![The [Cherry] Ride](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP_Wpo_xAKGTAF93x0Rsk96a8E_5Orvs3TCNwSNr_Zx7CAjjyu6t1Za9X7LhV30NPZxVCDhdcS-7rMnk1Uw0mj0dFzTZ3PvFsnxi7z5qPWRVqfk7eH25ZvxQRL2SzLllIm6ltY/s695/3478322803_eb0697b525_o.jpg)
Richard, my brother and I went to Pitchfork this weekend in Union Park. I know I am supposed to give a detailed account but I just can't be bothered. Other more capable bloggers could sum it up better than I can. I will say though that it was fun. It was hot. I bought a few really awesome posters from Flatstock (including this one pictured below). 
Now, on to Lollapalooza Friday.
As the Cherry Ride Players provide you with just some of the fascinating thoughts that occurred to me this week:
(Click on the cartoon to enlarge.)
I realize it is late July and that it is supposed to be hot and all, but holy fucking shit:
We've got Pitchfork this weekend. Which is outside. And crowded. This is going to suck.
If you read the Huffington Post, then you are probably aware of the its "People Search" feature, which shows you how popular certain people or issues are among bloggers in a given week.
Of course I wanted (no, scratch that: Needed) to find out how popular I was in the blogosphere. So after typing in my name, I found out I rank a "5." Not having any clue what this means in practical terms, I typed in two other popular people to see how they ranked, in order to get a sense of scale.
I may be no Angelina or Justin, but at least I rank better than Clayton McDuffy. Who is Clayton McDuffy you ask? He's my alter-ego. The name I use when I don't want people to know who I really am.
Yes, I am that sad. But at least I score better than a fictional person. And at this point, I will take what I can get.
Chicago has made it to the final three American cities up for consideration for the 2016 Olympics (2016 - I shudder to think that far in the future). The three cities are Chicago, L.A. and San Fran. Insiders say Chicago's bid is very strong and might have the best chance, and that LA sucks. *
Once they pick a city, the USOC has to then decide if they even want to put a bid up for consideration with the IOC.
Since I was a kid I've wanted to work for the IOC, or be involved with the Olympics in some way. Maybe if Chicago wins, I can finally get my chance.
* OK, I made that part up. But I bet somebody on the USOC thinks it is true...
I have really bad gaydar, but even I saw this coming.
I mean look at this picture - he has gay eyes, for chrissakes.
In other 'N Sync news, apparently Justin Timberlake might have a new album coming out soon, as evidenced by my friends J-Bro and Wingman. In honor of this, a new CRQOW appears to the right.
Have you seen these “BK Stackers”? They’re new (or maybe I just finally started paying attention) and available in double, triple and quadruple size. Yes quadruple.
That’s 4 beef patties, 4 slices of American cheese, and 8 strips of bacon.
Sr. VP and “Chief Concept Officer” (I want that job, btw) Denny Marie Post is quoted saying: “The BK Stacker is simple and built with the very ingredients our restaurant guests love best—meat, cheese and bacon. We're satisfying the serious meat lovers by leaving off the produce and letting them decide exactly how much meat and cheese they can handle."
(I'm quoted as saying: "Are you fucking kidding me with this shit??")
And if that wasn’t enough, it also has BK Stacker Sauce and a sesame seed bun (when you’re eating 4 slabs of beef and 8 pieces of bacon, do you really care what kind of bun you’re eating? And can you even taste the bun??).
For years I’ve been growing dissatisfied with my fast food experiences; there’s been something lacking, something missing. And now I realize what it is – a burger with fucking 4 patties on it, and 8 strips of bacon!
Thank you, Burger King for your Quadruple BK Stacker!
If you’re one of those people who actually buys and enjoys this thing, then you deserve the impending heart disease and heart attack. There, I said it.
Where members of the Cherry Ride Players act out various scenes, conversations and other crap for nobody's enjoyment but my own.
More than half of you CRQOW Pollsters are more concerned about finding proof that Baby Suri Cruise exists than you are about getting blown to hell by Kim Jong Il.
Although not at all a fan of the show, I dug this site (thanks Dop!) which lets you create your own South Park character. Here’s me if I was to appear on the show:
Hat? I have three of these earflap hats. If I could wear a hat like this everyday (without getting hot or getting fired), I would.
Mouth? Since I am in a constant state of wonder and confusion, this was best.
MP3 Player? Duh. I am a slave to the rhythm.
Scarf and Wristbands? I like to accessorize.
Green Pants? I LOVE GREEN PANTS
Light Saber? Who doesn’t want one?
Bag? I don’t travel without my man-purse.
Ice Cream? Mmmmmmmmmmm
Suburban Sydney park managers have decided to blast Barry Manilow music throughout the park after hours to deter loiterers from hanging around. "I don't know how I will cope" said a neighbor.
It could be worse -- wouldn't Celine Dion have been more effective?
Personally, I go into an ape-shit crazy frenzy to "Copacabana" -- if I could hear that nightly, my world would be a better place.
AND IN BREAKING NEWS: Media all over the country are publishing reports that it is hot. In July. It's hot every July, people. This shouldn't be news. Drink a Coolatta and focus on the more important issues: Bush said the word shit and some people heard it.
Overheard by me, standing in line at Starbucks:
Guy: I need a small coffee.
Cashier: "That's one tall coffee."
Guy: "No, I said small."
Cashier: "Yeah, its the same thing."
Guy: "Why is a 'small' a 'tall'?"
Cashier: "That's just what we call it."
Guy: "I don't like that idea."
And this has nothing to do with anything, other than I saw it on Daily Dump a few weeks ago and thought it was funny. Enjoy, kids.
This week’s CRLOW is to Ms. Marie Campbell, who went to taste of Chicago on June 30th with her 6-year-old son and decided to just sorta leave him there instead of taking him home with her.
Now, I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure that kind of parenting is going to get you in all sorts of trouble.
Oh Marie:
You is one crazy bitch, aren’t you?
I mean seriously, you are one Tough Mom. I guess you were trying to prove a point with your son. We all know the game: that whole “If you don’t behave I’m going to leave you here” one that parents sometimes play with their kids when they act up. I guess you thought it would be good to take the game to a new level. Not only do you threaten to leave your kid behind, but, lest your child think you’re all talk and no action, you took it a step further by actually putting your money where your mouth is. Damn, girl, you are tough. And bravo – lesson learned: I’m pretty sure your child will definitely think twice before playing that game with you again. I guess you showed him whose boss.
Oh, but then again, you probably won’t need to worry about playing that game with your son next time because they’ll probably never let you near him – or any other child - again.
But what I really wanted to ask you was: How did you think you were going to get away with this? Or maybe: What did you think the outcome was going to be? You told your family that he was staying with friends for the weekend, which would cover your ass for a few days but what were you going to do come Monday? People tend to start asking questions when their nephew/grandson/neighbor suddenly disappears.
Or did you really think shorty was going to find his way home on his own? Its touching that you have so much confidence in your son, but let me let you in on a little secret: He’s 6. He’s barely toilet trained, let alone able to hop on the cross-town bus for home. You really shoulda thought this one out better, if you don’t mind me saying.
...And just as I was starting to miss living there, DC Police Chief Chuck Ramsey declares the place in a state of a "crime emergency" thanks to "a wave of violent crime sweeping across downtown Washington, the Mall and other areas once considered safe."
People have been mugged and assaulted on the National Mall for fuck's sake (how the hell does THAT happen??) and some guy got his throat slit in the driveway of a mansion --in Georgetown!
My friend Jason has a few broken bones and bruises and lived in a hospital for a few days because he got beat and robbed by three guys a few weeks ago while walking to his apartment. In his own neighborhood. And Jason isn't some rube off the turnip truck; he's lived in DC for years and knows how to handle himself (just like, I imagine, the Georgetown guy and perhaps the folks on the Mall). This is outrageous.
A Cherry Ride high-five to Snoop Dogg for falling o-so-far from relevancy.
I seem to remember a time when it was generally believed you were an important voice in Hip-Hop; when you "was representin' the Pound and Death Row"; when whities were afraid of you (what with that whole murder rap incident); and then frat boys bought Doggystle so they could be "street" like you and then started imitating that whole "izzle" talk. And then you made some porn videos and had a speaking role in "Starsky and Hutch" (wtf?).
And now you're shilling Orbit gum. Laaaiidd Back!
So I suppose the Summer's Eve "Not So Fresh Feeling" tour with Black Eyed Peas must be right around the corner. You know what the real is. When you testify, you gotta keep it fly.
"What can we do to give this report more punch?"
Hmmm... When you say "we" do you really mean you're going to sit down with me and think of some ways to "punch up" this report? Wow, that would be great.
Because I'm pretty sure that by "we" you're not talking about "you and I" but really mean your usual "Go back to your desk and try and figure this out on your own."
The thing is, I have no problem going back to my desk to punch it up some. But I'm pretty tired of this whole "we" crap.
In our efforts to sound PC or not to offend, we dilute and weaken the language. Just say what you mean. I'm a big boy and I can take it.
On a completely unrelated note, a new CRQOW about North Korea appears to the right. Because you bitches think I can't do anything news related.
It’s Thursday here at the Ride, which means it is time for the Cherry Ride Letter of the Week (or CRLOW for those in the know).
This week’s letter is to Brian Heidik, former “Survivor” winner and currently under arrest for shooting a puppy with – get this – a bow and arrow.
Dear Brian:
Dude, what is happening with you?
Is all that money you won from Survivor finally taking a toll?? And why’d you have to take it out on a little puppy? And with a bow and arrow? Newsflash: you’re not stranded on an island in Thailand anymore, you’re in Atlanta. If you’re going to shoot a puppy, use a gun like everyone else does.
If I can be truthful, Brian, you always did seem a bit sketch to me. No offense! I mean, when I first saw you on “Survivor: Thailand” four years ago, me and my friends could tell there was something different about you, aside from your abnormally large head, and your romance-novel cover hair and looks. You claimed to be a “salesman” of some kind, but what kind of sales?
My friends and I got the vibe you were somehow involved in the sex industry, like maybe you sold personal lubricants or maybe adult toys. And then there was that episode where your porn-star-looking wife said hello via videotape and we figured you were an actor on one of those soft porn movies they show on Cinemax. (And as it turns out, you were an actor in some movie called “Virgins of Sherwood Forest” and although I’ve never heard of it I’ll bet they don’t show it on the History, Discovery or National Geographic Channels, you sly fox, you!) BTW, is that why you used a bow and arrow? Did you steal it from the set and feel like you needed some practice for the sequel?
But that’s not the reason I’m writing. I’m a little concerned about this latest incident involving you, that poor puppy and an arrow. Are puppies that much of a threat to your property that you had to shoot one and threaten another?
What’s the deal? Is the pressure of fame and the lifestyle of a D-list soft porn star starting to get to you? Word of advice: Don’t take it out on the puppies. It’s not their fault. (Not to mention, this is no way to get a callback for “Chick Street Fighter II.”)
In fact, don’t take it out on your wife and kids either, man, because that’s pretty pathetic.
Anyway, enough from me. I think you’ve got your hands pretty full at the moment with all those crazy “animal cruelty” and “domestic battery” charges. I just wanted to drop you a note and remind you that you can be so much better than this, man.
Remember, dude: You’re a “Survivor” winner! I mean, just look at all the other “Survivor” winners who have become such positive role models and are doing such awesome things with their lives! Everyone loves and remembers “Survivor” winners. Seriously, ask anybody.
Don’t blow it. We expect such big things from you, Brian!
All the Best
- Cherry Ride
As part of this whole "summer of Music" kick Richard and I seem to be on, we braved the masses of Taste of Chicago to see India.Arie last night at the Petrillo Band Shell. Just yesterday or Tuesday her new album "Testimony Vol.I..." went to #1 on the Billboard charts, so it felt somewhat serendipitous.
Anyway, we had no idea the free concert would be so crowded and by the time we arrived we could only find room waaay in the back of the lawn. It was a good show - she sounded great, the weather was fantastic, and it helped me mellow down after a stressful day. But because we were so far away, nobody around us was really paying attention to her show and we were the only people listening to the music. So after about an hour we left and had Burger King (note: having BK has nothing to do with going to see India.Arie, I just wanted to point out that: We. Ate. Burger King.)
But I'm starting to feel a little burned out over live music already (after the BellRays at Randolph St., Intonation and the Abba tribute band) as I only have so much tolerance standing or sitting amongst a crowd of people, trying to get a view for the stage, without air conditioning. And I'm afraid that by the time Pitchfork rolls around I'll likely kill someone (or more likely, take out the whole crowd). And let's not even get started on Lollapalooza, which at this point is starting to sound like 3 days of personal Hell for me (but that's another post entirely). I think the answer is alcohol and lots of it. (Come to think of it - of course it is the answer!)
Moving forward: no more live music unless my brain is sufficiently soaked in gin. Or vodka. Or both.
In the same way that lots of Virginians hate people from DC; or the way that Hamptons locals probably hate the hordes of Manhattanites who “summer” there, or the way that “townies” (as we called them) hated the snotty college kids, I imagine that there are groups of Hoosiers living in NW Indiana that don’t like Chicagoans all that much. You know, the fancy-schmancy (that’s a Hoosier term, not mine) city folk who drive their foreign cars into the small, quiet towns and pollute their lakes, complain about the local cuisine (or lack thereof) and make fun of the inbreeding (again, their term not mine).
Case in point: We (Bob, Kari, Richard and I) pull into an Arby’s close to the cottage for Bob & Kari to get dinner. We pull up to the drive-thru pickup window and Bob collects all the garbage (ie, wrappers, empty Starbucks cups) into his hands and asks, “Do you think they’d mind if I gave them this to throw away?” To which I reply, “Naaah. Why would they mind? I’m sure they would LOVE to handle your discarded trash and throw it away for you! Isn’t that part of their jobs – to give you the food you ordered AND help clean out your car? It’s a win/win for everyone!”
The nice girl at the window hears this interaction and, because she IS nice, takes the garbage anyway. My brother turns to me with a look of “See, asshole? She didn’t mind.”
I’m just glad that I didn’t order me any food from Arby’s, cuz I’m sure there was a big Hoosier loogey in that chicken sandwich. That’s all I’m saying.
Last night Bob, Kariya, Richard, Jim and I went to Ravinia to see "Abba: The Music" an Abba tribute band. This morning when I told a co-worker I'd gone to see it, she asked "On purpose?"
Oh yes, on purpose. I paid money, got on a train to Ravinia, chose not to watch fireworks, all to see an Abba tribute band on purpose. We could have paid $15 for lawn seats (which would have been fine with me) but instead my brother went for the full $40 pavilion seats monty. (When he told me that he'd done this I said, "Isn't it embarrassing enough that we're going to see them, let alone paying extra money so that we can see them close up?")
But I couldn't burst his bubble - he said he was able to score 3rd row center tickets. I secretly got excited because I thought: Now's finally my chance to throw my underwear on stage to the Agnetha and/or Frida lookalikes (OK, OK, Yes it has been a fantasy of mine for years).
As it turns out, Bob was mistaken in that our seats were nowhere near 3rd row center. Try about third row from the last aisle in the pavilion. (But he got the center part right.) My dreams of throwing my boxers on stage were dashed.
Long story short: the concert was fine; the tribute band looked and sounded like Abba; costumes just like the ones Abba wore over the years; my underwear stayed on the whole time. There was an older saxophone player -- an original studio musician for many of Abba's records -- that they kept parading around the stage. I know that we were supposed to be impressed by this, but Jim summed it up best when he said, "Get that old guy off the stage."
I am tempted to write more about all the freaks that went to the show, but then again, I would have to include myself as one of those freaks, wouldn't I? A bit pot-kettle-black I'd say.
