Philanthropy

Ever since my announcement to run the Chicago Marathon this fall I've been fantasizing about adding a promo graphic to the right column of this site asking people to donate to the charity I'm running on behalf of, Rock for Reading. But instead of anything pertaining to illiteracy it would be a picture of a sad, gaunt-faced Sudanese child with ribs sticking out and flies crawling on his eyelids and a cute thought bubble that said, "HELP... ME... LEARN... HOW TO READ..." And then when you clicked on that picture it would link to my donation page! (Send all hate mail and/or death threats to pete@ill-noise.com.)

But of course everyone frowned whenever I mentioned the idea, so I've decided to instead raise money by starting a contest...

As of this current date I've raised $460, and my goal by the end of September is $750. Donate anything, even one dollar, and I will mail you a thank you card with a personalized rap poem about you written on the inside. Donate the most amount of money to my charity and you'll win:

• foot massage
• blog written about you
• "Cubs Believe" bracelet
• 6-pack of Dharma beer from LOST
• friend for life
• a rare, autographed copy of "My Black Penis"

Sound good? Well then come on people... DONATE!

(I may be paranoid, but not an android)

Everyone kept asking me: "Are you going to cry tonight?"

One hot summer night in 2001 when we were all sunburned and joyriding in downtown Chicago because someone thought we were too old to pick up chicks in the suburbs, I noticed a huge crowd at Grant Park and rolled down my window out of curiosity and heard something I would never forget. You know how you don't often recognize a particular event as a turning point in your life until after the fact, when you can look back and see the precise moment everything changed? But once in a while the turning point is just so big and obvious that you can't miss it?

That was me, sitting in the backseat of a Honda, falling deeply in love with the hypnotic bassline of some song. One minute I'm belching and carefree and cracking jokes with my buddies, the next minute I'm stunned silent, wide-eyed and spellbound. "Yo... what is that?" I kept asking everyone in the car, and someone eventually replied, "I think it's that band that did Creep."

Over the next few years, I couldn't help but become a complete Radiohead-head. I had it so bad for them. Every song from every album was downloaded, including every b-side, every cover song, every remix. Hours were spent perusing all of their fansites. Purposely, I started making less sense when I talked. My default AIM away messages went from "I am away from my computer right now" to "We've got heads on sticks, you've got ventriloquists."

To this day, I still don't understand my intense fascination for Radiohead. It doesn't really make sense on paper. I mean, I grew up on gangsta rap. And it has nothing to do with the fact that they produce the best guitar sound in the world, or that Thom Yorke's unlikely charisma is so affecting, or that even with their impressive body of work they still continue to innovate and push the envelope. I just "get" them, more than even most fans I think. There's something haunting and exhilarating about the music they make, something so special that I've been sitting here staring at this very sentence for ten minutes now, and I still can't come up with words that would do them any justice.

Friday night I finally saw them play live after all of these years, and even though for about five hours it was too hot and I was too close to too many filthy, sweaty strangers, I'm pretty sure it was the greatest, most complete night of my life. Most of the other 75,000 people that were there might have declared the same thing too, the way they went absolutely nuts when Radiohead started playing the song that personally started it all for me, the one I heard in the backseat of my friend's car almost a decade ago: "The National Anthem".

It's hard to pick out the most memorable moment of the set -- although I need to mention how spectacularly eerie "Paranoid Android" got during the mellow third act of the song when everyone slowly swayed their arms in the sky and out of nowhere this cloudy haze somehow enveloped all of us, or the chills everyone felt when Thom Yorke's falsetto broke our hearts with "House of Cards" -- but the best part of the show was when they played "Fake Plastic Trees". I've never been a huge fan of that song, but listening to it live has changed everything for me once again, and I'm not sure how exactly to describe the emotion I was feeling but the best I can do is tell you that I felt this strange sort of pressure on my chest.

There were no tears of happiness, but my sister told me I was close.

Near the end of the song these fireworks at the Field Museum started going off, which surprisingly wasn't distracting at all; somehow, it perfectly enhanced the climax. Later I would find out that it was totally unrelated to the concert and wasn't supposed to synch up to anything at all, which I thought was an amazing coincidence. I couldn't get over how perfect the moment and moments were. Everything was just so aligned, so symmetrical. Everything was in its right place.

The Eyebrow

Kind of late last night while watching Baseball Tonight this horrifying insect with way more legs than necessary came skittering out from behind the ottoman and I had to stand up on the couch and scream and kill it with two fistfuls of toilet paper because otherwise I'd be lying awake all night, worried that it was going to crawl into my mouth and lay eggs while I slept. What the hell kind of mutant Uptown critter was that?! I really miss my old apartment.

Uptown

I ran 13 miles yesterday morning, but that was the easy part. The move was an exercise in horror. I mean, obviously. The bruises and lacerations, the shrill chaos, the sickly sweat, the heart palpitations, the loss of faith in any sort of higher being. "Don't worry bro," one of the movers said, "we are professionals." And then he violently flipped my 50-inch plasma onto his back and carried it. And there was also the overfilled moving truck looking like it was going to topple over every time it hit one of those insane, gaping potholes on Marine Drive every thirty seconds? And the relentless emasculation? And the despair, and the awfulness?

Okay. But it's over. Whatever shreds of dignity or self-respect I still had are now finally gone, but it's over. "It's over, man." Gently wrap a blanket around my shoulders as police sirens flash against my bloodied face.

And now I've got to get over the fact that I left Lakeview for this dumpy neighborhood. Sure, our new apartment looks great: high ceilings, granite and stainless steel in the kitchen, wooden floors, etc. But sacrificing my childhood dream of living minutes from Wrigley Field for the opportunity to piss my pants whenever I'm walking home from the Wilson Red Line stop at night? I don't know about this. I've now realized that whenever people describe a neighborhood as "exciting and diverse", it's really just a euphemism for "ghetto".

Come on Uptown, hurry up and gentrificate! Gentrificate!!

My male perspective

"Okay, I need your opinion. I need your male perspective."

"I think I've explained this before."

"Just shut up."

"It's impossible for me to give general advice."

"Because you're such an individual."

"You were listening."

"Now you listen. I want to take the next step with Adrian."

"You know, that's the thing about unisex names. I totally thought Adrian was a woman for a long time."

"And that just drove you wild, I bet."

"Lesbians are things I see on TV. I've never seen one in nature."

"You've seen plenty."

"What do you mean, next step?"

"I mean turn it up a notch. I want to let him know that it's serious, I'm serious, let's get serious."

"My male perspective is getting uptight already."

"Now what's that supposed to mean?"

"Just tell me how you plan to go about this."

"Well that's what I need to ask you. Let's say, by some miracle, you're involved in a relationship."

"My head hurts."

"And let's say you've been with this girl for, say, two months."

"Yeah. Hypothetically."

"So two months. Things are great, you've moved through the bliss stage and now you've fallen in love with the little annoying things."

"Fallen in love?"

"You're getting ahead of me. Okay, everything's going nice and easy, and you're ready to take it to the next level."

"See, here's your problem. You see things in terms of levels. That's all too orderly. You should just let it flow from one thing to the next."

"We'll never get anywhere if I do that. This won't be laissez-faire. I want to sit him down and lay down the facts, you know? Slap it down, right there out in the open."

"'Adrian, I love you.'"

"'I love you.'"

"'I love you and what are you going to do about it?'"

"Basically."

"Don't you see the horror in an announcement like that?"

"No, I don't. I'm being honest. I'm not playing games. I hate when couples are all coy and it's like some big game of hide and seek."

"You say that and he'll high-tail it."

"Shut up."

"He'll bolt."

"You wouldn't want to hear I love you?"

"At this point, no."

"Why not? It's good news. It's what we all want."

"Sure. But if you sit him down... where was this going to take place? You have some plan in mind? Here, later on today? Over coffee?"

"I don't have a big plan. You make me sound so diabolical."

"Were you going to slip it into the conversation? Winging it doesn't sound like you."

"I figured I would know. Maybe during some quiet time."

"Day or night?"

"Night."

"Out or in?"

"At his place."

"I see hints of a plan!"

"He'd feel more comfortable there. We'd be watching TV or something."

"No TV. Stick to the quiet time. The TV could distract him. You can't say I love you during a Cubs game."

"If you knew how we were together, you wouldn't make such a big deal."

"You're the one making the big deal. And if you're so sure, why bother asking me about all this? I was happy and carefree."

"Role playing. 'Adrian, things have been going really great. I've been really really happy. I'm really glad we found each other.'"

"'Uh huh.'"

"He wouldn't say uh huh. Pretend you're sensitive and beautiful and you have your shit together."

"'Your skin shimmers in the moonlight.'"

"'And I just wanted to say, well, you're very important to me. And I love you, blah blah.'"

"Blah blah?"

"Well I feel dumb saying this to you. But just imagine Jessica Alba saying all that to you. You'd go nuts."

"It's making an issue out of everything. It's putting it all into words. But the bad part is you'll be forcing an answer out of him. It'll be this controlled experiment."

"He can say what he wants. That's the point. I'm being honest and I want him to be honest too."

"I've never met him, but I'm going to assume he's from this planet and if you say I love you he's going to have to say it back. Whether he's ready or not."

"There's this big thing in our way. I'm just getting it out of the way."

"Who kissed who first?"

"I kissed him."

"And this fiery sexual encounter you've discussed ad nauseam?"

"That was a joint decision."

"So it's his turn to do something big."

"I'll go crazy. I'll drag this relationship into hysteria."

"I have spoken."

"I'm going to see him right now. You're paying for this crap."

"You didn't even eat your muffin."