Joe MacLeod of the Baltimore City Paper writes "God Bless," pubbed yesterday. (Via The Awl.) Read the entire glorious thing here.

I went to a Baseball game the other day, and I have a few complaints. First of all, I understand the whole deal of how it (Our National Pastime) is a Business, and an Industry, and how it is Entertainment, so therefore you gotta make it Exciting–as in, way fucking more exciting than Baseball is to people who are not crazy about the Baseball but who end up at a game every now and then. So you gotta wake the motherfuckers up every inning because Baseball can be (get ready for this News Flash), according to some people, kinda Boring, but it's like all this goddamn Intro Music every time somebody from the Home Team steps up to bat, like BAMARAMARAMARAMARAMARAMA with whatever fucking shit they got–Metal, Hip-Hop, Country, even Western–it's all this goddamn BAMARAMARAMARAMARAMARAMA "BLAHRBLAR NOW STEPINNNN UPTOMRRMPH BALLLH, NUMMMBR PHRM-TNRMZLE BALWRR BLARR BLAHBLAH!!!" and then BAMARAMARAMARAMARAMARAMA BRRT-BRRT BAMARAMARAMARAMARAMARAMA, goddamn Jesus Fucking Christ, man, every goddamn time one of Your Baltimore Orioles steps up it's gotta be BAMARAMARAMARAMARAMARAMA?

IttiBitz, the ice cream of a presumably alternative future. I remembered to look for recall notices only midway through the package, but all was OK. That's about what you can say for the ice cream. With IttiBitz, call them bits, pellets, balls or beads — any word that's not "dots," I guess — and the concept still makes no sense or positive impression outside a Six Flags or minor league baseball. See Freezer Burns video review.

Work continues on The Oval transition, and Friday morning involved a walk to the White House to evaluate the press space for blogging. Met Robert Gibbs, saw Helen Thomas, found wifi killed off, and much more.

We had an angel protest outside, thanking school groups for listening.

We had a Segway tour looking idiotic. (I still want to use my gift card.)

The front of the building was screened. Maybe from the king's visit?

The driveway to the Press Room put you near doors you see on TV…

And then inside the White House room you see the most…

But the rest of the press area was covered in these.

My body needs a break, and the Capital Weather Gang has my hopes up. Forecast: "And the rain will likely push the pollen count down, at least temporarily, after coming in at 3,947 grains per cubic meter of air [Tuesday] (1,500 is considered high) and reaching 4,539 on Saturday (the highest daily count since 1998), as measured at Walter Reed." It's beautiful outside; I just want to enjoy it. Bring the rain today and get it done before we head out to the Nats tomorrow night…

Finally, the Hitler meme gets a Springsteen treatment. (Via SPL.)

The store is the most fun you can have near O'Hare with an hour to kill and an old car that won't drive highways anymore. American Science & Surplus is exactly what its name leads you to believe, and it knows it.

Blurry blurb says: "Although they neither come from the sea, nor are they mammalian, they are a lot of fun. See! I can make stuff up too!"

The way all picture frames should be sold…

The way all beakers should be sold…

Lindsay tested a Chicken Dance Chicken, and the monster quickly got out of control. Singing, dancing! Where is the off switch? Where is it?

I tried to be good — resisted a steering wheel not knowing how TSA at O'Hare would like it —  but then bought Stickman Action Figure ("Make your own international hazard symbols") and a lightbulb with feet.

Fortune from Friday's pre-cupcake lunch: "Practice makes perfect."

I'd like to say "Worst or best?" but I don't think I can. I also not one to mess with a fortune (or cookies), but I'm all on board with the concept of practice. So, I think we're good. But Chinatown's cheap-and-tasty Full Kee restaurant deserves a half-penny refund from its cookie dude.

First, they took on your Dairy Queen. Now, as friend Sheri photo-txted from a supermarket, they're messing with your grocer's freezer. What next? They run at you on the street and kick the cone from your hand? I wouldn't put it past them. (Yogen Fruz Google Squad, welcome back.)

Yes, the movie is "achingly, achingly sad," as the L.A. Times put it. But watch the movie when you're bummed out, and it's not going to make you any worse. You may even feel better. After letting the Netflix sit on your kitchen counter for two and a half weeks, finding yourself without a voice or plans one night is the perfect time to sit down and enjoy the pain. When the movie is done, you might find yourself walking around in a warm rain, watching a lightning storm strike over the city and then heading back to the gym for the first time in weeks. It all feels good.

The swing vote on the movie isn't – like I had expected – the value of deep introspection to the viewer. Instead, it's what you demand from a director. How much do you want to see? If you want to get close to characters or close to their environment, Synecdoche lets you down.

Charlie Kaufman brings his usual terrific writing complexity, but his new hand at directing gives you too few of the shot-plain-through moments that balance the complexity and add power. You miss Spike Jonze and Michel Gondry overlooking the sprawl, nodding here and there for you, almost impercetibly at times but enough. As troubled as the characters may be in Synecdoche, you can hardly find how to feel for them. As big and wild as their landscape may be, you never learn how to walk with them there. They may fight with this world, but you get off too easily.

Last weekend, it turned out the Dave's Records I had found on Record Store Day's site and followed on MySpace was just down three blocks from where I was staying at Karen's. There was a line outside before opening. (And hey, there I was. As you can see in the picture, Karen tolerated the line affair, but I soon took mercy and sent her away.)

I had fantasies of Tweedy working at the counter with a "JEFF" badge, but Dave and his trusty assistant were pretty cool. Got the Wilco DVD, the Springsteen 45 for my favorite WOAD song and Whiskeytown's 45. (The Gaslight live EP was nowhere in Chicago RSD previews I found.)

A Wilco moment that did occur: Waiting with CRCers at Hot Chocolate, hearing the opening notes of Impossible Germany – the first song the restaurant was playing all day, sounding wonderfully pure and rich — just as Lindsay saw this painting and totally misinterpreted my "Nice!"

(Screengrab, Hot Chocolate site.) (Also, fair enough.)