Monthly Archives: February 2011

Many years ago I found a book at my folks house that belonged to my little brother* as a child. It’s called “The Missing Piece” and it’s by Chicago’s own Shel Silverstein.

Since then, I have given it as a gift, many, many, times. And while the kids do seem to love it, it’s always the adults who tear the fuck up.

Song 116.

But of course, as it seems to go with the very simplest of things, there is just no use trying to explain it.

Although this little nugget does seem to know which way is up.

Happy weading!

*My personal copy, a hand-me-up from my brother if you will, has all of the dudes colored in to resemble Pac Mans. ♥ Drawn on with a Quarter Missing if you catch my cryptic drift.

Oh wait…is this where I mention that I always imagine this being the song the little guy in the book sings? Or maybe this is where I point out that this song references The Lord of the Rings and being on a quest to find Arwen of the “If you want him come and claim him” fame?

No way Jose! I’ve got a very, very cool reputation to preserve.

Sweet Jesus.

One of my bosses is a Revolting Cock and the other one is the leader of The Golden Horse Ranch Square Dance Band.

I cannot express to you how much joy that sentence brings to me.

Dear Annie Coleman, Jeanine Mary, Lawrence Peters and the rest of the crew. I am so slayed but what I saw tonight that I am raising the bar to downright D ‘n Q.

Drawn and Quartered.

I’m not gonna claim to know shit about anything. But I have learned some things about stuff in my time. But first, and probably most importantly, I have learned that I don’t know shit about anything. And neither do you.

No one knows what it’s like to be anyone but ourselves. Song 114.

At the record store we have bands play from time to time. And the other day we had a great in-store performance by Dirty Beaches. A lovely dude, just playing his music. Out of nowhere the next day a stranger wrote something on our Facebook page that was so ignorant it still makes my steam rise. You can say what you want about us, the answer of course is, fuck you too, but your intolerance will not be tolerated. Period.

But there’s no use getting mad about it. There will always be Turdburgers in this world.

I was recently in New Orleans and I’m not sure if this is a New Orleans thing or not, but in several places we went there were signs that said “Be Nice or Leave.” I like that, a lot.

I consider myself infinitely lucky to be surrounded by people who don’t assume that their worldview is the only one just because it’s theirs. I also appreciate at the same time all of the things that people have sacrificed in their lives to be a part of this country. I really do. And I will forever defend your right to feel the way you do and speak your mind. I will however match that with my desire to have exactly the same goddamned right. So keep barking if you like, but everyone thinks their dog is the cutest dog in the whole world if you know what I mean. Because you love them the most. Just like I love mine.

I guess I just wish we said “Man isn’t it crazy how much we all love dogs?” to one another more often. Have you ever picked up a dog shit in a plastic bag only to realize there was a tiny hole in it and now you’ve got poop on your hand?

Because I sure have. More than once.

Today at work I was surprised by a 45. Song 113.

En l’honneur de ce cadeau inattendu d’un ami je vous offre une boîte de biscuits American Girl Scout à la personne qui fait les plus drôles de commentaires, en français. Vous n’habitez pas à Chicago? C’est OK. Je vais Snail Mail.

Ne soyez pas timide. Vous êtes plus drôle que vous en pensez. Que les jeux commencent!

Google Translation (I don’t actually speak French)

In honor of this unexpected gift from a friend I offer you a box of Girl Scout cookies American to the person who made ​​the funniest comment in French. Do not live in Chicago? It’s OK. I’ll Snail Mail.

Do not be shy. You’re funnier than you think. Let the games begin!

It’s true. You can’t always get what you want.

Even if you ask politely and offer lots of pizza.

But I guess sometimes you get what you need.

Or at least a really kind and thoughtful email. ♥

Song 112.

Sarah-

Hey, it’s good to hear from you! We really appreciate the support for Shoes by the folks at Reckless Records and we support the indie scene as well! You guys are the backbone of what makes buying records fun and educational (try asking a clerk at Target or Best Buy about Shoes or Big Star or even Fountains of Wayne!).

We aren’t really in a position to do any live gigs at this point in time. (Damn, we LOVE Chicago pizza!) But we whole-heartly support your ethos and wish you all the best on Record Store Day. The camaraderie and social atmosphere of the indie music store can’t be underestimated in it’s scope and influence. I have very fond memories of hanging out at our local, indie music store (sadly departed) and have a soft spot in my heart for it.

Good luck with things and thanks again, for supporting Shoes!

Cheers,

Jeff Murphy/Shoes

Am I gonna miss Daley? In a weird way old marbles mouth is just part of the fabric, you know? And although I am STILL pissed about the fucking parking meters, I just can’t help it. I always thought It was kind of cute when he’d get all crazy mad on TV.

“Stop putting out the chairs.”
“Ok, just respect the chairs.”
“Respect the chairs, but only until Friday.”

Comedy Gold straight outta the Second City. Song 111.

Remember when he bulldozed Meigs Field in the middle of the night? Balls of steel that guy! It’s a good thing he kept making fancier and fancier parks. It’s kind of like one of those stories about something that happened to you once that doesn’t seem funny at the time but years later you find yourself telling it over and over again at the bar as your friends die laughing all around you.

In 1989 Richard M. Daley was elected the 54th Mayor of Chicago.

And this song was Number One on the Billboard Charts.

Of course.

1989. More jams than you might expect.

No one could be more surprised than me about this dedication.

This one is for you Dad.

In my own weird way, I’m a workaholic too.

Song 110.

In the Queen Latifah “Behind The Music” Madame Dana talks about finally being wealthy enough to buy her and her brother motorcycles. Something they always wanted but could never afford. And she also talks about the motorcycle accident that claimed her brother’s life. It’s a story I often think about when I mentally circle all the stuff that is going shitty in my own scenario. It could, and someday will, be worse.

If the people you love are happy and healthy and still around you, then, well, shut your damn pie hole. Right?

After talking about that incident Ms. Latifah said something bold- about not regretting a thing. And she goes on to explain herself with a thought that I still think about (obviously) to this very day.

This is not verbatim, but essentially:

“You have to work as hard as you play and play as hard as you work. If you only do one or the other than neither one makes any sense.”

*sigh* Let’s do this. I’ve got my Workenstocks on. ♥