March the thirteenth, 2001 - nine fifty five in the a.m.

The Ann Arbor Film Festival (and Great Geek Spit Swap) starts today. If you feel you need to jump in cinema blind, go for it. My past experiences with the festival have been mixed bags. You're just as likely to stumble upon a great little 8mm film as you are a ten minute (ten silent minutes, rendering in your mind as three hours) exploration of one hippie's bent member and some posterpaint (I crap you negative).

Of course, Chicago.

I should stutter here for a bit (I do have the number one R&B single "Stutter", featuring Mystikal, after all). After looking over my cache of friend's diaries, I get the feeling that a good number are experiencing a little bit of the blues (or the Mondays, if you will. I won't, but your welcome to it.). Trips seemed lacking, jobs are body-breaking, and the weather, wooh...yeah that fucking weather sure is sumptin', eh? So, sensing this collective funk (not Funk Collective, which is probably snorfing big ol' bong hits in a college town near you), I can only assume my feeling over the weekend had something to do with some sort of universal empathy, shared emotions, or the great earth spirit that flows through each one of us - even the Greeks. Boy, if that ws only true. But anyway, I'd like to believe.

A truer idea would be th' ol great expectations screed that says: You'll be disappointed, bub. You know what? As davidde (oft quoted, never duplicated) might say: that's the biggest bummer, EVER!

Well, I came to Chicago brimming with expectation - and by god, I wouldn't have it any other way. Friends would be reunited, Ann would have an artistic endeavor pull't off (which is pretty cool, right?), weekend frivolity would be met face-on, and we'd all have a good hoot.

Friday, the drive down was great. You can't ask for better travelling cohorts than Dante Rance and Matt Z. We had are laughs, had a heart-to-heart about Random Ball Ache (RBA), which I attributed to 1. sitting on them and 2. having to take a crap. Matt Z. hypothesized RBA as a STD, which scared the willies outta me and made my balls ache even more! Luckily, a break at Redamac's Hamburger stand and a trip to the bathroom (to test my theory) solved that problem (Whew!). This story illustrates how slap-happy we were upon arrival, and our mellow was far from harshed. Then....

Eating with Ann and She Who's Name Must Never Be Uttered On the Internet (hearby known as Sarah Lacy) was a larf. We had a good time. Matt talked about facial hair and dogs, and I respectfully offered my opinions concerning these topics.

The night was set: Ann's folks would stop by to uncork some champagne, Karl was coming in soon and we'd meet him at the bar, and soon all our friends would be showing up at Phyliss' Musical Inn for the show (Laura and her boyfriend whose name escapes me, Vince Higgins, Trevor Boyer, and Annie, Eddie V, Mike Smith etc. etc.). At the uncorking, Ann's mom made the awkward suggestion that me and Matt Z. go out to eat with Ann's family. And although the temptation of real, frenched fried potatoes was there, it just seemed, well, a tad odd. I begged off, but she persisted. I'd fake and she'd follow. There was no shaking her off. I, of course, was beet red by this point, a stammering and doing my best to seem gracious and un-spooked. I don't think it worked. It was explained to me later that Ann's mom was trying to get me out of th' picture (a southern rub-out, perhaps?), so Ann could have a swell time at the bar. Oh boy. Nothing feels better than traveling 300 odd miles just to feel unwanted and "handled". Ah well, me thought, you can't blame mothers for being mothers. I'm sure somebody would tell me if they really didn't want me around. Heck, this is a big weekend friend-get-together and I'm Joe Casey for chrissakes! They need my humorous banter and my hobo demeanor! My olde-timey wisdom! My je ne sais quoi! Right?

The show itself started well enough. I was so spooked from prior I totally put the RBA out of my mind, and Vince Higgins showed up in all his gangly glory to remind me every so lighty that people are still good people, no matter how much time has passed. Joe Kirkland was there, representing Small Craft Sighting. Unfortunately for them, the bar by this time was packed with bored looking skaters and artsy fartsy types that have nothing better to do than look dissaffected. And that deadly combo doesn't work if you're a rockin'. meat-n-potatoes, earnest trio. Here was those three pouring themselves into their work in the corner of the bar, and all around them, nothing. They handled it well though, being true Professionalists, and just shrugged it off as just another show. The second band, May/June seemed a little to full-on artifice (being a "old" country group made-up of what appeared to be high school marching band members). Again, they were roundly rejected. What were these kids after!!! Would nothing stir a modicum of emotions from these faux-hard city types? And what gives? Nobody, except for Joe Kirkland, mentioned the art show. And the flier for the show featured some doodle (looking suspiciously like a Peter Glamb orginal, or perhaps something you'd find in your little brother's notebook). Stuck way in the corner of the flier: art by ann talley. Huh? The flier was from some doofus in the third band (volta do mar, and kids, trust me on this one. Go buy some Rush and Yes and quit saying this kinda music represents some great leap forwards. Twenty cymbals and a cow bell, and you're still nowhere near Neil "fucking" Peart. Case closed!). In all honesty, I didn't even see the last band, because I was "spent" from being there for soemthing like five hours, and everywhere I looked I saw friends listlessly staring off into the ether. Creepy guy Bowls, showed-up and had some cryptically mean words for Ann. It goes without saying that it was creepy. On top of that, I was sick of trying to explain/avoid/deal-with/answer-for my job. I don't need to hear about the dangers of a cell phone tower every waking hour of my life. Last time I checked, I wasn't dumping pollutants into our precious water system, or erecting any towers, so please, please, stop talking about it. I was looking for respite.

Anyway, woo. We went back to Vince's house and learned that Vince only sleeps four hours a day, and stays up for twenty - just like napoleon. Go figure.

The next day, was driving driving driving driving driving driving parking parking parking parking parking parking.

Hung out with Annie, Dante, and Trevor and had a swell time looking for spies on place mats and realizing what cruel fucks we were in college. Then Ann wanted everybody to come over to her house to hang out (read: two beers and get the fuck out). Again, this is something you have to read, slowly figuring out that people want nothing to do with you, you're in the way, and let's think of an elaborate way to send you packing. Again, it's nice to know that friendship can be seen as mere favors, but I actually like spending time with people that are my friends. Call me crazy, call me nuts. And I know it's difficult to juggle so many people. It's hard to entertain groups and have ev'ryone be happy. It was hard when I went to NYC. But our hosts were gracious and it seemed like they were honestly happy to see us.

Another night at Vince's, he helped me like a caregiver when my lazy-boy fell over in the middle of the night. What a champ. Then Dante, Matt, and I walked around downtown for a while. Ate at a diner that had a waitress that was strangely familiar to me. Drove around Chinatown. And then kissed Chicago fat on the lips and said: so long, so gone.

That's that,

Joe