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LUDIC LOG
08.16.2004
Hey, look!
Pictures! More Monday. Yes, this is kind of a garbage dump
of old pictures. Get back to me when I actually learn to use
iPhoto.
A while back, we were walking around
downtown Chicago, we saw a dude busking on the street with an awesome
set of bagpipes. Best thing about him? He was rocking a
very un-Scottish whitey-'fro.
We also ran across this house, right
near Lakeshore Drive in one of those neighborhoods none of us can
afford, that was...well, it doesn't show up too well in these photos,
but this is by far the tackiest house I have ever seen in my life.
Here's another one, where you can see
the hideous multi-colored American eagle statues festooning each
window. Money can't buy taste, but it can buy tasteless.
And, in this side view of the
tackiest house in Chicago, you can see suggestions of the noxious
paintjob and the dopey stained glass mirrors (complete with trite
inspirational slogans). This house probably cost about five
million dollars.
Ha ha, the sidewalk totally has a
boner!
Oh, yeah? Oh, yeah? What about penicillin,
Mr. Smart Sign? What about electricity? What
about...uh...uh...water pipes? The PlayStation 2? Tiki bars?
During our recent trip to rural
'Sconsin to see a community theater production of Jesus
Christ Superstar, we ate at this awesome restaurant with
great garlic mashed potatoes and this huge fiberglass cow as a
mascot. Also, it was the only drive-through steakhouse I've ever
seen.
This was a sign along the Pine Ridge
Trail at the Governor Dodge State Park in 'Sconsin, telling me to
listen to the thump-thump-thump of some bird or another. I
couldn't hear it over the thump-thump-thump of my exploding heart.
Yet another in my interminable series
of bathroom mirror self-portraits, this one shot in the kinda skanky
basement of a coverted movie theater in Spring Green, Wisconsin.
From last weekend's WizardWorld
trek: ladies and gentlemen, the fabulous face of fandom.
Come get him, gals: there was no ring on his finger!
"You there! In the backpack and
gimme cap! Galactus hungers! I seek to strip your planet of
its vast energy resources, or maybe you can just go to the snack bar
and get me a turkey and bacon. Hey, baby, wanna become my herald?"
When we went to WizardWorld first
day, we weren't exactly sure where the convention center was, so we
decided to follow these dudes from the train station, since they looked
like they knew. We called them our homing nerds.
These two, who I referred to as Goth
Joker and Scoliosis Catwoman, were there all three days, each day
wearing the same costumes. All I could think about on Sunday was
"man, I wonder how those things smell by now."
Hey, look, it's She-Ra, taking a
break from standing next to new Chryslers at various midwestern
auto shows. It's 11AM and she's already been hit on by 1,680 fat
sweaty nerds, and she's still got to work a shift at Hooters.
Where do the real nerds hang out at
WizardWorld? Is it at the Verotik booth? Is it at the table
with the late-1970s Playboys?
Is it with me, buying discount HeroClix? Nope. It's at one
of the many, many fake weapons booths.
Hey! Manga boy! Come
here! We know what you like, and how. Here's two of them,
comin' at ya! Hey, beat it, Friends of Lulu, you're not wanted
here.
You don't get to live in this
apartment unless you like to read. Luckily, our cat, Jack "King"
Kirby, likes contemporary fiction.
