"Informers inform, burglars burgle, murderers murder, lovers love"

Hello, Jerk,
So, wait, you took my laundry quarters but left my TV, iPod, PS2, and credit cards? And you took my Powerbook but left your cat-burglar gardening gloves? Dude, at least give me something to report to my insurance company. They practically laughed at me.

Forch!

Two things are making me happy today (No, I'm not talking about that new Mariah Carey video): This, and knowing that as I type, My Stupid Friend Joe is packing all his fanciest duds in preparation for a Chicago weekend of booze, banter, and, uh, broads? (Really, we're just going to drink beer, play XBox, and complain about how fat and old we've gotten.) Still, good times.

Happy Valentine's!

This one's for the lovers—the poor saps standing in line at the Jewel tonight after work, clutching their desperate supermarket bouquets and calculating how much trouble they'll be in when they get home, and their XX analogs, who, coupled or not, tally their self-worth based on how much money some dude spent to deliver the Sir Loves-a-Lot teddy bear and candy combo basket to Kim in account services.

Yeah, I Stole the Idea from Pitchfork

Behold, the sun. At long last! All morning and most of the afternoon. Brighter than I'd seen in weeks. Oh, sure, it was still cold as all hell — seven Fahrenheit when the X49 blew past me — but that was alright. I was alright to stand there a bit longer, out of the way of the drips coming down off the building, and let the snow on the tops of my shoes turn to slush.

Also today, I added my favorite song from this Black Kids EP to the Infinite Mixtape I've been sending out to select forch folk. Back when I was blogging regular about music, the albums that I gravitated toward were often the underdog ones that somehow felt wont and familiar from the first listen, like this one does. Like, it seems I could have heard these songs 20 years ago when MTV was still new-ish and I only knew a couple kids who had it, or maybe they were on a cassette my brother left behind when he went to college, the one that I played the hell out of, more than Doolittle, more than Damaged, even. But, no, these are brand new and real fun and way more exciting than anything Radiohead.

This Ain't Stealing: A Playlist, Vol. 5

This album turns 10 years old this month. Happy birthday, little fella.

Obligatory disclaimer: I didn't upload this file. I only found the link. You want me to take it down? Just ask.

"How can you love a font, or a toy or graphics? You're a grown man."

So, what's the haps 'round these parts? All kinds of good stuff, yo. In addition to rarely updating this lame blog and freezing my fucking balls off every morning, I've been working on projects for a couple really terrific dames, namely the forthcoming book from Katie Schwartz and a little something in the way of a program for the Pilcrow Lit Fest. Pluuus, there's that other art project I've been chipping away at. (Think spray glue and swimming pools.)

And if I may geek out a bit here, I've got a new favorite typeface: Freight Micro. Awesome.

What? Is There Another Game Today?

I've been ordered not to "overdo it" today during the game, so I'll make my Super Sunday pick and get back to my cucumber water and saltines:

Puppy Bowl IV
Puppies 41, Other Puppies 20