Best Ofs 2008

For those of you who know me... or know at least one male, it shouldn't surprise you that I/we painstakingly like to compile, categorize and

rank all the meaningless drivel we spend our free time accumulating and consuming.

Frankly, these lists are the only way I can justify the amount of time I spend not making myself smarter, more fit or more accomplished.

If it weren't for these lists, I might start feeling like a loser.

Enjoy.

Top 20 Movies of 2008
(59 movies total)

20.Rachel Getting Married (3.0, October)
19. Tropic Thunder (3.0, August)
18. Cloverfield (3.0, January)
17. Leatherheads (3.0, April)
16. The Changeling (3.0, November)

15. Stepbrothers (3.0, July)
14. Funny Games (3.0, April)
13. Hancock (3.0, July)
12. Slumdog Millionaire (3.0)
11. Forgetting Sarah Marshall (3.0, April)

10. Ironman (3.0, May)
09. Wall-E (3.5, June)
08. Frost/Nixon (3.5)
07. The Wrestler (3.5, December)
06. Milk (3.5, December)
05. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (3.5, December)
04. Burn After Reading (3.5, September)
03. Revolutionary Road (4.0)
02. Doubt (4.0, December)
01. The Dark Knight (4.0, July)


Top 25 Songs of 2008

25. Jack Killed Mom - Jenny Lewis
24. Lost+ - Coldplay (feat. Jay-Z)
23. Gamma Ray - Beck
22. The '59 Sound - Gaslight Anthem
21. Geraldine - Glasvegas
20. Mr. Pitiful - Matt Costa
19. Pork and Beans - Weezer
18. Viva La Vida - Coldplay
17. Go Square Go - Glasvegas
16. M79 - Vampire Weekend
15. New Years Day - The Caesars
14. The Iron Wheel - The Nightwatchman (feat. Shooter Jennings)
13. We Are Winning - Flobots
12. Ottoman - Vampire Weekend
11. Oxford Comma - Vampire Weekend
10. California Girls - The Magnetic Fields
9. The Wrestler - Bruce Springsteen
8. Hold Up - The Raconteurs
7. Troublemaker - Weezer
6. Don't Forget Sister - Low vs. Diamond
5. Too Drunk to Dream - The Magnetic Fields
4. Handlebars - Flobots
3. Campus - Vampire Weekend
2. NYC - Gone, Gone - Conor Oberst
1. Salute Your Solution - The Raconteurs


TOP 10 ALBUMS of 2008


10. Stay Positive - The Hold Steady

If you like Springsteen, you'll like The Hold Steady, mostly because the Hold Steady really like Springsteen and Springsteen really likes the Hold Steady. Logically, the Hold Steady and Springsteen really like you too, which is nice. Big ups to bar bands. (1.91 rating)

09. Here We Stand - The Fratellis

There weren't any bad songs on The Fratellis' last album "Costello Music," just as there aren't any bad songs here. The Fratellis don't really make bad songs, they just seem to make fewer awesome songs with each new album...at least so far. (1.91 rating)

08. Acid Tongue - Jenny Lewis

Remember Jenny Lewis from "Mr. Belvedere?" Jenny Lewis was totally in "Mr. Belvedere" and although I haven't yet listened to "Bob Uecker Sings Tom Waits Songs," I'm pretty sure this album is the best record from any former member of that show. Also, Elvis Costello's choked voice makes a cameo, which people my age have told me is pretty great. (1.92 rating)

07. Distortion - The Magnetic Fields

You'll hear no better collection of ironic songs about hating beautiful girls, loving the slutty life or how much better being drunk is than being sober. Nuff said. (2.00 rating)

06. Glasvegas - Glasvegas

These Scottish dudes really like Phil Spector, the f-word in their choruses, The Raveonettes, feedback, Jesus and the Mary Chain and The Ramones. And you know what? So do I. (2.10 rating)

05. The Rhumb Line - Ra Ra Riot

It's a good sign that seemingly more bands are embracing more orchestral sounds on their albums. This light was ignited with Coldplay and Arcade Fire and seemingly continues with Vampire Weekend and here with Ra Ra Riot's second album. The liner notes for Vampire Weekend's album thanks Riot. Good enough for me. (2.10 rating)

04. Fight with Tools - Flobots

I've heard this album described as conscientious flow for a more responsible youth movement and I've heard this album described as pretentious hip-hop for laymen CNN viewers. At times it's both, but it always provides images to think about and an orchestral heartbeat that thumps this album past all others of its kind this year. (2.17 rating)

03. Weezer (The Red Album) - Weezer

The cover of Weezer's sixth album appropriately informs its content: familiar design, goofy posing. The good news is the band sticks to the familiar (a bunch of short geek-rock songs, rhyme dictionary-infused lyrics and one long form opus that graces most Weezer albums). The bad news is that I'm older and a little less tolerant of it all than I used to be. (2.30 rating)

02. Consolers of the Lonely - The Raconteurs

There are only a few musicians or groups that innately mirror my own music philosophy and emotional direction. Jack White has been that for me for more than a year. I know little about him personally, but aurally, White's influence over every group of which he's a part has greatly informed my musical vocabulary. (2.50 rating)

01. Vampire Weekend - Vampire Weekend

With a rock lineage tracing back to the Kinks and especially Paul Simon, this deceptively named Ivy League prep band orchestrated song after marvelously intricate song, without having to write a single sensical lyric. (3.00 rating)

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To see my previous rankings visit the 2007 link and the 2006 link

Book List 2008

I'm supposed to be sticking to a one-book-every-two-weeks pace. Finishing grad school and tackling "Atlas Shrugged" has stifled my progress. I'm hoping to motivate (read: embarrass) myself into kicking it up a notch and making up for lost time.

If I don't, that's okay. I've seen more movies and listened to more new albums than you have, so just keep your mouth shut.

FICTION
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Zipped
by Laura and Tom McNeal
pub. 2003

I assume this book was meant to be a beach read, as I literally read the bulk of this book on a Mexican beach. I had trouble deciphering if this story of adolescent love and grown-up adultery was meant for young adults or grown-ups. The mature subject matter which also included rape, neglect, parenting and loneliness was written in such an uncomplicated fashion, I wondered if I was it's intended audience. C+

Rant: An Oral Biography of Buster Casey
by Chuck Palahniuk
pub. 2007

Palahniuk is doing his evil humor-thing again. Really that's all Chuck ever does. As brilliant and provocative as the ideas pulsing and bleeding through this book tend to be, the story is missing the soul to make it matter. Buster "Rant" Casey is a rabid demolition derby-terrorist whose story is told through dozens of short recollections of people who knew him during his life. An interesting style of storytelling, with Palahniuk's normal zest for faux-informative bits, but little else. B-

Snuff
by Chuck Palahniuk
pub. 2008

Since 1999 I have thought of myself as a Chuck Palahniuk fan. I've read all his books, loved the first five, disliked the last five. I'm starting to believe I'm not actually a Palahniuk fan anymore. Palahniuk's been writing about sociopaths in despicable places, such as the porno film set in this story, from the beginning, but there has always been a modicum of creativity and wit. This was Chuck Palahniuk writing what an amateur Palahniuk fan would write if that fan set out to write like Palahniuk. D-

Atlas Shrugged
by Ayn Rand
pub. 1957

This grandiose railroad epic may not be may favorite book of all-time, but it is the only book I've ever labeled as inspiring. "Atlas Shrugged" is a willful, gritty, philosophical hurricane that matches intelligence in storytelling with the beautifully broken brilliance of its characters. I cannot recommend this book more. The only negative mark I can give to the book is the 100-page manifesto that occurs somewhere around page 900. "Atlas Shrugged" is the hilarious stranger that shows up to your house party, tells great jokes, kicks ass at beer-pong and makes out with the hottest girl in attendance. The 100-page manifesto represented the period of the party when that hilarious stranger over-drinks, rambles incoherently on his way to passing out in your recliner and leaves silently in the morning. A

And Then There Were None
by Agatha Christie
pub. 1939

I feared this 69-year-old mystery novel would seem rote and cliched after numerous mediums have borrowed and lifted directly from Christie's work on which the popular "Clue" board game was based. The fact is, this quick read goes by so fast because it's baffling in its simplicity. The story of 10 captive strangers falling farther and farther into fear and paranoia as someone among them kills them one-by-one has been retold so many times by now that I frankly had no clue which way Christie originally went. Without giving anything away, I was never close when guessing how it would end. Isn't that the point of a book like this? A-

The Watchmen
By Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons
pub. 1986-1987

There isn't one likable character in this entire graphic novel, which makes it all the more compelling that the huge tome is so fun to read. Let's face it, most of us wouldn't pass up an opportunity to be a superhero, and unless any of start glowing bright blue and can see through time, "The Watchmen" suggests that if you're sick and cynical and face any number of psych-social malfunctions, you're just as likely to be a supehero as anyone else. B+

The Fountainhead
By Ayn Rand
pub. 1943

I'm not sure if it's more tragic that Rand had no friends or that she didn't seem to want any. I'm glad I read "Atlas Shrugged" first because she clearly didn't feel or hadn't fully formed her ideals and objectivist philosophies by the time she ended this book. "Atlas" has more plot and a better romantic expression of Rand's ideal man. Also, without seeing Howie Roark's architectural design, his greatness is told and not shown in the same way John Galt's is. "The Fountainhead" is good, but not compared to the greatness that we know follows. B+


NONFICTION
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IV
by Chuck Klosterman
pub. 2007

Klosterman's "Zoso" is good, but not great. And the reasons it's not a great book are completely hypocritical when compared to "Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs." Both books were more or less compilations of previously published material, but Klosterman was a virtually unknown writer when he published his second book (I should know, as I was one of the few who knew him before 2004). I can't give him full props for publishing things I've already given him props for publishing. What saves "IV" are the inserts in between each chapter. Great conversation starters. Book: B Content: A

30: The Collapse of the Great American Newspaper
edited and introduced by Charles M. Madigan
pub. 2007

This book chronicles the many stages of the American newspaper business. Madigan's compilation doesn't uncover or offer much hope for the future of this shifting medium, but the book does uncover the manner in which this medium has weakened. Thoroughly fascinating, not often positive, but always informative. A-

The Pursuit of Happyness
by Chris Gardner
pub. 1994

A friend of mine called the Will Smith adaptation of this book "schmaltz," which frustrated me because I loved the movie so much, yet I don't consider myself a schmaltzy dude. The original material from Chris Gardner is considerably less schmaltzy, because the book details his malfeasances and imperfections as a father and lover. This isn't the feel-good tale its movie adaptation was, but a nevertheless intriguing tale of human internal endurance. B

Being Digital
by Nicholas Negroponte
pub. 1995

First thing's first, this book about digital technology was written in 1995, which in technological terms might as well have been hundreds of years ago. But many found worth in the predictions of Nostradamus, and Negroponte does a eerie job with his own predictions of our technical futures. Negroponte goes a long way toward proving the philosophy and process of technological development, from the lab to the hand of the consumers. More predated history book than anything, but worth reading for that reason. B

I Am America (And So Can You)
by Stephen Colbert
pub. 2007

If you like the Comedy Central show "The Colbert Report," it would be impossible to dismiss this book completely. Colbert offers his followers a belated Cliffs Notes of what makes Colbert who he is. All the hot topics are here: religion, class, sex and relationships, the family, old folks and anything on which Colbert imagines the nation wants to know his thoughts. Funny, but that comes as no surprise. That Colbert managed to keep the book under 1,000 pages however, is shocking. B+

Hammer of the Gods: The Led Zeppelin Saga
by Stephen Davis
pub. 1985, 1997

Although this book reads much like any run-of-the-mill rock bio, Zeppelin is so infamously elusive, the fact that the book exists and is better than some hastily written scrapbook makes it worth a read for even the casual fan. The weakest part of the book is strangely the minimal amount of attention paid to the actual music. Hotel rooms and live happenings make up the bulk of Davis' book, while the creation of some of the most iconic songs in rock history are made to seem effortless and secondary. B+

The Nine: Inside the Secret World of the Supreme Court
by Jeffrey Toobin
pub. 2007

This exhaustive examination of the nine (but really like 15 or so) Supreme Court justices is at times fascinating and at others dull. When Toobin magnifies each justice's peccadilloes (Sutter eats apples whole and moves around his office according to the sun) the book really seems to be uncovering who it is that shape the rules under which we all live. When the author recounts milestones ranging from the 2000 presidential election to the re-examination of Roe v. Wade, the book tends to get mired in a play-by-play of historical fact readily available in many other places. B

The Virtue of Selfishness
by Ayn Rand
pub. 1964

My education on objectivism continued in this thoughtful collection of essays making its case for egoism. Although this 168 page book amounts to little more than the 100+ page soliloquy John Galt gives near the end of "Atlas Shrugged," I absorbed far more by revisiting these deceptively complex ideals in a less contextual form. B+

Fake!: The Story of Elmyr de Hory the Greatest Art Forger of Our Time
by Clifford Irving
pub. 1969

Elmyr de Hory is an artist who, after failing to sell his own work, forged he work of famous artists. For 20 years, de Hory faked an estimated 1,000 art pieces in excess of $60 million. The major theme on which the book's author and subject agree, is that art is subjective and that the fallacy of the art world (in the 1950s and '60s, anyway) is that critics, collectors and sellers all pompously act as if they have an objective insight hat they do not. Clifford Irving, who also has a personal history of faking (Google it) is clearly interested, not in art, but in the art of swindling. His interest makes for a simple and interesting read. B



Below is a pace count. If it's at 14.0 or something close to that, I'm right where I want to be. I think I'm going to be well above that for quite some time.
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365 days in 2008/ 16 books = 22.8 days per book

Chinese Democracy

I finally listened to Guns 'n' Roses' new album "Chinese Democracy," an album that I was admittedly more intrigued by than excited for. This album was not only supposed to come out back when it would have been called a record, but it was also supposed to be awesome. It was supposed to revolutionize - not just rock music - all music.*

* Full disclosure: when "Appetite for Destruction" came out, I was aware of it, but can't claim to have been a fan. My Guns 'n' Roses fandom came retroactively, but I would still argue that it nevertheless came genuinely. I wasn't listening to them to be cool, I would have listened to them in the late eighties if that were the case. I was just listening to other types of things when they were peaking. But because I was aware of them and knew kinda what they were about, I was able to apply that perspective to their music long after it was released.

Paleontologists aren't bandwagon jumpers for discovering truths about dinosaurs millenniums late, they're just tardy.

How revolutionary was "Chinese Democracy" supposed to be? Imagine if John Lennon said the Beatles had something really special planned to make up for "Let it Be?" The "next" G 'n' R album was supposed to be "Stairway to Heaven" big. And unlike the all-too-familiar hype machines surrounding large portions of today's music, G 'n' R fans believed. They believed irrationally perhaps, but they believed. I suppose with some musicians, fans will always believe, no matter how many times they are disappointed. If The Rolling Stones held a press conference tomorrow and said they just finished recording what they consider their best record since "Exile on Main Street" everyone would roll their eyes, talk about how they haven't done anything good since "Some Girls" and then stand in line at the Wal-Mart at four in the morning chomping at the bit to buy it the moment the store opened, even if they had to trample someone to get it.**

**Too soon? It's probably always too soon for Wal-Mart trampling stories, huh? Also, why wouldn't the hypothetical Stones fan just download the thing at midnight from iTunes? Probably because only out-of-touch 90-year-olds enjoy NEW Rolling Stones albums.

And this is why "Chinese Democracy" is worth blogging about (along with posting the superfluous photo of Axl with Bruce to your right). It's the last connection to a dead era that many rock fans wish never died. Most of us never imagined Guns 'n' Roses (or Axl Rose, if we're splitting hairs) had any more music in him, but there was always a miracle possible as long as that album never came out. The Stones came out with "Tattoo You" in 1983, about seven years after many critics first pronounced them dead. The Beach Boys danced with John Stamos to "Kokomo," which was not a good song, but was a big hit and happened decades after Brian Wilson parted ways with the Beach Boys. So maybe, just maybe whenever "Chinese Democracy" came out, it would be a miracle. The kind of miracle that would simultaneousy bring us back to the past and bring the past to us. No Doubt brought back ska and Brian Setzer brought back swing, why can't Guns 'n' Roses bring back legit hair metal?

So...? How is "Chinese Democracy?"

The best way I can think to describe it is to bring you into my living room on February 4, 2007. Many of my friends and I gathered around the television to watch the Bears battle the Colts in Superbowl XLI. People outside of Chicago might not understand, but for those Bears fans reading this, I'm sure you remember Devin Hester's return kickoff for a touchdown on the very first play of the game.



I'm not even a big football fan, but watching that 19 second play was just about the most exhilaratingly unifying moment of joy and relief. That moment was everything Bears fans could have reasonably wanted.

Hester totally and undeniably came through.

That same exhilaration and relief shot through me like a heatseeking missile during the first 90 seconds of the opening title track to "Chinese Democracy." This was what Axl Rose had wanted us to hear. This was it. It was like a pen full of demon dogs unleashed from the gates of Hell. The first 90 seconds of "Chinese Democracy" is unflinchingly miraculous. Axl Rose was about to totally and undeniably come through...

You may recall that the Bears lost the Superbowl 29-17 and Hester's return was the only highlight of the game for the Bears in hindsight. It was a letdown in every way possible and the Bears haven't been the same since.

You're hopefully connecting the dots between my comparison of the Super Bowl to this album. I'd like to think my readers are a little sharp.

"Chinese Democracy" is not a good album.

But we shouldn't be shocked by this, right? It couldn't possibly have been good. It turns out Rose has been stalling, not orchestrating. Shame on us for believing. "Godfather III" wasn't any damn good, why would this album be any different?

The sad-but-true answer is that it's not any different. Not at all...except that heart-stopping/breaking opening minute of the first track on the album. I was hoping to discover my long lost brother was still alive, but he isn't. Instead, I was visited by his ghost. Which might be worse, because it just makes me miss what no longer is there.

If "Chinese Democracy" serves any purpose, it is to absolve me of my hope for great hair metal in the future.

Once and for all.

-122

Wedding Pips

Fans of the blog (yeah, I'm referring to all three of you) know how skittish I am about weddings. In the past, you've likely read this or this. If you haven't, you should do so and return when you're better prepared.

The most overlooked reason weddings leave a gassy feeling in my tummy is that it forces the bride and groom to commit to social hierarchies that are uncomfortable to admit.

When we were all younger, way younger, like when mustaches were more manly than ironic, we used to use our personal friendship rankings as a power play. "If you trade me those Dunkaroos for this apple, I'll be your best friend." We've all been a part of the if-you-do-_____-I'll-be-your-best-friend trade-off before. It takes balls to pull this off and little kids have balls, mostly because they haven't got brains.

Clearly they haven't got any brains because the deals went through. They happened. I didn't have Dunkaroos until I was 15 because I kept trading them away to people so they'd become my friends. They were already sitting next to me in school and at lunch and probably already liked me before the transaction, but what did I know?

If I was interested in making my own tee shirts, I'd make one that said "I was a stupider child than you were." I'm not into making my own tee shirts though, so the point is moot.

Using your friendship to manipulate certain situations ran rampant throughout my childhood. Kids my age wrote out invitations according to who was most liked. The cool kids were established by the sheer number of other kids that hung around them. If you sucked at dodgeball, but your friend was a captain, you'd always be picked third.*

* You couldn't be picked first or second because the team had to compete and the captain would get ridiculed for choosing some lame dodgeballer first. The fix would totally be in, the captain's status would plunge and both he and you would be screwed.

It should also be noted that this rule only applies to boys. Girls had no interest in competing or really, being good at anything. Girls only picked their friends and chatted while holding onto the dodgeballs. Thinking back, girls were a total waste until they hit puberty. They're fine now, but I have no regrets wanting nothing to do with them when I was eight.

When I was little, I secretly ranked my friends. I did. I had to. I was always scared I was going to actually be thrown in the hypothetical situations people dream up (drowning boat with time enough only to save one, a dive bombing airplane with only one other parachute, an invitation to a supermodel orgy for you and only one guest**). It seemed imperative that if any of these situations were to arise, that I should not waste time rashly deciding things I should have settled in my head long ago.

** That last hypothetical came a little later in life.

So, for the bulk of my life, at any given moment, I knew who my best friend on Earth was. I also knew the silver medal winner, the bronze and the guys who I didn't really care for, but whose moms were hot.

For most people, this way of thinking shifts and locks onto other things, leaving your friendships in a shapeless glob of history, geography and circumstance. This isn't to say that all friends are equal. Far from it. But the relationships become more organic and comfortable. Eventually, most of us stop associating with people whose friendship can be purchased for the price of a pack of Dunkaroos.

And right about this time is when most people get engaged.

Weddings ask us, once again, to organize where everyone stands in our individual lives. Who's my best man? Which five of my friends and relatives deserve to purchase heinous taffeta bridesmaids dresses? Who's a friend, but still owes me $100 bucks and therefore will be relegated to usher?

Weddings make everyone's social standing frighteningly clear.

And God help you if you don't have a) one (1) sibling or b) someone who saved your life in one way or another.

If my sister Emily was my brother it would be so much easier.*** She'd automatically be my best man. Why? Because we share the same blood. It's not a question of "like" it's a question of family and of "right-ness."

*** For me, not for my sister. If Emily was a boy, she'd take a lot of shit for looking and acting like such a wuss.

It's the same idea if a friend of mine pulled me from a burning wreck, lifted my near-drowned body from the bottom of a pool or spent six years as my AA sponsor. "Hey fellas, your feelings can't be hurt, George here saved my life. I literally couldn't have gotten married without him. I owed him one. I mean, c'mon, his best man speech is practiclaly already written!"

Those two options make everything easy. But I have neither option. One day - I don't know when - I'm going to have to not only choose who will be my Gladys Knight, but also the Pips. I'll also have to show everyone whom I don't like enough to be either Gldys or the Pips clear-cut evidence of this. I'm not jazzed about this process.

The funny thing is, the decision itself isn't hard. I know who it'll be. Actually, I've got both Gladys and all the Pips chosen in my head. The hard part will be revealing to the Pips that they're not Gladys Knight and revealing to the audience that they won't be one of the Pips.

I believe that most people would honestly rather not be a main part of the wedding, but I bet they'd like to be asked. I'd be happy to ask if I somehow knew they would decline. But I don't know that and I'd hate to have the fat guy I bunked with for four years of basketball camp inexplicably become my best man.

The weird thing is, weddings are supposed to be a joyous occasion and yet, to some degree someone's feelings almost certainly have to get hurt at least a little. Someone is going to think they play a bigger part in my life than they do. In fact, it's possible some people don't realize how important they actually are.

Man, I hate weddings.

Halloweeird

With Halloween firmly in our collective rearviews, I must confess that the quality and effort I saw many everyday Chicagoans put into their costumes this year really impressed me.

The best costumes are often the ones that blend most seamlessly into their environment. The first such fully-proportioned outfit belonged to some guy I saw in an alleyway near the train I take after work to get home. This guy got an early jump on the Friday night festivities by dressing in full hobo rag regalia. Not only had this middle-aged gentleman soiled and worn down his secondhand clothes, but he also managed to capture the sour odor of an average metropolitan city bum. The costume was dead-on. I found him sitting on a alley grate pretending to fall asleep. I kicked the "bum's" boot. When he "awoke" he remained in character by asking me for a dollar. Great. Just great stuff. He really went the whole way with the costume. So I played along and handed a dollar to the guy, whom I imagined was a banker or perhaps a business executive. I mean, how else could he have left the office early enough to work himself over so authentically? Irony plays a large part in the best costumes and so it would only be poetic for the man so ingeniously portraying a street tramp to be a man of business or finance.

The" bum" took things a little far for my taste by refusing to give me my dollar back now that the fun in-character exchange was over. I gave him a dollar because he was pretending to be a bum and so, ha-ha. When he didn't give the dollar back, it occurred to me that this shrewd profiteering from a Halloween costume is precisely the type of guile that allowed him to be such a successful enough businessman to take off from work early on a Friday. Fair enough, sir. You may keep my dollar.

I went on my way, took the train home and marveled at the myriad other neat Halloween costumes. Not all of them were as involved as the bum's get-up, but most had a certain charm.

The second-best set of costumes I saw belonged to an inordinately large group of chicks in front of a private high school a block from my house. A bunch of tarty girls probably conspiring to crash some nearby party were all dressed in the exact same Catholic school outfits. I was impressed with the sheer number of girls dressing as slutty school girls, if not underwhelmed by their overall imagination.

So well done to that gaggle of girls dressed in matching slutty school uniforms in front of Fenwick High. And a happy Halloween to the rest of you until next year.

Bill Kurtis

I can't eat in public anymore. I never thought this would be a problem that I would grow up to have, but alas I'm developing a tendency to create hubbubs in eateries.

Once or twice a week I leave work to eat lunch. I always eat alone. It makes me feel chic, like I'm too cool for school...or maybe just too cool for friends. The act of going out to eat is pretty much where my man-about-town fairy tale ends as the places I go are far from high society hang-outs. Most of the restaurants I'm talking about are named after Al or Bernie and the word "beef" or "grill" can be found somewhere in the restaurant's name.

I was in my favorite ethnic delicatessen (read: Chinese food joint) eating my weekly helping of chicken fried rice. I was in Yu Choy (pictured above) for 10 minutes when an older gentleman with a familiar face and an even more familiar voice sat at the table in front of me and ordered chicken dumplings.

I quickly identified him as popular Chicago journalist-cum-AT&T-wireless-Internet-spokesman Bill Kurtis. Whenever I'm in the presence of someone with a modicum of notoriety (it doesn't happen often), I ask myself "how famous is this person in front of me, really?" That is to say, is this person famous enough that distant family members are going to call to say they saw me mixed in with all the media and paparazzi on CNN? Is this person famous enough to be one of the B-listers on "Dancing With the Stars?" or is this person famous like the mildly crazy guy in town whom everyone knows to avoid?

As far as I know (and could tell from watching him eat his dumplings) Bil Kurtis seems more likely to end up dancing with Cheryl Burke than on CNN or the dumpster in my alleyway.

Bill Kurtis (pictured: right) is famous, but with a small "f."

He's famous enough that the Hispanic owner of the Chinese restaurant (?) also recognized him. After gathering around three of his employees to validate his suspicion that the old guy at table four was, in some way, famous, the owner made his approach... with a steaming bowl of shrimp chop suey in hand.* I could tell it was shrimp chop suey, because before he shimmied on over to Mr. Kurtis' table, he brought me my check. His focus was on Bill Kurtis now. He was done with me and the check was his way of signifying it.

Because the book I brought with me was just so-so, by now it only served as a beard disguising my spying on the unfolding theater in front of me. I wondered if the restaurant owner would still hand Bill Kurtis the fresh bowl of suey if Bill Kurtis turned out to be some regular dude with a smooth voice. There weren't any customers in the place without food, how would the owner have covered that up? It was Bill Kurtis, so I'll never know.

*Mmm. Shrimp chop suey. Sparing no expense, I see.

A healthy dose of gushing took a one way trip from the owner to Bill Kurtis. It was muted enough that I couldn't hear exactly what was said. Again, with certain celebrities, you can probably guess what someone would say in that situation.

"Oh Madonna, you look so good for your age... well, I don't mean your age, like you're old, I meant your age as in, 'my God you're 50 and you look 16...' But...but I'm not implying you had plastic surgery. You're 50. Be proud of that...not that you're not... I'm just saying you look healthier than people your age usually look. You look great... you totally look good enough to pull off messing around with A-Rod... not that you were, just that you could..."

But the restaurant owner probably wasn't bringing up A-Rod in his conversation with Bill Kurtis. They exchanged a few more pleasantries and then it got to the point where it would have been awkward for the owner to stand hovering above this poor old (68) guy with two plates of food, one of which he had not ordered. So the owner returned to my table, picked up the money I left with the check and made change. He returned quickly, always with one eye on the famous television anchor, shoveled my change and my check (again) at me and returned to the table in front of me to attend to the whims of Mr. Kurtis (who didn't really seem to have any whims) and to provide an epilogue to the star struck show the owner had been putting on in front of me these last few minutes.

The owner felt comfortable enough to bring a few of the restaurant's cooks over to visit with Bill Kurtis. They weren't asking for autographs or taking pictures. They weren't really chatting with him, either. They were more like watching him chew. Like a scorned wife waiting for her husband to drop dead after eating the soup she poisoned. Everyone huddled around Kurtis waiting for...I dunno, something.

My bill was $7. I left a $2 tip, the high-roller that I am, and finished the two pages left I had in my book's chapter. I gathered my jacket, book and phone and headed for the exit. In the rigmarole surrounding Kurtis, it didn't seem as if anyone was paying attention to me until I heard an angry voice behind me loudly saying "Hey, man!"

Being a man, it seemed reasonable that the statement was directed toward me.

I turned around and the tiny owner was right behind me like we were attached to each other by four feet of rope. He had my check and my $2 in his fist.

"You gotta pay your bill, man," the owner said.

This was confusing because I had paid the bill. I wouldn't know how to go about paying for something twice. I glanced over the owner's head at Bill Kurtis who was (seemingly) not paying attention to the confrontation.** I felt this all somehow had something to with Kurtis and kinda hoped he would, at least, rubberneck in his seat.

** Bill Kurtis is a wily journalist. I now realize he heard every word we said. Well played, old man.

I explained to the owner that the cash he had in his hand was the tip, made from change he had given me just a few minutes ago in a gushing haze of Kurtis excitement. Okay, I didn't say anything about Bill Kurtis, but I was hoping the owner would infer why this mistake was happening. Star gazing Bill Kurtis made this guy think I was dine-and-dashing.

What am I? Miss Louisiana Teen USA?

I am not Miss Louisiana Teen USA.

I'm surprised more people aren't as afraid of this situation as I am. Everyday instances of my-word-against-yours could happen and sometimes do. This was not going to court and I had to decide whether I was willing to walk - perhaps force my way - out of the restaurant (and never come back) or avoid confrontation and pay my bill a second time. I stalled the decision altogether and tried to explain the exact same situation a second time. I again told the owner that "for some reason" he handed me the check along with my change, but that I had paid the bill.

For the owner, it was simple, if the check is one the table it must mean that the customer didn't pay. There's a process, a system, he does this dozens of times a day. Why would that system fail now?

Bill Kurtis, that's why. Damn you, Bill Kurtis.

During my second attempt at explaining the situation, one of the cooks previously gawking at the CBS journalist earlier joined our little pow-wow with a $20 bill in his hand (presumably my $20 bill). He held it in front of the owner as if it were verifiable proof that I had paid. I couldn't imagine that either of them had memorized the serial number of the bill, and the sad thought crossed my mind that my bill was the only twenty in the drawer. Inexplicably I nodded and agreed that the bill in the cook's hand was my bill. "Yup, that's it. Can't you tell? Looks just like the bill I handed you. Andrew Jackson, right? Yeah, totally. That's mine."

The owner was instantly appeased. He apologized and handed me a free fortune cookie, apologizing profusely. I was relieved, nnot mad although I was struck with the irony that Bill Kurtis was more likely to steal from them than I was, as the journalist has a recent history of theft (see video below). And if Yu Choy was willing to give Bill Kurtis some free shrimp suey just for showing up, shouldn't I have had the same for being wrongly accused?