Defeat on the Heels of Victory

I actually invited Sufjan Stevens to lunch. Here's my exact request to the folks at his record label (asthmatic kitty) in Wyoming (Wyoming?! People record and distribute music in Wyoming?!):

So this may sound strange… oh well.

I know he's fairly busy these days, but could you ask Sufjan if he's
got the time and/or inclination to have lunch on July 28th in SLC?
I'll pay for the sandwiches and kettle chips. And there's even some
legitimacy to my request:

My friend (and co-worker) Dainon is a bona-fide rock writer and, well,
he'd be happy to scribble a few notes on a napkin and turn the whole
lunch experience into real, live online documentation.

You could even come along as well. SLC's not far from Wyoming and I'll
spring for sammiches and chips for the whole gang.

Anyway. Thanks for at least entertaining the notion.

-matt.

The response (surprising unaccompanied by a restraining order):

Hi Matt,

Thank you very much for your request. As it is, Sufjan's schedule is
extremely tight - Boise, Salt Lake City and Denver on 3 consecutive days -
we are sorry to have to tell you that your proposal won't be realizeable.
Thank you for the invitation,

Best,

Karin

Anyway. I think that has ended my creepy obsession and now maybe I can rectify the punishment I have inflicted on all four of my readers. No more Sufjan blogs (except maybe one post-concert write-up) from here on out.

I working on something good. Resurrecting old emails from my days at the FRED that need further exploration. Things like "Who are the ugliest basketball players of the last 25 years?" or "Top 5 Songs that feature prominent whistling." Brace yourself. I think I'm in recovery.

I WIN! I WIN!

It's gonna be hard to believe, but I won. I have battled the mighty insurance monsters and escaped with a narrow victory. I am Brad Pitt in The Mexican. I have brutalized the brutes! Bruce from SelectQuote called last night and it's official: I AM A NON-SMOKER! I can't believe it either. Now I have to give up my pack-a-day habit? Seriously? I had gracefully accepted the smoker lifestyle. I'd started hanging out on the apartment porch and smoking while I tipped back Diet Pepsi's and talked endlessly on the phone. (I learned it all from the more-than-slightly overweight woman with an upstairs apartment near our parking space). I'd even entertained the idea of storing a month's worth of trash out on the balcony to keep me company. Sadly, I had drawn the line at letting our li'l one maintain a diaper-only wardrobe. I guess my commitment wasn't as deep as I'd liked it to be.

At any rate, I'm still in shock over the victory. This never happens. I am ERIN BROCKOVICH! (SOMEONE CORRECT MY SPELLING!) I CAN'T STOP USING CAPS LOCK! WHY AM I SHOUTING?

So now I begin the steady process of quitting. And have you seen the price of those NicoDerm patches? Seriously. At least I've got the low life insurance premiums to ease me through the withdrawals.

Liner Notes and Pronunciations…What Else?

Obviously, I've got a problem. "Come on, Feel the Illinoise" arrived on Thursday and I've been reading liner notes like a 12-year-old girl. Not that there's anything wrong with that…

Anyway, Sufjan's a genius and I have officially (I think) crossed the line between casual fandom and creepy obsession. I'm seriously planning out my email to his record label to ask if he'll have a sammich and some kettle chips with me on July 28th before his show at the Lo-Fi Cafe. I oughta just do everyone a favor and rename this blog "I [heart] Sufjan."

In other news, the pronunciation of his name is still up for debate. The latest (and most definitive) version is SOOF-yan. So that's the one I'm going with for now. At least until I read something else.

And by the way…the album's still fantastic and someone'd better pry it outta my cd player and delete it from my iTunes before it becomes absolutely hardwired into my brain.

Feel It! Feel It!

The official title of Sufjan Stevens' new album--"Come on Feel the Illinoise"--may be one of the best album titles in years. Anyway, I'll keep my crushing admiration for Sufjan short this morning, but you can listen to the new album here. It's beyond fantastic and I'm thinking about buying a copy for everyone I know. It's one of those albums. You wanna give and give and give some more. That's all. Listen online. Pre-order here. Feel the Illinoise.

Cheekie Monkeys

This post is a li'l late, since it's been nearly two weeks since the miraculous gathering of the Cheekies. If you're a casual reader--someone outside of my immediate circle--this probably means nothing to you. Feel free to move on to other pursuits. But seeing a rather large gathering of old college friends can be a wonderful and slightly bizarre thing. People are the same but different. Kids roam the grass. But the barbecued turkey (try it!) is still fantastic. The stories are unequaled. And I can't stop wishing I was 21, foolish, and undeservingly blessed with a tribe of like-minded comrades again. At any rate, it was too short and I can't shake the dreams of an FLS reunion tour.