Best of MonkE-Mails

Hi all! Here are a “best of” all the MonkE-mails done mostly by Corey. I helped out a bit on some. Some of them were sent to people like they were sent from Darin. Also, there’s a ton of inside jokes so not sure you’ll get a lot of them. But some have universal appeal. Oh, and they’re not really work safe.

Dear SJ-R

Dear SJ-R,

First off, let me say that I thoroughly enjoy your publication. While I have never subscribed to it and probably never will, I find that it is an extremely readable publication. I’m quite pleased that this area surrounded by a small city, gets big-city reporting. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed your investigative reporting as of recent. The Chatham school drug story comes to mind. Because of your propensity for quality reporting, I was quite surprised to find that you decided to cut out rather crucial elements of the Mary Worth comic that ran on May 25th. Here in the last couple of weeks, Mary has really been up to her arms in a crisis revolving around 2 fighting brothers. On Sunday, I was unable to figure out crucial details in this unfolding saga. Luckily, I was able to view the comic via the Internet, but I’m sure that there are some folks that can’t afford the Internet and feel like Mary Worth nomads right now. What’s done is done. Hey, you made a mistake. No biggie. But I feel like you should try and rectify the situation by either reprinting Sunday’s Mary Worth and put it on the front page of the comics or possibly on the 2nd page of the main section. I realize that you might want to protect the integrity of your front page. Well , that’s all for me.

P.S. Thank you for not dumping Mary Worth despite the persistent pressure from those Worthless haters.

Onwards and upwards,
N.H.

Garage Sailing

One of my favorite time-honored traditions in my hometown of Pawnee has always been the Pawnee Village-Wide Garage Sale. It is a day when the whole village joins together and collectively hawks the goods found in spring cleaning and deemed “not worth keeping.” As kids, my friend Darin and I would often ride our bikes about town, hoping to find choice items that we could show off to our friends. I think one year I scored some really classy, stone-washed Bugle Boy jeans and a brilliantly neon hip pack. One year, Darin and I opened up a lemonade stand at his house, hoping to cheat some thirsty bargain-hunters into purchasing some poorly made lemonade. We made some money, but it was only because we pocketed the money that Darin’s parents gave us to use for change. As the years went on, I began to skip out on this tradition because of an inability to get up at a decent hour or because I was not in town or both. Never because of a loss of love.
So, as I rolled into my hometown of Pawnee to seek the services of my much-accomplished hair stylist Jenny, it brought me great pleasure to see the welcome sign announced the village-wide garage sale was that coming weekend. I expressed my enthusiasm with a series of fist pumps and decided to devote my weekend to scouring the garages of Pawnee in search of cheap crap I don’t need but would love to have.
As the Saturday of the big sale rolled around, I mentally jotted down a few items to be on the lookout for (the highest-priority being the much-needed container you keep large spoons, spaghetti forks, and mixers in.) Also, in need of a companion, I asked my friend Jill to go as she had just moved back to Pawnee and was in dire need of an event to reconnect herself with the Pawnee community. Lucky for her, the village-wide garage sale was in full effect.
We started big, going first to the largest garage sale in town, which wasn’t in a garage at all but on the site where my former church had some years earlier burned to the ground. I managed to find my kitchen utensil container and some mighty cool-looking gospel records. Jill found a big leather coat, priced for a dollar, to make bags with. The day was already shaping up to be a success.
The next notable garage sale we hit up was probably the best of the day. As we walked up the driveway, the first thing I noticed about the garage sellers (a husband and wife) was the guy’s shirt that read “What Chewbaccaing ‘Bout Willis?” After a quick check to see if it was for sale (sadly, it was not), I began rummaging through their stuff. Man, if they didn’t have some cool stuff. I managed to snag a mini (musical) keyboard with a stand and stool for $10. I also managed to pick up some children’s records that I had when I was a kid, Mr. Mom on DVD for $1, and book all about the word fuck.
The last garage sale we went to was easily the most frightening. Earlier, we drove by a garage sale, where a woman sat in the darkened corner of her garage. She seemed painfully alone, and we felt guilty not stopping. Eventually, we decided we should probably pay this woman a visit. Luckily, as we walked into the garage, another group of people also headed into the garage to see what she had for sale. This surely took some of the edge off of the awkwardness, because it can be terribly awkward being the only one there going through someone’s stuff and not finding anything that you want. What was more awkward though was that this woman was peddling Playboys and porn. Hey, if that’s your thing, cool, but I’m sure there is probably a better place to get rid of your jiz-stained magazines and porn. She also had a collection of 90210 toys and an insane amount of pop culture magnets. Thoroughly weirded out, we tried to leave as quickly as possible, but she guilted Jill into buying this pitcher she was looking at by knocking it down to half-price. I managed to leave empty-handed.
All garage sailed out, we went to the square, where the local Boy Scouts prepared pulled pork (not enough, bastards, we had to eat hot dogs!), chips, and soda for a shockingly great $2.75.
The 2008 Pawnee Village-Wide Garage Sale was yet another success and completely lived up to my lofty expectations. I’m very much looking forward to learning the piano and having a place to gather my kitchen utensils.

Why Are We Friends with Darin?

by J.R.
He’s slapped my balls more times than Don (Schultz) asked for him to come upstairs. He’s had more vehicles than jobs (I believe 92 the last I counted). And he gave me a case of crabs. I’m talking about no other the man himself, Darin “Funkounhousen” Schultz, the biggest German prick you’d ever meet. One spring day in the early innocent Clairshire days as a bucking young lad, I rang the doorbell at Mike Salisbury’s door to see if he wanted to ride bikes to our fourth grade class with Mr. Muhs. After ringing the doorbell, I felt a stinging pain in the back of my left thigh to the point that I couldn’t stand on it anymore. Mikey (a name we never called him) answered the door to a backward capped wearing JR on the ground. Mike, of course, thought I was joshing around until I pulled up my shorts to show a welted up bruise. “What the freak happened to you?” questioned Mike. All of a sudden, the flower pot broke on his sidewalk. We looked across the street (where Jordan Harris lived) to see Darin Schultz in the bushes holding a BB gun and giggling like the spawned little demon he was (I swear he looked like Farkus from “The Christmas Story” at the time). He started pumping his BB gun again to shoot at us again. Mike and I ran inside his house before the third pump. Darin Schultz, the son of a bitch (no offense to Kathy) shot me. Yet, I’m still his friend 15 years later. The guy makes me laugh and cry (which is caused from laughing a lot). And as I feel the creator scar on my left thigh, I think of Darin tucking his dick and balls in between his legs to show me that, he too, can be a girl. Thanks Darin for being a funny fuck.

by Corey C.
As a sprouting youth (with an undeniably small penis), I was in constant need of assistance from an individual who was unlikely to use foresight in order to predict unwanted consequences for poor choices. At about age 4, I found my guy at the United Methodist Church, and it was Darin. Soon thereafter, we made our way ‘cross the tracks to the “good” part of town. Immediately, I noticed that Darin had a very loving relationship with his creaky, 47 year old cat named Muffin. Darin would hug that little ball of fur so tightly that he/she would express satisfaction with a series of loud meows and yelps before limpingly jogging away. When I pointed out to Darin how lucky he was to have such inspiring characteristics and a sense of dedication to his cat, we decided to put that sense of collective responsibility to good use and immediately drew up plans to help the needy in Clairshire. For instance, we gladly helped the exercise-deprived likes of Larry Kelly by commonly having anchovi-covered pizzas delivered directly to his home. Darin and I would gleefully watch from a comfortable hiding place behind the living room curtains as Larry would unhesitantly accept every pizza despite having never ordered them. We never told Larry about our good samaritanship because, hey, we weren’t in it for approval. However, I think that deep down, Larry knew it was us. Occasionally, he’d offer a somber glare across Michele Drive, clearly directed toward Darin’s house, as if he knew what was going on. Once, there was a twinkle in his eye, which I accepted in my heart as Larry’s version of saying, “Thank you for your kindness.”
Throughout the years, Darin and I would constantly engage in good deeds around the neighborhood, such as testing Korean Tammy’s doorbell just to be sure that it still worked, on an average of three times per day. Not wanting to accept credit for our altruism, we’d always duck behind a nearby tree or run indoors. She was so clearly thankful for our goodness that she would always sit outside for several minutes, so as to fully enjoy and take in the moment. There were many, many other instances of gifts bestowed upon the world by Darin and I, but we all know what kind of guy he is. I’ve never quite regained the same sense of happiness that became familiar to me as a boy on Michele Drive, but I aspire everyday to get back to that place. And with those aspirations come dreams of having that same awe-inspiring light that exists within Darin to appear inside of me….Darin, you’re my true hero.

by Jordan R.
This fuck used to lure me down to his basement with promises of a full “Goonies” viewing only to be interrupted ten minutes later, which was coincidentally enough time for him to finish one of his 37 bowls of ice cream for the day, by him declaring,”This is boring…let’s go outside”. The ice cream bowls manifested themselves in piles around Darin’s gaming rocking chair, representing a graveyard of excess that was to predict the behavior of a young Darin for years to come. I didn’t know what ADD was at the time, so I didn’t have an answer for him not allowing the movie to get to the Truffle Shuffle part, but I know now, and I didn’t know that one of the symptoms was being a lie-about-Goonies fuckface. We’d make our way outside and indulge in a 20-minute game of “Smear the Queer” in which Brandon Reese was not tackled nearly enough given the name. Don Schizzy would weep with tears when the sight of his carpeted lawn had 17 blades of grass that would find themselves not in a perpendicular position to the ground. After declaring that Brandon Reese has AIDS, after a rigorous bloodtest I assume, Darin would tell me he has the new Sega. You see, I have a tendency to make friends with people with the latest gaming system, hence my Dinger era, that Darin would routinely exploit over and over again, making me the most gullible kid on the block. Even when I would tell Darin I didn’t believe he had a Sega, when we would get downstairs (to where his sub-par nintendo was), Darin would exclaim,”Ha Ha, fooled ya.” After letting me know of his psychological superiority over me, Goonies resumed. What a taintstain. In response to the question, I can’t just get enough of the phrase,”This is fucking gay.”

by Brad C.
I guess I would say that being fiends with Darin gives me a feeling of tremendous self-admiration and really puts things into perspective. I can honestly say that after spending as little as half an hour with Darin, I feel A LOT better about myself. I mean, if a guy with a Florida Gators tattoo can make it through life without being a ‘cutter’, than goddamnit so can I. Also, I just want to make my favorite Darin quote available to everyone, “My life don’t go down like that.”

by Maggie A.
I’m friends with Darin because he hits on my 61-year-old mom and makes her feel like a school girl again.

by Brian S.
In my youth I had the pleasure of living on a street called Michele Drive. On this street was a house situated between the McEver’s house and T-rex’s house. This house was the setting for more than its share of stories. The lot where it was being built was the site of oh so many games of king of the mountain. The front porch was home base in our weekly games of ditch’em in the dark. The refrigerator and pantry supplied food for sustenance and box wine and bottles of cheap liquor for drunkenness. The food of which I speak usually consisted of fried spam or peanut butter jelly cheese and mustard sandwiches, so sustenance is probably a bad word for it. And in this house lived a left-handed hyper-active trouble-maker name Darin. Without the presence of this young statutory rapist in the making, our little community on the north side of Pawnee would have been a lot less interesting.
In his teenage years, Darin would go from having and destroying more GT Dynos than a kid should ever have, to having and customizing more cars than anyone should ever have. Never has a gas station seen more 5 dollar purchases of gas (5 or 6 a night), than when a young restless Darin would cruise the mean streets of P-town. In his late teens, he developed a pick up line the likes of which have never been equalled: “You know what a tornado is?” The instant those words were first uttered was like a metaphorical dam breaking; where the water represents Darin’s sexual advances on 15 year old girls washing across the land. In his early twenties, Darin took a different approach to life. Having and quitting as many jobs as possible. He once kept a job for a whole summer. But the job consisted of smoking pot and hitting on girls at the state fair.
Now in his late twenties, Darin has moved from being a freelance pot smoker in Central Illinois to being a welder in St. Louis to being a truck driver in Denver. St. Louis lies crushed in the wake of the move. Look out Denver. It’s only a matter of time before all your dive bars and red neck bars are patronized by the likes of Darin. And then gone, on to the next adventure.

by Nathan H.
I am friends with Darin because he is an enigma–a source of unfailing mystery. When thinking of Darin (which probably warrants the touching of oneself, something I have no patience for), one question stands out from all the rest: How did this child, born into a loving and intelligent family in a small town that stressed community values and Jesus-ness, turn into the 5.99-movie-at-Wal-Mart-obsessed, Mexican-hating, gnome-loving, Star-Wars-calendar-owning, Todd-Hollandsworth-hair-having, past-his-prime-rocker-looking lad that he is today? Wait, maybe his upbringing does explain a lot of the man he is today. In that case, when thinking of Darin, one question stands out from all the rest, why (in his mind) does that sweet, adorable 85-year-old grandma that just accidentally pulled out in front of him in traffic deserve to be called a “fucking cunt”, without the slightest trace of irony?
Yes, this is one of Darin’s many wonders–an uncanny ability to speak about things, using very pointed, crude terms and phrases and one of the reasons I am friends with him. Colorado Rockies’ fans become “fucking faggots” for hopping on the bandwagon and rooting for their NLCS-winning 2007 team. The traffic jam, a result of an 8-car accident where multiple people leave in ambulances, is “fucking bullshit.” The girl (pick any girl) that crosses him in whatever aspect of life gets dubbed a “fucking bitch.” It may not seem like someone who acts out in a such a way could be thought of as particularly endearing, but it’s a hilarious way to view the world. Next time you find yourself experiencing one of life’s many misfortunes, try to think of it as Darin would, just remember to put fucking at the start of your thought.
Speaking of fucking, this brings me to Darin’s most perplexing mystery. How on Earth did he sleep with all of those women? You think the word would get out at some point. Here’s how I picture a night out with Darin. He picks you up and you head to the nearest dive bar for $1 pitchers and $.50 wings. You guys both get a little buzzed and he starts to show you how long his hair is, pulling out each individual curl. You both laugh like goofballs. You’ve decided you want to fuck him. He tells you that you’re hotter than the sun. You want to fuck him more. After you leave the bar, he talks you in to stopping in at Wal-Mart because he loves Wal-Mart. You don’t want to go to Wal-Mart with him because you want to fuck him that minute. You go anyways and end up going in for half on Bloodsport on DVD (sales bin, of course). After this, you head back to his apartment. You guys fuck. Darin fucking consists of doing you missionary for 4 1/2 minutes, ejaculating, and then rolling over and falling asleep. You lie awake, unable to gain interest in Bloodsport, wondering what was harder, his dick or the piercing stare into your eyes as he fucked you.
He’s amazing this kid is, really. But it works for him, I guess. Granted, almost every woman he has ever dated or slept with hates him with a passion only possessed by a woman wronged. At one time, though, they sure bought into whatever it was he was selling.
Truthfully, I could spend countless hours exploring Darin. Exploring him really hard. But I’m not going to do that. Instead, in the spirit of Darin’s never-ending battle with ADD, I’m going to give you several quick reasons why I am friends with Darin. He named his World of Warcraft character “BloodyTurds.” He never lets a song play all the way through in his car. He can spot cops in the country from miles away. He once told me that he wanted to be president. He’s fucking hilarious to prank call (don’t even saying anything, call him, put him on speaker and mute). He loved to spray Raid into his lighter. He shot me at point blank range with a BB gun, giving me one of my few scars. He’s incapable of slowing down to make a layup after stealing the ball and taking off on a fast break. And yes, most importantly, he body slammed me on concrete (I’m positive I deserved it).

by Myke W.
Although I didn’t have the luxury of growing up with Darin on the rich side of the tracks, Darin graced me with an offer of his friendship on one of my first days at Pawnee High. Looking back I now wonder if Darin really wanted to befriend me or if he was using me to gain a date with a girl who later became known as “psycho sarah”; not to be confused with “slut sarah” or his current girlfriend known at this point in time only as “sarah”.
Darin’s date with psycho sarah was contingent upon him hooking the new guy (me) up with a real peach of a lady, Angie Woodruff. I guess you could say Darin proved his friendship one rainy August night while we were hard at work pushing carts at Cub Foods. Angie Woodruff’s boyfriend, or maybe it was fiance I don’t remember, was on leave from the Navy and after hearing about who I was and what I was doing came looking for me at the supermarket. Instead of finding me, he found Darin and commenced spewing his hate filled rage thinking Darin was me, and Darin never told him otherwise.
I think my friendship with Darin was solidified during a late night internet session on a sleep over at the Schultz compound, when Darin showed me how you could trick horny truckers in chat rooms into thinking you were a slutty teenager wanting do rock their world in the most disgraceful of fashions , and then when they asked for your pic Darin would send one of naked dude with a cock the size of a small tree trunk that went up past his belly button. Oh, what fun we had.
And let us not forget the ultimate friendship sacrifice Darin made for all of us when he decided to be all he could be, in the Army. During those grueling nine months that our tax money paid for Darin to goof off with the other tards that have no direction in life, his dedication to learning to fight the war on terror will be an invaluable resource when the Japs and Ruskies team up to overtake Pawnee, only to have Darin take them all out in a scene I envision as being frighteningly similar to a mix between Red Dawn and Rambo. Even if Darin never has to use his deadly fighting skills to defend the likes of his beloved home town and his friends that live there, at least I got a trip with a couple friends, Karla, Don and Kathy, and some bitch named Leah to Missouri to see Darin graduate boot camp. Thanks buddy.

by Jeff C.
Darin Schultz, more of a force than an actual human being.  A force because he forces you to be just a little bit dumber and all common sense seems to leave you in his presents.  He’s like common sense’s kryptonite.
There I was, a young boy with eleven years of age under my belt, beginning my journey to success in life, excepting an invitation to Mike King’s birthday party.  How was I to know that my climb to success would take a vital blow?  It was just a party…or was it?  The party seemed like any other, twenty some kids, delicious food, the smell of cat shit and Amish Dan looking pissed.  It was not until after the eating of the cake that my life changed.  A spastic lad by the name of Schultz, Darin Schultz would ask me a question that I believe birthed everything that ever went wrong in my life, or what I’m blaming everything on anyway:  “Hey, man, you wanna go steal chrome caps with me?”
“What the H E double hockey sticks are chrome caps?” I replied.  Darin had the look on his face that matched the look Mr. Staley had before he touched every little boys ass.
“Come with me.” Satan, I mean Darin said.  Sounded like Satan though.
We proceeded to comb the neighborhood for these chrome caps, all the while I’m thinking: What the F do we need chrome caps for?  I’m pretty sure that wasn’t what Darin was thinking.  If I had to guess by the look on his face, he was thinking:  Already got that one, got it, got it, got that one too, Muffin’s gonna love these, Larry Kelly naked, leaf.  Something like that. Oh that leaf was great.  Anyway, it was when I lost all faith in the existence of these alleged chrome caps that we confronted our prey.
Darin moved like a ninja, sleek, low to the ground, soundless, impressive.  Wait, he pretty much just walked up to the truck that came with these chrome caps.  As he reaches out to finalize the theft, a voice calls, “Just what the hell are you doing?”  It was the owner of the chrome caps. Darin stood straight up, petrified for only a second and spewed out, “Oh, ummmm, my dad was thinking about buying one of these trucks.  Nice, nice.”  That walk away from the defended chrome caps and back to the party, without a single chrome cap could not have been more awkward or humiliating.  It was then that I realized, it can’t get any worse than that.  Over the next fifteen years, it would indeed get much worse, but fun none the less.  Thanks big D!
No garage door can hold Muffin down!

by Darin S.
So? Why am i Friends with Darin? Hm mm? I’m In quite a conundrum here. By the time I started my life in the rural town of Pawnee, Illinois in the spring of 1980, the birds were chirping, flowers blooming, rain was a pouring, even though it was during the era of rock and roll, long hair, fleeing from the police, weed and cocaine. There comes a light in the sky. everyone halted in their position like going to jail, putting down the pipe and finishing up their lines or maybe just one more. Everyone had an overwhelmingly feeling of peace throughout their souls. And what what this feeling you guys are wondering? Well its me you motherfuckers. Well i was born to the Don and Kath, two of the best parents a little man can ever ask for, also born to a sister , Karla, whom use to shove my face into cushions and lock me out of the house,. Bitch. But i couldn’t have had such a better childhood. Being neighbors with Jordan, BS, Bridget, Nathan Roethe, J Dinger and AK. Corey sums me up from the ages of 8 to 12 in a nutshell other than luring people in my basement to watch Goonies and eating ice cream and playing ghost rider with my bike and tossing diet coke cans from my parents pantry 30 ft in the air and watching them burst into a foaming nightmare on my driveway. wait wait wait, I’m getting carried away here. so to sum it all up from ages 8 to 12 all you know this ” legends live where legends roam” and you never forget that either. . so now you know that part lets get int o the good stuff. Jordan Ive known you the longest. What the fuck man? whatever happened to your dads chest of fireworks? come on dude, and your sister showing us her tits at the age of like 10 then you disappear on us then come back and go out to bars with us then dragging me with you to stay the night at some Sasquatch OK nasty. JR, with the Studebaker included dicks, the parties, and Jr high and high school, shit get us together we were some immature little hooligans. BS, “the ninja master” hey thanks for the chipped tooth you fuck. Corey shit, no pun intended, the fart tape should explain it all. OK now lets get into the older years. High school. After going through 3 cars, beating the fuck out of Jeremy Budds, breaking into cars with Bunk, BS, and Mike King, meeting donnie and whitlow. after high school i went into the army, lets not get into that one, knuck knuck knuck. but i did get to hang out with jeff and farooq. jeff you are just a true bad ass and farooq? brad i hate you. but ill still snoodle with you. Nathan grand master of this whole thing. keep pushing it or ill body slam you onto concrete or shove a bic pen in your ass like everyone did to nathan roethe. Hey everyone its been real yes i am a german prick aand a little wierd but ill never change so those of you who know me and and still know the good times, makes me know that i have good friends out there and i wouldnt change them for the world.But its 9:50 PM out here in Denver, Co and ive been up since 3am losing my train of thought so its bed time for bonzos and yes this is fucking gay.

Kimya Dawson Show

This past Sunday night I ventured to the University of Illinois in Champaign to visit my brother and attend the Kimya Dawson show at the Champaign-Urbana Independent Media Center . Before going to the show, we ate pizza at the Village Inn Pizza Parlor on W. Springfield. They have really good pizza, and Dylan and I were quite delighted. I think we may have even high-fived about the pizza, but I doubt it. A high-five is just more fulfilling when there’s other people around to feel left out by the high-five. To clarify, the high-five gains strength with envy .

After this, we headed back to Dylan’s apartment to watch the “Dinner Party” episode of The Office . Dylan’s apartment is quite the plush pad. I like the fact that you can rise from bed, cook your eggs, and pee urine in your toilet without having walked 6 feet total. Actually, it’s really not that bad. In fact, there may be something to living in a place with a scarcity of rooms. Henry David Thoreau, notable NeckBeard haver, reviled in the fact that his quaint, single-room cottage overlooking Walden Pond had a spirit of openness. Too bad my friend Mr. Much feels Henry David Thoreau is “the first elitist hobo of America.”

We left Dylan’s apartment for the Champaign-Urbana Independent Media Center about 15 minutes before the show. The crowd was an interesting mix of people both young and old, with the most prominent group being teenage/early college girls, some donning Hello Kitty backpacks (strictly for utility) and others sporting striped knee-high socks in a variety of colors. I admire the fashion sensibilities of today’s youth. Find all the articles of clothing you can that clash when worn together. Then, wear them. Just do it. *with attitude* Just did it. But seriously, I am encouraged by this trend, just bitter that it rolled around too late, unable to save me from the steeped judgment cast upon my uncool purple sweatpant, state souvenir sweatshirt ensemble that clothed me on the way to many a freshman function.

The place really began to fill up quick and because there wasn’t much seating outside of a few hopefully semen-free couches; people began to just sit on the hardwood floor. Throughout the course of the night, it was a struggle for this 6′5″ man to sit cramped-up Indian style while moving about for people trying to get through. The hardwood floor terminated my ass feeling. Did you know your ass has feelings? Well, it does. Like right now it’s probably warm and cozy, connected to a nurturing chair. My ass just hurt. It was dining dead.

At about 7:30 PM, the show got started with Angelo Spencer opening up for Kimya Dawson. “Who is this guy?,” one girl asked as he grabbed the mic and began tuning his guitar. Angelo Spencer is Kimya Dawson’s husband and father to their child Panda. He is originally from France. He took the stage with his electric guitar, bass drum, and hi-hat that had a tambourine resting on it. This setup created an effective percussive sound that was raw and aggressive. In between songs, Angelo remarked, “Sometimes you just have to bang on stuff.” Angelo Spencer’s music is unconventional. It is unabashed and relentless craftsmanship, sometimes heavy on crescendos and other times prone to random freak outs. It does not seem to be expressive therapy in the form of lyric but rather that of pent-up aggression. My favorite song performed by Angelo, “Hasil Adkins ,” (which can be heard and downloaded at his MySpace page) is a tribute to the rock & roll musician of the same name. It is a simple and profound tribute marked by the curious lyric, “Hasil Adkins was a great man/ He looked like my dad.” Angelo Spencer acted as an excellent opening act, priming the audience with interesting lyrics and percussive aggression. In the future, I would like to see Angelo Spencer with a full band.

Watch video of an Angelo Spencer performance here

Next up was the band L Orchidèe d Hawaï, who were also from France but did not speak English as well as Angelo Spencer, though they did have a couple of English songs. If I had to describe their performance in a few words, I would say that they were quirky and charming. The lead guitarist reminded me of Chico Marx with his facial expressions. He had the unique ability of looking absolutely goofy while remaining dead serious. His baby blue guitar made some sweet noises. A lot of the songs had an almost festive feel, like a rock & roll version of Oktoberfest. Some songs also sounded like surf music. The crowd loved it, but the real crowd favorite was the bassist. This guy was just as happy-go-lucky as they come. At one point, Guy Who Inexplicably Yells Things shouted, “Hey, bassist in the red hat. You’re awesome.” And he was right, the bassist was awesome. Maybe his yelling things wasn’t so inexplicable after all.

It probably was pretty tough for this foreign band to come out and play songs that weren’t in the native language, but good music transcends language and some might say that this band stole the show.

Watch video of their performance in Champaign here

I first became aware of Kimya Dawson at the same time as many others, while watching the film Juno. I remember leaving the movie theater, thinking I need to get the soundtrack to that movie. I didn’t know it at the time, but most of the music in the movie was created by Kimya Dawson, formerly of the Moldy Peaches . I bought the soundtrack to Juno the weekend after it came out and the Best Buy guy next to my cashier yelled from across the way, “You’re going to love that soundtrack, man. It’s got some really different music on it.” I thought that was nice of him to step away from what he was doing, though it was probably completely unnecessary. Thanks, Guy.

Much to the dismay of some of my friends, I began to play this CD endlessly. Kimya Dawson’s stream-of-consciousness songs were just so damn creative, funny, and inspirational. My favorite lyric being from the song “Loose Lips”, “They think we’re disposable, well both my thumbs opposable,” which was Kimya’s way of celebrating her humanity. Kimya’s songs inspired me to sit down with friends and make a song, no matter how ridiculous, and just be happy with the process. It was one of the funnest times I’ve had in a long time. Me, Eli, Dylan, and Mark created the song “Biscuit,” based on a story I had written for a Yahoo! Answers question in 2007. It was Kimya Dawson’s songs that inspired me to help us make a song of our own.

Whenever I first read that Kimya was coming to Champaign, I jumped at the chance to buy tickets (which were a steal at $16.) I was excited about the chance to hear more from her catalogue than the 4 or 5 songs on the Juno Soundtrack. I did some research on her live performances and found out that she was a very down-to-earth performer, and this turned out to be true as advertised.

Kimya started off her show with an incredibly emotional demeanor. She played the 1st song she had ever written with red, tear-soaked eyes fixed downward on the floor of the stage. The first couple of songs seemed to be really emotional ones for her. It’s almost as if she had to get into a zone to perform because she gradually got more comfortable.

A couple of notable things happened during the show. Apparently, Kimya loves stickers, and this one girl in the front row hand delivered a sticker to her that read, “The Revolution Loves You.” To which she replied, “And I it.” Also, she talked in great length about her vagina and how she let her vagina hair grow because she loved the idea of being natural. She was worried that someone in the audience was laughing because they could see up her skirt. There’s not too many performers that would go there, and this made her all the more lovable, eventhough some would scoff at the notion of one proudly owning a “Mom Crotch .” Being unafraid of one’s “animal state” was a general theme of her performance. At one point, she mentioned that her and a friend were discussing how they would rather smell distasteful smells than that of someone all cologned or perfumed out.

My favorite performance of the night came when she sang the song “I Like Giants,” which is all about knowing your place in the world and accepting it and never getting a big head because every one of us human beings are really tiny in the grand scheme of things. I’m a total sucker for any song about humility. I think everyone in America could use a little more humility and that goes for myself, too.

Watch video of her performance with the French band here

I had read that Kimya was notorious for meeting fans, so I hoped to get the chance to meet her and get a picture with her. But she mentioned that since she has been a mother she hasn’t had the time to be as open as in the past. She lamented the fact that this was happening while her crowds were getting bigger and bigger thanks to her Juno fame. She ended her set by bringing the French band out to perform “Loose Lips” with her. As the French band walked back out, she said laughed about how nice they were. It was true, whenever they played her song with her, it seemed almost as if they were serving her.

Dylan and I were grateful that the show had ended because our butts were completely numb at this point and after a quick stop at a gas station I dropped him off at his plush pad. As I made the 80-mile (one hour trip home, I thought about how there aren’t a lot of people in this area like Kimya Dawson, Angelo Spencer, and the French guys that put on one of the most memorable shows of my life. Crazy, nice people who make crazy nice art.

Multivitamins - Expensive Urine?

Q: I take a multivitamin every day. I figure it balances out what I don’t eat right in my diet. What ingredients should I look for in a multivitamin?

Remembering Sandwiches

Remembering Sandwiches.

 

Do you remember when sandwiches were brown and yellow and everything in between?

Do you remember when sandwiches stole our hearts and minds?

Do you remember when sandwiches had their picture taken in front of the cafeteria, with Mr. Peanut Butter and Mrs. Jelly standing proudly to the side?

 

If you are like me, sandwiches conjure memories from the shallowest depths of your mind. Before I learned that hot things burn, I learned that crust should never be cut off.

 

With these thoughts in mind, it is with deep regret that I inform you that I am foregoing sandwiches for the rest of my life. Gone are those days I tell you. Never will I taste another sandwich.

The Straight Story

The Straight Story (1999)
Directed by David Lynch
Starring Richard Farnsworth

The Straight Story is about an old man who travels on a riding lawnmower from Iowa to Wisconsin to visit his brother who just had a stroke. I was recommended The Straight Story by a friend who is a big David Lynch fan. I wasn’t quite sure if I’d like a David Lynch movie because I had heard his movies were a little weird to say the least. Another friend of mine had seen Inland Empire and left the theatre early because he was throroughly disturbed by it. And I had seen a special on TV about the cult classic Eraserhead, which looked like something for film buffs but nothing that I would really be particularly interested in.

Illini Football - Winning’s an Option

I’ll admit it. Only recently did I discover the magic of college football. It all started on a cool, autumn day on October 12, 2003, when my friend Don and I traveled down to Columbia, Mo. to watch the Missouri Tigers defeat the Nebraska Cornhuskers 41-24. The loss was significant in that Missouri ended a 24-game losing streak to Nebraska. We sat in the Nebraska section of the stadium, and the fans were completely devestated. I’d never seen fans take a loss like that. The funniest moment from that game was when all these past-their-prime security guards circled the field in hopes of forming a human barrier to keep the readying college students from rushing the field. It didn’t happen and the fans sprinted out to capture the goal posts. There was a little controversy after this game after a Nebraska player gave one of these sprinting fans a push of his arm, sending the student to the ground. But in the end, the goal posts were had, and they pulled the goal posts out onto the streets and began sawing pieces to keep as mementos. It was chaos. Pure, unbridled joy. It was a fantastic experience. Hell, I even saw Craig Sager at a bar that night. I dropped acid, looked at his suit, and couldn’t help but try to put a move on him. We got to talking but he tried to break it off by saying, “You’ll make someone really happy someday.” I replied, “Or I could make you really unhappy today.” We never spoke again. I went home with this guy.

Lettars from Darin

Hey what’s up? Not very much here. Wedsday we qualified w/ our M-16 and yesterday we got to shoot a rocket launcher a grenade launcher and the m-60 machene gun. It was bad ass and we got to set of a landmine. It was loud as fuck. I shook the ground about 100 meters away. That is about as powerful it was. Me and Jessica are fine. What happened was I was very stressed out. So everything is cool between us. I miss you too. HAHA. Hey we will play NCAA Football when I get back I promise. What is a tech vest? Mike and JR are fucking stupid but I still love them. No Im not going to be an army prick. I’m still the same but more disiplined now. Shit basic is tough. But my drill sergents are cool as fuck. They are big goof offs. They are funny. Jordan went out Holy Shit. My heart just skipped a beat. HAHA. The only thing I drink is water. My arms are getting bigger. I ran the 2 mile in 14:20. We do road marches with ruck sacks that weigh about 50 lbs. and the marches about 10 miles. It is pretty fun. Basic is fun I’m having a good time. But there is a couple of guys that are bitches. Think they are badass. I have a lot of cool friends. Yes I will let you play Sugar Ray in my car. Now that I am in basic I now have to show respect.

Your Friend,
Darin