Friday, April 25, 2008

What is the Democratic Primary Like?

Some Ideas:

--It's like a solicitor who keeps knocking at your door, even when it's obvious you're ignoring him, but he keeps knocking, even at midnight when you're fast asleep.

--It's like a bad rash that you can't get rid of and you don't really know what it is but you don't want to go to the doctor because every time you make an appointment it goes away so you cancel it, but then a few days later it comes back and it itches even more this time and it has spread.

--It's like middle school when there are two new kids and they both want to be in the cool kids clique but the novelty of being new is diluted because there are two of them so the cool kids reject them but they won't give up and so spend middle school making each other's lives miserable.

It's like when you are really hungry but you know you have no good food to eat so you put off eating and then you get hungrier and really anything sounds good to eat but you are too lazy to eat so you put it off longer and then you aren't really even hungry anymore but you feel like eating so you eat whatever you have in your fridge but it sucks so you are dissatisfied.

Submit more!

Thursday, April 24, 2008

Vampire Weekend
Jimmy Kimmel Live
With a Drumline!

We both love Vampire Weekend's single "Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa," and this performance does have the added benefit of a drumline, but I (Evan) was a little underwhelmed by the singing. Kinda boring, I thought, compared to the album version. But that's just me. Enjoy.

The Dark Horse of Cantripshire
Part One

Christ, let this darkness end. Oh, how I long to look on the fields of Cantripshire once more! If I had known it would come to this, I never would have listened to him. How could he, my own flesh and blood, betray my trust in this most heinous and awful way?

The oftentimes cheerful and sunny Cantripshire horizon was slowly filling with dark, menacing clouds. G.H. Fipsworth watched from the wide bay windows of his study as the sky's hue darkened and the air closed in around him. The sounds of larks singing and far off dogs barking were gone. A silence was growing; an uneasy, almost terrible silence. Suddenly, he heard the distant rumble of thunder. Forks of lighting could be seen in the black mass in the sky that was moving ever closer to his spacious country home. Looks like we're in for one hell of a night, he thought to himself, slowly pouring a glass full of whiskey. The silence was abruptly interrupted by a loud knock at his study doors.
Where most people would have jumped at the sudden noise, Fipsworth's demeanor stayed calm. His years of serving the Empire in India as a Colonel had given him nerves of steel. When a man is faced with unexpected bursts of artillery or gunfire, he learns to keep his wits about him. Slowly turning his sturdy frame, he paced the large room in a surprisingly short amount of time. He laid a strong, weathered hand on the latch and swung the door open. There, standing before him, was Ian Nielson, the butler of the house since time immemorial.
"Sir, a Mr. Goodwin wishes to see you. He is waiting in the parlour," stated the elderly servant. Though getting on in years, it was obvious from the old man's eyes that he still possessed a sharp mind.
"Thank you, Nielson," said Fipsworth. "Tell him I shall be with him directly." The old butler nodded,
"Very good, sir," he said as he shuffled out of the room. Mr. Nigel Goodwin was Fipsworth's third cousin, twice removed, on his mother's side of the family. The two became fast friends long ago, having served in the Army together in the Manjabi Province. It had been awhile since Fipsworth and Goodwin had spoken due to the latter's journeys around the globe. Fipsworth was looking forward to catching up with his old friend; he always liked to hear stories from his cousin's adventures. I wonder what kind of tall tales he'll be telling this time, Fipsworth thought to himself, smiling. He proceeded out of his study and into the spacious parlour. As soon as Fipsworth set eyes on his cousin, he could tell something wasn’t right. The once smooth round face was taut and wrinkled. His customary smile was now a grimace of pain and the usual spark in his eyes was gone.
“Hullo, Gerald,” said Goodwin, calling Fipsworth by his Christian name, “how are things?” His voice, once robust and jubilant, was now gravelly and it sounded as though that small salutation had drained the breath from his lungs.
“Not too bad, Nigel, not too bad,” said Fipsworth apprehensively. “You’re looking…well,” he added a moment later. Goodwin’s laugh was filled with anything but mirth.
“Oh my dear Gerald. Let’s dispense with the pleasantries, shall we? We can both see that the years have not been good to me.” Fipsworth could see the darkness in his cousin’s eyes. There seemed to be a shadow emanating from within, like a blackness pouring forth from his soul. His cracked lips opened and he said, “I have come to make you a proposition, my dear friend, my dear cousin. A proposition that I hope you will be unable to turn down.” Fipsworth waited a moment, eyeing his cousin with something that was half suspicion and half sadness. He could tell that the man was obviously down on his luck, and it pained him to see his once well-to-do cousin in such a spot.
“Look Nigel, if you just need to borrow some money or something, I could loan you a few hundred quid. I know you’re good--”
“Ha!” His cousin laughed in his face. “I do not need your charity, my dear boy. Despite my somewhat haggard and disheveled appearance, I am still somewhat wealthy. No, no, my proposition has nothing to do with anything so dismal as money.”
This last statement interested Fipsworth. As long as he could remember, his cousin had put money first. First before his wives, all three of them; first before his children, and who really knew how many of them there were? “Pray tell, then Nigel, what exactly is this grand proposition of yours?”
“I have two words for you, my dear Gerald,” his cousin rasped, his voice lowering to almost a whisper, “Sanjit Kumpur.”

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Great Lakes Lesser Cities: Podcast Numero Dos

We hope you will enjoy our new podcast with it's All-Robot cast. You can listen to or download it below:

You can also download an mp3 file of it HERE
Just click the link and on the right side of the page, click "Download original."

Hope you enjoy it and feel free to let us know what you think.

Monday, April 7, 2008

Odd Photograph

I saw this photo on the Chicago Tribune's Web site the other day. I'm curious if anyone knows where it could've been taken. I don't know of a single place where you can be out on the water that far and look back toward the city, unless it's Navy Pier, but I don't think that goes out far enough. Thoughts?

Friday, April 4, 2008

NY Times: America has Serious Case
of the Mondays

A Friday New York Times article reports that 81 percent of the nation thinks "things have pretty seriously gotten off on the wrong track."

Apparently, this is the worst it has been since the Times/CBS News began to ask about such things in the early 1990s.

The real question here, for me, is: Who wrote this poll question?

I say there's two possibilities. Either it's Farmer John from down in the corn patch, or your grandpa. Those are the only two people I can think of who would think things have "pretty seriously gotten off on the wrong track." A possible third option is the guy who thinks his date is starting to go sour, as in, "Whoa whoa, Christine, I think 'things have pretty seriously gotten off on the wrong track' between you and me."

Anyway.. major bummer, folks.