100Words.net (WEBSITE)

Participants write exactly 100 words a day, each day, for a month. At the end of the month, completed batches post. This concept helped get me started working within structural limitations, and it's become an obsession. That's why I started this blog, to see what I could write about while forcing "sex." (The only really interesting topic besides "death" - I'll let someone else start that blog.) I've been an inattentive host, I know. I've been busy. Plus, structural limitation has its limits. I'm hereby soliciting contributions in earnest. If this idea is anything better than a dumb gag, it'll survive. If you'd like to write for it, please, baby baby, please, get in touch.

Secret Frequency Crew- Forest of the Echo Downs (CD)

This is one of the most subtle electronic records I've picked up in many moons. As background music, it provides inst-grat aplenty. Far, far beneath its surface, it harbors orgiastic joy, mortal fear, sex, violence, and longing. Not to say it's labor intensive, but its full value only matures via repetition. Throw this on some night when you've got household chores to do, but you wouldn't mind fielding a phone call from an old pal, or a new angle on an airy, complex jam.

Shaun of the Dead (MOVIE)

My friend Aaron roped me into catching this in a Northwest Indiana brew 'n' view, and I must say, it's the finest British romantic comedy about zombies I've ever seen. A likable young barfly watches his friends and his sex life sink to new lows as the "recently deceased" stalk the streets, and decides to do something about it. High-larious. The scene in which he argues about which of his records to use as weapons makes the most loving sport of music geekdom since High Fidelity.

http://uip.co.uk/romzom/

Me (PERSON)

These days, I'm one of the more outwardly stable people I know. I comfort my close pals during their Super Freakouts, and seldom burden them with my own. I hold down my responsibilites. I treat strangers and friends with kindness and respect. I ascend and descend staircases on the right. And yet, occasionally, when I'm alone, the dogs catch up to me. A moment arrives when I want to apologize for my very existence, and there's nothing tragic or sexy or fun about it. Today, I caught my reflection, and felt naught but unfettered, bloodthirsty disgust. And then, the moment passed. Thanks. Drive home safely.

John Edwards (NC LITIGANT)

I grew up in Western North Carolina. My father was a public defender for many years, a mouthpiece for petty thieves and murderers with nowhere else to go. Then, he got his make-or-break case, the one that would place him among NC’s sexy legal micro-celebrities: a malpractice suit. He represented a doctor who was in the wrong and needed to cough up some bones. He poured his heart into the case. He lost, left the wife and kids and pursued his dream of playing bass for a living. The opposing counsel in this case was one John Edwards.

Ann Arbor, MI (PLACE)

A college town with some money behind it (unlike Athens, GA, which is pretty much the Dirty Souf off campus). I've heard six or seven people speak on how hard they've "tried to get out of Ann Arbor." The townies deny their love for the place. There's not much going on save sex and drugs, which, with improper use, can tax friendships and make people bitter. They misdirect their bitterness at the city. Don't miss the Tron machine at Pinball Pete's or the graffiti in the Fleetwood Diner's can.

Roscoe Village (NEIGHBORHOOD)

I'm waving goodbye to Roscoe this week. I'm moving to Pilsen, historically Chicago's Hispanic enclave, across from a Catholic school (its logo: a cross that morphs into a lightning bolt on its way down - mosh hard, dude!). I'll miss Hot Doug's, the nationally famous fast food joint that shut down (temporarily, it's said) due to fire damage earlier this summer. I'll miss the easy proximity to MoJoe's Cafe and the Hungry Brain, my favorite bar in creation. But as cute as this neighborhood is - and it's Smurf Village cute, kids - it never quite drank me in.

A1.1 (CD)

Initially, this Euro electro-minimalist comp was distributed to Wire subscribers. Now, the adorable Asphodel label brings it to the people. Now, if you were created via sexual intercourse, you can pilfer the snobs' treasure chest, which is fantastic. There's a lot of seemingly random thumping, whirring and whizzing, but occasionally you get a beat, and the resulting blend of harsh dissonance and visceral grind indicates how well these kids could infiltrate pop music if that's what they wanted.