To the Chicagoans out there...anyone going to "This American Life Live" this Thurs? Tickets are still available...in Bloomingdale. Let me know.

I was laying on the couch trying to take a nap, but then Jim Gaffigan came on doing his Hot Pocket bit and ruined everything.



God, I love him.

Stuck in Texas for work. And not just any city in Texas, I'm in Hee Haw Dallas. Last night, my entertainment was eating at a steak place with "Texas" in its name, wondering if they had a steak I could order in the shape of Texas or the baby Jesus. Sadly, it had neither.

Send for help.

This song goes out to the birthday girl, Thode, who turns the big 3-0 today.  Wish I could be there to celebrate with you. 'Cause if I was, we'd be dancin' like this guy.

Like probably many of you, I grew up Catholic. I went K-8 to Holy Name School, and minus hating math, gym, religion class and 6th grade in general, I had a pretty good experience there.

About once a month our parish priest, Fr. William Effinger, would come in and talk to us about...god knows what because sometimes I would feign illness so I could leave and hang out with the Principal's secretary for the hour. Or, if I exhausted that option, I would stare at the ceiling and count the tiny holes in the tile. The only conversation I really remember having with him was in 6th grade when the class clown asked him what were really considered "swear words," and he pretty much pardoned us from every "bad" word except for 'God damning" something. That was super bad, but 'shit' and 'fuck' were totally cool inside the Catholic church. That same year we learned that french kissing before marriage was a sin, but you were allowed to swear like a sailor and God would be A-OK with that. At 11-years-old...I could pretty much live with that.

I never felt comfortable around Fr. Effinger. He always seemed super mean, grouchy, and even at the age of 7, I got the impression he never even liked kids. The last memory I have of him was in 8th grade, when we used to have to work Friday Night bingo to earn money for our class trip to Six Flags Great America in Guernee, IL. Seriously, I'll never know who thought it might be a good idea for a bunch of 13-year-olds to be hanging out in a smoky school basement with a bunch of old alcoholics, but I digress. My last interaction I remember of Fr. Effinger was him, drunk, handing half-empty beer bottles over to two boys in our class and slurring, "These better be gone by the time I get back." Creepy.

So, it's no surprise where I'm going with this story. A year later, in 1992, Fr. Effinger was discovered to have molested a kid that I knew (not in my class, but a few years older). Nine other victims came forward, and Effinger was sentenced to 10 years in jail, where he actually died in 1996 from liver failure. It was the booze that got him, and I'd be lying if said that I didn't wish he died a harsher death. Years later, when the Catholic sex scandal really gained exposure nationwide and many more victims came forward, it pretty much shook my faith in Catholicism and I completely stopped going to mass (minus holidays, and that's really only out of respect for my dad). I simply couldn't place any sort of faith, power, or money with a group that protected this group. Even while writing this post I discovered that Fr. Effinger had actually done this at another parish in 1979 before coming to Sheboygan.

"I deliberately kept it" secret, Archbishop Weakland said in his deposition. "I didn't think it should be divulged at that time or it was helpful." Fuck.

$2 billion later in payouts (cover-ups) and an unbelievable number of victims later, in my opinion, it's frankly too little, too late for the Pope to come forward and apologize on behalf of the church. But I do hope that it gives the victims a little solace, and if they weren't able to before, the ability to move on.

Shake yo poak chops. Work yo ham hocks.



You will thank me for this piece of cultural magnificence.

This past weekend, The Rockers invited me to the Elbo Room to see a Chicago band called Sunday Morning Chameleon. Carla and Ken have been talking about them for quite some time - since at least last Fall - but it wasn't until recently that I started hearing them get more play on the radio and remembering Ken saying back then, "You'll be hearing their name soon." Their songs are really well written, they sounded good, and it doesn't hurt that they're pretty easy on the eyes. Plus, they're really nice guys who you can just tell really want to keep doing what they love. At any rate, if you're looking to check out some new music, I recommend giving these guys a listen and check out their song, "Go On" in the above link that bears their name.

Thanks for the invite, too, Ken & Carla!

A film crew is coming into our office this week to film a portion of a documentary called "Typeface," where 'old school' graphic design craftsmen and international artists meet to discuss modern design and traditional techniques. Yes, I pretty much lifted that off of the film's website. Oddly, a large chunk of where the film takes place is in Two Rivers, WI, which is about 30 minutes from my hometown. But they're in our office to feature one of our staff in the film, Alex Fuller.

Waivers are going to be signed to those who end up appearing in the film. This might be my opportunity to make use of all those Jim Halpert faces that I've been practicing.

Digging this video.

Online dating sucks. I mean, it's hilarious and amusing, but all-in-all, let's be frank. It's stupid.

I saw a guy who I thought was cute. We exchanged a couple of pleasantries, and at one point he asked me what would be my ultimate vacation. I told him it'd be fun to rent a sailboat and hop between the islands in Greece. Chartered, of course. I'm not going to learn how to batten down the mainsail or jib or whatever.

And then he writes this:

"Good evening, Megan. Really enjoyed your note.

I have not dared to dream of sailing the Greek isles yet but I agree - that would be my ideal vacation. "

Seriously, what? "I have not dared to dream of sailing the Greek isles?" Who the hell are you, Thoreau?

Delete. To you and my dream.

I kind of hate myself for knowing every word to this ad.



Worst party trick ever.

Did you guys see this?

Baby in India born with four eyes, two noses and two mouths.

I don't really have anything interesting to add to this story other than "woah, crazy." But I am pretty fascinated when this sort of thing happens, and am happy to see that they're being treated as "gods" or "goddesses" rather than being sent on a traveling freak show through Kansas. The human reproductive process is a strange thing.