kevin barnett

It sounds like a soap opera promo during a sweeps month, doesn’t it?

This past weekend, I was able to re-define “having a good time in Chicago” with three days of celebrating the marriage of one of my best friends from Texas to his Midwest gem. An impressive crowd of friends and family traveled from all parts of the country (and the world, including Kabul, Afghanistan) to attend the wedding on St. Patrick’s Day.

The long weekend couldn’t have been better. Our homebase for the weekend, Hotel 71, was a cool boutique hotel with some fantastic views of the Chicago river and skyline. By Chicago standards, the weather was pleasant with clear, sunny skies and above-freezing temperatures. I arrived on Thursday, just in time to join Luke & Co. to watch Texas A&M win their first game in the NCAA tournament. Later in the evening, we partied at 10pin; an enjoyable mix of lounge bar and bowling alley. Flashing back a little more than a year ago, I remembered how much I enjoy stiff drinks and knocking down some pins.

We also returned to Mother Hubbards, the dive bar where we watched the game. I was pleasantly surprised to learn the bar stayed open later than 2am. Since my drinking hours have extended since living in New York, I felt accomplished we would be able to keep the evening alive. Chicago only has a few late night bars and most of them aren’t worth going to.

Friday was all about sleeping in, relaxing and attending the rehearsal and subsequent rehearsal dinner. The rehearsal was quick and to the point. We wasted no time returning to the loop for 70+ at Heaven on Seven on Wabash. Chicago locals know this as the Heaven on Seven (expanded to three other locations), only open for lunch. The Wabash restaurant is available for private parties and was an appropriate venue for old and new friends, great food and some great speeches from Luke’s brother and Lauren’s youngest sister. The after party was fun. The after, after party was a lot of fun.

We all woke up early to watch the river getting dyed. With high anticipation, we watched from a bird’s eye view in our hotel room and waited for the electric-green dye to flow up the river from the Michigan Avenue bridge. For some reason, the dye decided to remain stagnant under the bridge and flow out towards Lake Michigan. A slight disappointment but easily overcome by the festive crowds and the thoughts of the wedding now only hours away.

I did experience the first of a few personal, technical difficulties at this point. As I was walking on Michigan Avenue, I placed my eyeglasses in my inside coat pocket while I sported shades on the street. As I reached for my glasses, I realized they had broke under the pressure of my messenger bag strap. Two hours away from the wedding, I remained calm and remembered where I bought my most iconic pair of specs: Level Optical on S. Michigan. After finding their new location on Lake and Wabash, I was assisted by the same gentleman who originally fitted me with those glasses. He miracolusly was able to fit my exisiting lenses in a similar yet pretty different set of frames. After shaping the frames with 400° heating salts, he sent me on my way. Some may call that luck of the Irish. I call it amazing customer service.

The wedding ceremony was an epic setting in St. Michael’s church in Old Town. This was my first Catholic wedding mass, an extended mix from the Protestant weddings I have been accustomed to. My official duties as an usher allowed me to take a seat in the back, intermittently checking the Texas A&M/Louisville game on my cellphone while Luke and Lauren tied the knot in the fashionable Catholic tradition. No, I didn’t cry. I smiled. A lot.

After a quick round of pictures at the altar, the wedding party including family and significant others, hopped on board a small charter bus led by the hipster photographer who had been doing an expert job shooting throughout the ceremony. He led us to locations on Lake Michigan and the Chicago River. The best part of this mission was taking pictures on the median of Michigan Avenue across from the Old Water Tower while cars honked either in excitement or frustration.

The bus dropped us off on Clark St, a few blocks away from Salvatore’s where the reception was being held. As we walked past the bars and houses hosting St. Patrick’s Day parties, we were greeted with wild cheers and inappopriate comments, at least in front of the bride’s grandmother and parents. The rest of us were left laughing, stepping over pools of green beer and vomit.

Salvatore’s is a beautiful, vintage Italian lounge restaurant off the beaten path but perfect for a wedding reception. We were informed that the opening scene of My Best Friend’s Wedding was shot inside the restaurant although I can’t recall the scene myself. The venue was neither too big or too small;  there was just enough space to feel intimate while avoiding the feeling of being crowded with 160+ people. The food and service was impressive and drinks were prepared quickly and stiff. Five hours of top-shelf booze and cocktails allowed everyone to laugh sobriety and boredom in the face — a welcomed tradition for Saint Pat’s.

After yet another after party, I ended my weekend in Chicago hungover, without a cellphone (lost at somepoint after the reception) and with plenty of memories of old and new friends. I have posted a photo set on Flickr to help document the weekend but I feel this picture still reigns supreme:

Luke and Lauren in the beginning of their relationship.

I took this picture of Luke and Lauren in front of the Chicago River on St. Patrick’s Day in 2004. At the time, they were new friends but quickly evolved into an amazing couple… It couldn’t be more appropriate that we return to the same location, 3 years later to witness, support and celebrate their love and commitment in marriage.

I was just listening to Cicada - It’s All About You

I thought I Heart Huckabees was a craptacular film. Then, I watched these videos of director David O. Russell losing it on the set and Lily Tomlin getting pissed off in a car scene.

Yeah, that movie sucked.

I found out that I can still rock out like I did with Tool, Faith No More, etc. in the old days. It just hurts a lot more the next day…

Fu Manchu blew up The Knitting Factory touring behind their new album, We Must Obey. The new material is pretty good but hearing these guys rock out the old stuff was fantastic. I haven’t been around a crowd of metal heads in quite sometime, certainly in New York. The piercings, tattoos, bad B.O., stage diving, crowd surfing and shoving were actually a welcome departure from the hipster too-cool-to-really-enjoy-yourself type crowds I’ve become acustom to.

During the last song, I got hit in the face by a jacket knocking off my new glasses I had picked up in Chicago as a last minute replacement. Somehow, I recovered them after a minute of scouring the gnarly venue floor. And somehow, they did not get trampled or crushed by the crowd. The rock gods were smiling on me last night.

My ears are still ringing, though. I probably need to look into earplugs.

And I wasn’t able to put a setlist together but they played 20/80 new/old stuff. Rockin’ show.

I was just listening to Fu Manchu - Evil Eye

Persian King Xerxes tempts Spartan King Leonidas towards surrender in 300. (photo: WB/IMDB)

I decided a while ago that I would go see 300 irregardless of reviews just based on the stunning visual style of the film. The 300 trailer, which plays brilliantly with Just Like You Imagined by Nine Inch Nails, sold me upon the first viewing (well done, film-marketing gurus). 300 was shot similar to Sin City and Sky Captain and The World of Tomorrow on a “green screen backlot” which allows the filmmakers to digitally create the sets and enhance the special effects. Visually speaking, 300 is impressive.

On that note, the film is simply Frank Miller’s graphic novel on the big screen. There is no character development and no real plot other than an outnumbered army of 300 Spartans led by King Leonidas confronting an invading army of 2,000,000+ Persians on a skinny cliff in a series of 5-10 minute battles. The only other rise in tension involves Leonidas’ wife, Queen Gorgo, attempting to convince the Spartan council to send reinforcements. Since the Battle of Thermopylae is the most famous of “last stands” in history, I don’t feel bad spoiling it for anyone; the reinforcements don’t come and Leonidas and his 300 men are killed. Leonidas and his 300 gain instant legend status while their story of sacrifice, bravery and honor is used to motivate a much larger Greek army to defeat the Persians.

Texans may know this story in another form as The Alamo. I know there are hundreds more stories just like it. In short, 300 isn’t exactly a compelling story. We’ve all heard this one before but to 300’s credit, we may not have seen it quite like this before. I would say that’s the best and really only reason to catch this film in the theater.

For various reasons (or excuses), this film has caused controversy. There are some who question the historical accuracy, although I thought the ogre- and troll-like Persians might be a tip off that several dramatic licenses were taken by Miller. And although I haven’t seen subtle-homoeroticism on this level since the volleyball scene in Top Gun, the Spartans are portrayed without any mention to homosexuality or pederasty in their military culture — quite the departure from their recorded history.

Yet Xerxes, “God” King of the Persians, is portrayed somewhat as a drag queen. That, among other complaints are coming from many modern day Persians who are taking offense to how their might-have-been ancestors are portrayed. I think they are afraid that 300 will persist a stereotype that Persians are barbaric and evil. I would argue that the people going to see 300 who might think that, don’t even know that Persians are from Iran.

I think 300 is an interesting example of the influence of Hollywood outside of the Western world. It’s ironic that Hollywood bares the scorn from the political right when it is Hollywood and American cinema that is largely responsible for spreading Western ideas and values. Countries around the world, which have more English speaking citizens than others, do because of subtitled vs. dubbed films. That’s not to say that Hollywood deserves anymore worship than they currently receive. But we all underestimate the power of an image and media in general versus a more conventional tool of war.

Just ask Romanians how much they like JR and Bobby Ewing.

I was just listening to Nine Inch Nails - Survivalism

A digital short from Untucked Films:

Finally, a bookend to birthday celebrations; dinner at Batali’s Del Posto with my father.

According to a bartender at Del Posto, Batali’s mission for Del Posto is serving food that hasn’t been available since the 50s and 60s in Italy. Since I have no idea what that is, I’ll assume Batali has succeeded.

The restaurant, by New York standards, is large and spacious. Dining there was comfortable. Before I comment on the food, the service at Del Posto maybe the shining star. I believe I would be challenged to find better service at this level of a restaurant. We had a great time.

The food. Ah, the food. I should note that I am experiencing something of a burnout for traditional Italian food. Sometimes, it even goes as far as a distaste. While Del Posto maybe traditional to Italians, it’s definitely not traditional by American standards. Before we even ordered food, we were served with a small antipasto sampling and a divine breadbasket served with herb butter and whipped pork fat. That’s right, pork fat. Whipped. Bueno appetito.

I then ordered an appetizer with seared fois gras and sweetbreads, ricotta and chipotle Nudi for the pasta course and an amazing seafood spread titled Misto di Mare, shared with my father for the entree. Normally, I’d shy from ordering seafood on a Monday per instructions from Kitchen Confidential. However, Del Posto is conveniently located across the street from Chelsea Market with a top New York seafood purveyor a stone’s throw away. I’m sure if they couldn’t get a Monday delivery, someone could go pick it up.

For me, Mario Batali certainly earned the respect he receives as the New York chef and restaurateur. I can’t say I would eat this food often or even once in a while but I feel fortunate for the experience on my pallete. This is a fine restaurant.

I was just listening to Death From Above 1979 - Little Girl