Da-oud

Did a crossword puzzle today. There were a couple of clues semi-related to the writer's strike. Perfectly normal. But then a clue showed up that spanned three segments:
23-Across: With 36- and 51-Across, what the void left by the writer's strike may have driven us to.

With only a few conveniently-placed letters already filled in, I soon realized the answer: watchingpeople...reactto...twogirlsonecup.

I waited until the last possible moment to write this answer in, praying to any god available that this could not be happening. But it was unavoidable. And thus, the sadness came. It's hard to describe the feeling that washes over you when this horrific part of our culture enters the eternal crossword puzzle universe. One word that comes to mind is Unfortunate. It should also be mentioned how shameful it was to guess this answer with little more than half of the letters filled in.

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Thesis: The CTA Blue Line runs 24 hours a day, for convenient access to O'Hare Airport.
Pro - Even if you work until the wee hours of the morning, you can always take the train home.
Con - On nights when the wind chill hovers below zero, you are likely to stand in a train car full of homeless people riding back and forth all night to stay warm. I don't want to sound callous, but there's a reason 'vagrant' rhymes with 'fragrant'.

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Lastly, I got a library card today! It took more than two-and-a-half decades for me to realize that you can save money on books you only intend to read once by not buying them. The gentleman who processed my card application shared a trait with most other Chicagoans: he was really nice. After noticing we shared a first name, he kindly took the opportunity to explain how to pronounce it in Arabic. But while writing it out (so I could carry my name's Arabic pronunciation wherever I might travel), he needed help spelling A-r-a-b-i-c. Normally this wouldn't be disconcerting, but he works at the library. He also took offense at the fact that my last name comes from Ukraine and not Greece.

That's about it. Hopefully you found at least a small part of this inane post interesting.

Terrorism?

I know it's not right to make up weird Wikipedia entries and put your friends in them. But is there really any victim in this? More importantly, if this activity isn't the ultimate use of the internet, I don't know what is. We've taken the information age as far as it can go. Sorry, folks, nothing left to see here. Please be on your way.

Kung Fu Kids

This video should make you happy to be alive.



Can't wait 'til my nephew gets older.

Also...

WHAT?!

WASHINGTON (AP) -- A large U.S. spy satellite has lost power and propulsion and could hit the Earth in late February or March, government officials said Saturday.

The satellite, which no longer can be controlled, could contain hazardous materials, and it is unknown where on the planet it might come down, they said...

Don't forget your umbrellas, folks.

Familiar Face

At the place I work, there are usually (extremely) moderate Chicago celebrities around. Athletes from a time gone by, or writers from the newspaper. Many are hardly known outside their families/friends/weird fans, but some are relatively famous folk who can't walk around town without being recognized a few times. No, I'm not talking about Michael Jordan. Isn't he in Charlotte these days anyway?

But there is one guy in particular who was a superstar for the Bulls a few decades ago. Some of the native Chicagoans around the office get excited when they run into him, as they have every right to do. If I was having a donut in the break room at work and my childhood idol walked in to get a cup of coffee, I'd probably flip out too. But Billy Joel doesn't drink coffee these days, only Jim Beam.

Since I grew up in New Jersey (and was born after this gentleman retired), I had to google the guy just to find out exactly who he was. And from what I can tell from our brief conversations about French Roast and the finicky vending machine, he's a pretty cool guy. I just don't get starstruck by him, mostly because he reminds me of how cool my dad is.

On a somewhat related note, a few weeks ago Michel Gondry had a public appearance at the Apple Store downtown. He was there for an interview and Q&A, and to show some scenes from his new movie, which is going to be awesome, by the way. We had to stand outside in line for a while before going in, and dozens of passers-by just had to know what the big hoopla was about. After repeating Michel Gondry's name several times, explaining that he was a filmmaker with the new Jack Black movie, Eternal Sunshine, he's not a she, etc, I finally just told people that Bruce Willis was inside. That got rid of them about a million times quicker. And everyone had the same reaction: "Oh, cool." Then they'd give a sturgeon face and be on their way.

It's also reminiscent of a friend who was going to China for work a few months ago. Cal Ripken was also going around the same time, and my friend was nearly assigned to be his government aide for the trip. Cal Ripken. The Iron Man. She was averse to the idea though, because it was going to eat into her solo touring-around-the-country time. Beyond (maybe) knowing what sport he played, she knew nothing about him or why it would have been the coolest thing on the planet to do. So could she really be blamed for not being interested in the assignment? YES. ["So here's a picture of me at the Great Wall of China." "Who's that next to you? Holy shit, is that CAL RIPKEN?!" "Yeah, I had to hang out with him for a week. What a drag. I don't even like the Phillies."]

There's no grand philosophical revelation to be had here. I just thought it was interesting.

...well first of all, you're not eating right.

It's astounding that all it takes to turn a good sandwich into a great sandwich is two potato chips. Yum.
[The above sandwich is not the actual sandwich referred to in this post. But it is probably equally delicious, despite the photo being sort of drab.]

Brr?

This weekend contained arguably the coldest few days I've ever been through. Temps stayed between negative-four and positive-ten degrees since Friday. And while the air in my neighborhood was definitely pretty cold, it was certainly bearable, despite evidence in the picture above. [Please ignore the previous sentence if you arrived home Monday night to an apartment that lacked electricity and heat and had to call your extremely kind friend at 3am to ask to sleep in the luxurious warmth of his hobbit hole. Hypothetically.]

That feeling you get when every hair in your nose freezes and makes you think there's a boogey hanging out when there really isn't? I hadn't felt that since my days at the bus stop in 11th grade. So being outside has been a nostalgic experience lately, which is nice.

It should also be noted that walking around at night when snow is falling is very very excellent.

Things

I've seen it several times now, but this image does not get old:


Can not WAIT to see more. If you don't understand the picture above, click here.

If that doesn't suit your taste, here's something else. After seeing a local ad for Menard's (featuring the unforgettable tune "Save Big Money at Menards!"), we had the inspiration to look up some old faves from back home. And there was much rejoicing.





Unfortunately, I couldn't find the old Shoe City ad, so this will have to do. Hopefully you get the picture...

Oh, that's what they meant by 'winter'

Saturday's forecast: "Partly sunny and cold, with a high near 9."

Near 9. Which means if it hits 8.5° we should consider ourselves lucky. Crap.

Shades of...

In high school, I wrote a few dozen songs and recorded them onto two albums. Most of the songs were crap, but a few were pretty decent. They are still played on a regular basis in my mom's car. In college, I wrote a couple new tunes every year or so, and at least half of them are bearable. But in the years since school, songwriting has been a much more sporadic activity. Maybe I'd get in one a year, plus a 5-minute score written over a weekend for a movie.

I sat down last night and finished a song I had started four years ago and given up on. It's horrible, and hopefully won't ever see the light of day. The music is derivative and the lyrics could have been written by a seventh-grader. [I was going to put an example of a verse here, but it's just too embarrassing. Even on teh internets.]

I'm glad to have done this though. It's important to even attempt to keep up the song-writing chops, and hopefully this crap-tastic ditty will be just a stepping stone to a decent tune I have yet to write. But that might be bullshit.

In high school, the songs seemed to write themselves. There was teen angst and frustration behind them. Granted, the very first one was a ballad about a redneck who lived under the deck, but most of the others were written for whichever girl I pined for that month, and packed onto a self-recorded mixtape that contained my undying affections. These songs meant something and I still sing them with at least a little passion, trying to remember which lovely lady inspired them. But I just can't seem to hold onto that passion long enough to write a good one anymore.

A list of the last few tunes I've created:

• 2004 - an ode to the girl I used to pass every day on my way to work. We traveled in opposite directions but were destined never to cross paths again when my hours were switched from 9:30am to 10 o'clock. Still, every time I had an early meeting, there was hope...
  
• 2005 - a love song for my sister and her husband. Sort of a gross idea, even if it was their wedding song.
  
• 2006 - a warning to my friend not to get drunk and make mistakes.
• 2007 - making fun of my friend who doesn't realize his life is a musical.
  
• 2008 - last night's turd sandwich, about conquering your obstacles or some shit.

In conclusion, I might be dead inside.

InSpired

Couple things...

• I read in the Tribune this morning that condos are going on sale today in the Chicago Spire, a drillbit of a skyscraper on the lakefront that started construction over the summer. At 2,000 feet (and 150 stories), it will be the tallest building in America when completed. Units expect to sell for $750K to $15 million, starting around $1400 per square foot. This got me thinking, if I wanted an apartment in this fancy new highrise of highrises, I could afford a new 6x12-inch rectangle of floor every month. It would take more than four-and-a-half years to buy enough space for my full-size bed. Good thing it won't be finished until 2011. (The Spire, that is. Not my bed.)
  

• I've been cooking breakfast sausage every few days lately. Not only is it delicious, but the odor lingers for several days in the apartment. It's nice to get home from work around 1am on a Wednesday and smell breakfast sausage.
  

Triumph of the Human Spirit

My dad sent me an article from the AP today about a couple of guys in New York...

"Two men have been arrested after wheeling a dead man through the streets of Manhattan in an office chair to a check-cashing store. Police say the men were trying to cash the dead man's Social Security check. Police spokesman Paul Browne says David Dalaia and James O'Hare pushed Virgilio Cintron's body from the apartment O'Hare and Cintron shared about a block away to Pay-O-Matic. Browne says witnesses saw the two pushing the chair with Cintron flopping from side to side and the two individuals propping him up. He says the men left Cintron's body outside the store, went inside and tried to cash his $355 check. The two men were arrested at the store... Browne says Dalaia and O'Hare, both 65, were being held by police and faced check fraud charges."

You're never too old to wheel your dead roommate down the street in an office chair.

Sometimes remakes are good

Back in August, when I first heard NBC was going to put American Gladiators back on the air, I was mostly indifferent. Sounded like the network was trying to capitalize on ironic 80's nostalgia with a show that would help get them through an impending writer's strike. Well, it worked. After seeing the first three episodes, I can confidently say this show is amazing. There are many reasons that lead me to this conclusion. Here are four of them...

• Water. Foam mats are so 1990. When a gladiator knocks a contender out during Joust, the loser falls into a pool. The maze of rings that is Hang Tough takes place over water. And in Assault, if the contender hits the target, the gladiator is flung backwards through the air into the water. This hasn't happened yet, but I eagerly await the moment with glee. The post-Joust interviews with female contenders are extremely entertaining when their makeup is fucked and they look like witches.

• Hulk Hogan. His interview skills are top notch. His intensity is top notch. His mustache is top notch. And if you take a shot every time he says "awesome" or "brother," you might die twice.

• The Eliminator. First they climb a wall, then they have to swim under a WALL OF FIRE. Other usual suspects are there: the cargo net, the balance beam, the hand-bike. But in an homage to MXC, contenders have to hold onto a big log that rolls down a slope. I like that part. The kicker is what they call the "Travelator." It's an inclined treadmill that gives everyone all kinds of trouble. Used to be at the start of the Eliminator, but now it's at the very end, and that's a world of difference. To make it a little easier, they even threw in a rope to grab for help. But it doesn't. The average contender spends at least a minute running up, grabbing the rope, falling back, then holding on for dear life as the treadmill pulls them down again. Somehow, this struggle becomes hilarious and I love it. The new Eliminator is something special.

• Wolf. All of the new gladiators are pretty great. Toa wears some sort of kilt/skirt and yells in gibberish, and I might want to marry Crush. Hellga also intrigues me. But no one compares to Wolf [seen above]. He's a combination of Ben Stiller's character in Dodgeball, the Predator, Teen Wolf, and Mola Ram from Temple of Doom. There were several moments last night when we thought he might actually reach into a contender's chest, rip out his heart and set it on fire, then be eaten by alligators. Oh, and he doesn't speak. He only howls.

This writer's strike has been very frustrating, particularly now that we have to endure a spring without 24. But American Gladiators is certainly helping to ease the pain. I've also heard there are other things to do besides watch television. I'll let you know when I figure one out.

Correction: In a promo video on NBC.com Wolf speaks. "I've fought men all my life. I've fought animals all my life. I'm the only real gladiator there is left on this Earth." This is acceptable.

WHAT WHAT WHAT

This was going to be a post about how awesome the new version of American Gladiators is. But the OSU band is playing the theme from Robin Hood Prince of Thieves during halftime of the national championship game.

American Gladiators will have to wait a few minutes.

Courtesy Flush

Last year, my folks gave me a bathroom book. Well, it was actually last week. But because today is January 3rd, it's still technically true. Isn't that fun?

Anyway, I don't have a terrible need for a bathroom book, thanks to Esquire, Wired and National Geographic. But just to honor my parents, I read a little bit last night before bed. Which got me thinking, there are a whole bunch of people out there writing, editing and publishing books that are destined for the bathroom. Someone took the time to compile the 420 (!) pages of Uncle John's Bathroom Reader Wonderful World of Odd: Expanded Edition, by the Bathroom Reader's Institute with full knowledge that the vast majority of people who read it would do so while pooping.

As indicated on the verso of the title page, Michael Brunsfeld of San Raphael, California designed the cover of this massive tome. He was able to pay his bills because he created this image seen mostly by people in the process of dropping some children off at the pool (AKA "fighting crime" by a friend of mine). I wonder how he feels about that. His credit in the book also includes his email address and I am somewhat inclined to ask his opinion on the matter. All it would probably take is a little prodding by the two or three readers of this blog.

If you knew that the only time your job had an effect on someone was while they were negotiating the release of chocolate hostages, would you ask for a raise? It's shitty work, but someone's got to do it.

Ano

I've said it before, but it bears repeating. The reason you wake up with a hangover on New Year's Day is so the year can only get better from there.

Guh.

Last night was an astoundingly amazing good time, and I am eternally grateful it wound up so awesome. Seeing your best friends once in a while is a good thing. And I've got some pretty great ones.

Yes, I'm still drunk.

Have a great year, everybody. Start with a cup of coffee.