Seven Disjointed Thoughts

by Danica Green

We never watch the news at night. I've always been afraid of horror films and every story feels like another set of eyes watching me from the dark.

Overripe berry juice dribbles from stuffed cheeks onto my chin and chest. When the wasps come, I smile and pretend it was an accident.

When they found the end of the world, their eyes exploded in their heads and dripped down across their lips. They said nothing had ever tasted so sweet.

Home Feature - 1308 N Astor, Chicago

by Phil Jacobs

Chicago--By the end of the 19^th Century, the Gold Coast was the enclave of Chicago’s social and economic elite.

 The barons of industry and captains of commerce built their mansions here in the shadow of the opulent castle of Potter and Bertha Palmer, so lavish that a French visitor once described it as both “sumptuous and abominable.” The grandiose imitation Rhenish castle with turrets and towers took an army of imported Italian craftsmen three years to build, and was easily the most expensive home in Chicago.

 Palmer had already reshaped the downtown area when he decided to drain a swamp, fill it in, build a house and invite his friends to follow him to this new community of pampered privilege along Lake Michigan.

How to Write A Song

by Thomas Gumbel

Step one. Have an idea.

Step two. Forget that idea.

Step three. Tap a folder or another non-lethal object against your head, trying to think of that idea.

Step four. Proclaim ‘fuck this shit’ and go have a self-abusive night of debauchery in light of your being a failure.

The next day, in the throes of your regret, pick up your guitar again. Drop it. Curse every existence and the universe, kicking various objects across the room. TV remotes are good for this. Curse your birth, your father’s mistakes, the dead bones of your pets and any roommates you may have had (but don’t have currently). After adequate cursing, sit down with the guitar again and tune that bastard. I suggest tuning with an electric tuner (such as a KORG), since I doubt you’ll have the patience to use a piano (if you even have one) or do it by ear.

The Lost Generation

By Vincent Todd

So, let me begin this diatribe by saying I just had the fortunate opportunity of seeing "Clerks" 1 & 2 back to back, thanks to the miraculous invention of DISH network.  And though the second one may have been more commercially friendly and less intellectual than its original, it none-the-less describes perfectly what has happened to the "Generation X"-ers out there.  Those all too serious yet darkly humorous Lollapalooza goers.

A generation I'm all too acquainted with.  Not because I am one, but because I feel like a part of the lost generation that falls significantly proceeding it. 

I grew up with friends and family of the Generation X.  A group raised on new and upcoming technology and alternative music.  A generation of eternally philosophical slackers.  But, alas my group growing up was too young to experience this era.  We grew up watching our brothers and sisters, the kids a couple of grades ahead of us, cousins, neighbors, etc.  You know the ones who turned you onto Nirvana and Pearl Jam, before you could understand what the music was about.  A generation that always showed promise, but lacked the motivation to excel.  This is shown most in "Clerks".  A movie I was turned onto, but couldn't understand until late.

Limbs

by Anne Kowalski


Touching. Always touching. Be it pinkies crossed on the table, legs pressed against each other, heads on each other’s shoulders, they’re always overlapping in some way. It’s been like that ever since... well, since forever. Since they’ve known each other there was the great overlap. Before they even realized it, there it was, although at first it was hard not to realize. Every touch was nerve wracking. Was this allowed? Did the other want this? And then there was the nervous laughter. But before that, before they had even met, there was an overlap that neither had known was possible. Where their bodies were miles apart, their faces unfamiliar, their ideas, hopes, dreams, everything overlapped. It didn’t match up perfectly, not always the same, but they overlapped.

Why "Boardwalk Empire" killed its most beloved character.

by Christian Chiakulas

Huge spoilers below. You've been warned.

Last Sunday, December 11th, HBO aired the second season finale of its Prohibition-era crime drama, Boardwalk Empire, a much critically-lauded (and underwatched) television show created by Terrence Winter (The Sopranos).  Near the end, deuteragonist Jimmy Darmody (played fantastically by Michael Pitt) is gunned down in cold blood by Steve Buscemi's Nucky Thompson, the undisputed "main character" of the show, from day one.  It made for some of the best television I've seen since The Wire and was a very interesting character development for Nucky, who has never killed anyone before (at least, not on-screen).  Well, he's not half a gangster anymore, it would seem.  But, here's the problem with the season finale...

Jimmy Darmody is one of the greatest, most interesting characters ever created for TV, and Pitt's performance goes beyond Emmy-worthy.  The cat-and-mouse feud between Jimmy and Nucky was the driving conflict of season 2, and season 1 spent much time building up their relationship.  With Jimmy gone, who knows what direction the show is going in?  One thing, however, is clear:  Boardwalk just won't be the same without Jimmy.