunday - so fill out those ballots, yo!

CHOW: Sunday Dinner Club

I love Chicago.

This is what I had to eat last night:

Sunday Dinner Club

Sun. Feb 26th and Thurs. March 2^nd, 2006

A Tribute to Pork

First

House-made Sausage

Pork Dumpling

Second

Grilled Loin with Cavolo Nero, and Cherry Gastrique

Third

Mixed Greens with Pancetta, Quail Egg and Croutons

Main

Braised Shoulder with White Corn Polenta, Roasted Beets, Salsify, Crispy Skins and Caramelized Onions

Dessert

Bacon Wrapped Mascarpone-filled Dates with Sherry Reduction

Christine, Jason and Josh cooked for PBP, Kingmaker, me and 11 other lucky bastards. Everyone, from the folks in the kitchen to our fellow foodie-minded dinner guests, were charming and cool. I wish, I WISH I could tell you where we ate. I wish I could send you into their kitchen.

But I can't.

Many, many props to Madman, MixMaster K and Miz Eng for the heads up.

---------------------

Date: Friday, January 6, 2006
Edition: Chicago Final
Section: Tempo
Source: By Monica Eng, Tribune staff reporter


PSSSSSST!

Hey, buddy, care for some ...

BRUSSELS SPROUT LEAVES?

Underground dining surfaces in Chicago

This summer I sneaked around New York eating scrumptious meals in secret, unlicensed restaurants. I finished my report with a wistful lament about the lack of such cool places in Chicago.

The lament was genuine but also almost a dare for underground chefs to come out of the woodwork.

It worked.

Within a few weeks, I was contacted about something called the Sunday Dinner Club. It's like a tiny private restaurant open twice a month in a toasty Wicker Park apartment, where three cooking school graduates serve up delightful meals along with a large helping of bonhomie.

The bad news: I can't tell you where it is and how to get reservations. That's all a secret. Like the places I wrote about in NYC, this restaurant operates through personal referrals only. Also, even though the payments for the meals are called "donations," the place is not a licensed restaurant.

And such under-the-radar ventures tend to make Chicago officials antsy, even if it's not entirely clear which officials should be feeling the ants.

"If they are operating illegally, then we would want to look into it as soon as possible and take any and all appropriate action," says Tim Hadac at the Chicago Department of Public Health. "But in terms of whether or not they are operating as a business, the final arbiter would be the Department of Revenue."

So I called the Department of Revenue to get the final word, and its representative told me that it would actually be matter for the Department of Business Affairs and Licensing.

So I called Rosa Escareno at the Department of Business Affairs and Licensing and she told me: "The term 'donation' is vague. But any time there is money changing hands then it could be considered a retail food establishment and it would need a license. But in terms of the rules on where they could prepare the foods, that would be the Department of Public Health."

So to avoid being busted by any of those departments, the trio of chefs has asked for their last names and specifics on their day jobs at -- let's just say--"fancy" Chicago restaurants to be withheld.

On the licensing matter, one of the chefs whose first name is Christine responds, "We consider ourselves more of a supper club than underground restaurant. Admission is based on friends, family and referrals only. We are not open to the public at large. Any suggested monetary contributions made by our guests are to cover the cost of food."

Christine and the other two chefs -- Josh and Jason -- are complete foodies.

So when they read another piece about underground restaurants early last year they thought, "Wow, why don't we do this too?" Christine remembered.

Soon after, they wrote to tell me about this ambitious twice-monthly venture that had them serving sumptuous five-course meals in their home for a donation of around $45 a person.

After reading the tempting menus they sent me from previous dinners, I signed up for the next possible spot. The week of the dinner, I got an e-mail with the address of the house hosting the dinner. And on the appointed night, my mom and I navigated Wicker Park's one way streets to finally locate the vintage brick two-flat where through the partially steamed-up living room window we could see a friendly group of folks settling in at a long wooden table.

When we entered, the chefs greeted us, took our coats and seated us at the beautifully set table for 10. Lovely smells wafted out of the kitchen as we met our fellow diners, uncorked our wine and munched on Red Hen bakery bread with sweet butter.

Some were proud parents of the young chefs, some were acquaintances and some were friends of friends who'd recently learned of this little dining gem.

As we worked through the courses from bread and amuse bouche to cheese course and dessert, we chatted, sampled one another's wine and got frequent visits from the chefs who were happy to explain the intricacies of their creations. Still, we wondered why hard-working chefs would go through all this bother on their days off, for -- given the quality of the produce -- a pretty slim profit margin.

In the months after writing my story, I learned that profit is not the big motivating factor for these kinds of informal eateries that have been around for many years in various temporary forms. That's because the aim is usually to use the place as a test bed for new concepts, to gain a group of fans and perhaps find bankrollers for a new project among those enthusiasts.

Christine admits she and her compatriots would like to open their own place one day, but for now, she says, it's mostly about having nice people over for dinner and stretching their creative culinary wings.

"I just love having people over at my house and being able to provide amazing food for them," she says. "We make a little money, but it is more about education and showing people what can be done with wonderful seasonal produce or this terrific lamb we found that day. In our day jobs, we are sometimes limited, but this opens up the possibility of doing 99 different types of cuisine, French one week or Thai, Mexican or Italian the next if we want to."

Only friends of those who have already partaken can be referred and invited to the dinners. But the trio can be hired to cater meals in customers' homes by e-mailing them at: info@sundaydinnerchicago.com.

Because of their informal nature, these kinds of restaurants are notoriously ephemeral. Due to lost leases and creative differences, both of the places I ate at in New York vanished within months only to resurface somewhere else. So, if you do manage to get on the Dinner Club list, you'd be wise to try it right away. Because you never know when these dinner parties are going to be over.

I didn't think they could outdo their previous dinner, which was a was so full of interesting textures and clean interpretations of pre- and post-colonial Mexican cuisine that it made you wanna smack your mama.

But they did.

I'm going again on Thursday.

My heart hurts. But it's a good ache.

CHEKIT: Don Knotts dies

R.I.P., Barney Fife. Whether you were gettin' down with the ladies, shootin' yourself in the foot, or playing a fish, I always thought you were a bit of a pimp. A nervous, gangly, bug-eyed pimp, but a pimp nonetheless.

LL&CB: Dispatch from Indiana, pt. 2

These cows, by the way, are Vic’s – a man so tough, he fell off the roof of his barn and drove to the neighbors to raise help with two broken arms. Kinda casts my complaining about being out of Band-Aids yesterday into sharp relief.

MUZIK: Sufjan, Matthew Sweet (MATTHEW SWEET!), Susanna Hoffs, and all the gravy and mashed potatoes in the world.

God bless that bastard Stereogum. Not only is there a cool post about a Spin interview with indie-rock pimp Sufjan -

SUFJAN STEVENS: I don't have the inclination to discover new music. Honestly, I don't really care.

- but later on, Sufjan goes on to talk about one of his favorite albums (a bewildering, but totally awesome choice) -

SUFJAN STEVENS: The Bangles' Everything. This is the first tape I ever bought with my own money. They wrote great songs, were talented performers, and they were supermodels. I know they were ripping off early girl-punk bands from the '70s, but there was something about the way they did it. It was so streamlined and well crafted. This is the one indulgence from the Top 40 that I still like.

And then Stereogum really drops the hammer: Matthew Sweet and Susanna Hoffs are putting out an album of sixties covers.

Matthew Sweet & Susanna Hoffs Under The Covers
01. I See The Rain (The Marmalade)
02. And Your Bird Can Sing (The Beatles)
03. It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue (Bob Dylan)
04. Who Knows Where The Time Goes? (Fairport Convention)
05. Cinnamon Girl (Neil Young And Crazy Horse)
06. Alone Again Or (Love)
07. Warmth Of The Sun (The Beach Boys)
08. Different Drum (The Stone Poneys)
09. The Kids Are Alright (The Who)
10. Sunday Morning (The Velvet Underground)
11. Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere (Neil Young)
12. Care Of Cell ..44 (The Zombies)
13. Monday Monday (The Mamas And The Papas)
14. She May Call You Up Tonight (The Left Banke)
15. Run To Me (The Bee Gees)

Matthew Sweet is one of my favorite musicians of all time. During the mid-nineties, I played Girlfriend and Altered Beast until the motor on my CD player whined and smoked in protest. And Susanna Hoffs, in addition to fronting one of the better bands of the eighties, is still HOT LIKE A PRETZEL. And now they're together covering the Beathes and the Beach Boys. And now I'm gonna need some quiet time alone.

Listen to three tracks from the new album here. And get down on your knees and thank the lo' you read this blog.

CHEKIT: A Scanner Darkly

Richard Linklater is a PIMP. And PKD is on the J-O-B.

CHEKIT: TCW, PBP, WTMX and my sweet, sweet booty.

A few months ago, PBP decided that she was tired of looking at my mopey, single ass feeling sorry for itself, and let me know she'd nominated me for Today's Chicago Woman's list of Chicago's 50 Most Eligible Singles.

Many of you who know me are wondering, at this point, if PBP is crazy, stupid, blind, or all three. And trust me, when I got the brain-scrambling email from the TCW staff letting me know I'd been nominated, I was right there with you.

A questionnaire soon followed, and thinking nothing would come of it, I gave responses in a manner I thought would guarantee TCW wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot pole tied to the end of a twenty-foot pole - answers such as:

3. My friends describe me as: “oh, about 5’ 10”, about 160, 165 pounds. Black hair. Clean. Psychotic.”

5. Something about myself most people don’t know, or that’s the most surprising: I’m trying to learn conversational Latin, which is a little like trying to learn Klingon, except only slightly less dorky. Only slightly. Vae mihi! Num amputandus est? (Oh CRAP! Will it have to be amputated?)

15. The three things I would take with me to a deserted island: My iPod, a generator to charge my iPod, and a boat to travel back and forth from the mainland so I can get gas to run the generator to charge my iPod. And I know you said three things – but also, maybe some beef jerky.

25. Life motto: “certis de causis hodie malo aringum aceto perfusum.” (For various reasons, I would prefer a pickled herring today.)

Apparently, though, black-haired, clean and psychotic is exactly what they're looking for over at TCW - because, with the exception of most of the above responses, they printed everything else. Including my picture. I look like a dork.

Looking at some of my listmates' mugs and reading our profiles, I gotta tell ya, single-Chicagoland - most of the selections make sense...but if I'm part of the best the city has to offer, you're better off with some Ben & Jerry's, some C-cell batteries and "The Notebook" on pay-per-view. And a fifth of bourbon.

I'm mentioning this here because, if you're in town around the 9th of March, you should come to the Hyatt Regency downtown and help me celebrate with the other 49 Chicago-area singletons appearing in this month's issue. It's for a good cause and it's open bar. And if watching me make a goober out of myself while drinking for charity isn't a good enough reason to buy a ticket, then I don't know what is.

Please understand - It's not that I don't think this whole thing is a little bit cool. It's just a little bewildering, is all.

P.S.: As part of the ridiculousness, I'm also gonna be on this show tomorrow night. I need four questions to ask these women and I'm FREAKING OUT. Any suggestions would be appreciated.

CHEKIT: Olympic Hotness

...and I ain't talkin' about the flame, baby.

Much is often made of the tastiness of Olympic athletes, but whether it's the proliferation of internet coverage on the subject or a worldwide increase in competitor hotness, the 2006 shindig in Turin will go down as the year America fielded what is widely regarded as the best-looking - if not the most medal-worthy - team in history. I mean, Bode's suckin' it up, the hockey team got beat down again, and even our women curlers have been knocked out of medal contention. What else do we have to do but savor our dominance in all things snowboard and watch the final round of Ice Dancing and thank our Republican congress that they finally passed a measure that I can, unreservedly, get behind.

Tanith, Tanith, Tanith. You're gonna melt a hole RIGHT THROUGH THE ICE Congrats on your silver medal - to you and whats-his-face.

And don't tell me that I'm being nasty, female Dispatches readers. I've got her, the Johnson sisters, and Jessica Schultz. You ladies have all this and more.

CHEKIT: I swear to God, that kid could sell nuclear waste.

I met Peanut Butter Parfait's sister's daughter this weekend - she's the two-year-old footie-clad curly-headed pile of adorableness you see enjoying my reading of "Mr. Feezes Gets the Sneezes." You think she's cute in the picture? Put her in an infomercial with an 800 number in front of a pile of manure, and you'll have thousands of folks ordering hot donkey turds over the phone.

It was nice to meet you, Lily. Hope to see you and your little white-girl afro soon.

More photos from Park City to come.

HOUSEKEEPING: Sorry I was away...

...the Man had his boots planted firmly on my nuts. And then I went on vacation.

But I'm back now. Dispatches now resumes regularly scheduled programming.

LL&CB: You sometimes sad and sweet and crazy girl.

FooBaRoo requested that I rerun this post from way back. I know it's a copout for those three or four of you wanting new LL&CB content, but hey - I just got a REQUEST. Who knows when that'll happen again?

Anyway. Happy Belated Valentine's Day.