TimeSink. Not to be confused with Timecop.

Wow. Due to a posted comment from a blogger that I have not personally told about this blog, I have gone on a linked tour of some serious blogs.
Mine is fluff compared to a lot of them out there, but many of them (the onese referenced in previous posts and that of "Nameless To Protect The Innocent" EXCLUDED) are interesting to watch in the way that a car accident is.
My only hope is that some of these bloggers have people to talk to as well. More on this later, maybe, but I clicked on Nameless' blog to see who it was commenting on my site, and then clicked to some of the blogs she linked to.
Maybe I'd get more hits if I participated in "Half Naked Thursday".
I guess I get to go shirtless enough onstage at ComedySportz or IO, and don't have to do it online.
My advice to all: Get out this weekend and do something where there's a crowd. Be among the proletariat (thanks, dad.), be among the Humanoids (thanks, Bobby "The Brain" Heenan).
Don't stay home and watch Timecop.

OMG I am an old man.

A few weeks ago, we bought a new mop at target....
To Whom it May Concern:

I purchased your Vileda Pro Twist Plus mop at Target a few weeks ago and used it for the first time Saturday, September 10th. It broke on the second wring. I am appalled how cheaply constructed it is, and how you could ever think that the design could stand up to the tension it's placed under during normal use. The plastic post that holds the end on is not nearly strong enough to withstand the wringing. I have enclosed it so you can see the point of failure I am referencing. Especially surprising is that it is intended to last when it's inserted into the hollow metal mop handle. The edge of the hole neatly sheared the plastic post off, as you can see.
I am additionally surprised that Target, a retailer that I have come to trust, sold such a shoddy product, and have carbon copied them on this letter.
I am writing to request a check in the amount of your suggested retail price. I do not have the receipt, but it is plain to see from the broken part where the fault lies. I am not interested in a replacement product unless the post that anchors the head to the handle has been replaced with a metal pop-rivet.
Thank you in advance for your speedy handling of my reimbursement. Feel free to contact me by any means listed on this letter if you have any questions.

I copied Target on that letter (don't get me started on how long it toom ke to get their address from their website), and they immediately sent me a $15 gift card. Freudenberg, the makers of OCedar cleaning products sent me the following in return:

Dear Sir or Madame:
Thank you for your interest in the Vileda O-Cedar products. We appreciate the time you took to let us know about the issue you were having. Please use the enclosed coupon on any Vileda O-Cedar Product you wish.
Please Feel Free to contact us (blah, Blah, Blah edited for time)
We would like to assure you that quality and customer satisfaction are our highest priority. Also, Customer feedback helps us maintain out high quality standards. We hope you continue to use your Vileda O-cedar product with continued success.
We look foward to hearing from you soon. Sincerely, Vileda O-Cedar Consumer Affairs Department

I'm staring to feel like Ted Nancy with all these letters. I worte them back saying:

To Whom it May Concern:
I wrote the letter marked "A", and received the form letter marked "B" from you guys. Proof positive that you are completely out of touch with customers, and didn't take the time to read my letter. Suffice it to say that I will never purchase a product from your company, and thank you for printing the rest of your nameplates on the letter so I can avoid those brands as well.

Ahhhhh. That oughtta show 'em! At least I have my Target gift card. If I ever buy another mop, it'll be a janitor-sized one with a bucket that rolls and has the mop press on it and all. That's the only way to go. You'd be shocked how expensive those are.

Well, I have some AM radio to go listen to. I can't wait 'til Paul Harvey tells me the "REST of the story."!

Bwaaa haaa haaa!

I am Count Zachula.
My Domain is Thompsylvania!

Double edged techology

Ahh, the cell phone. So much has already been said, but here's a little more regurgitation.
When on the train, make your own fun by timing how long it takes for someone to say, "No, I'm on the train" from when they answer the phone. I think Jed Resnick invented that game.

Once while on the train, I witnessed an outdoor-voiced end of a conversation of a guy speaking to his friend, apparently a cop. The guy, hereafter referred to as LM (short for loudmouth) had a nephew living with his mother that had been all but abandoned by his parents. The kid was 13 and apparently out of hand. He wanted the cop to come over to grandma's and beat the kid up to teach him a lesson. Of course, the cop told him no, so LM asked him just to come over in uniform while LM himself beat the kid.

Also, what does it say about our society when people cannot function without being in conversation with someone else? Who are you if you are that uncomfortable with yourself? I understand making calls on a mobile phone to talk to someone for a reason, but you need to take a long hard look in the mirror if you can't browse a store, buy groceries, or rent a movie without blabbing to someone ad nauseum. I know the conversation is of paramount importance when you're sauntering through the new released at Shlockbuster and announcing the following, "*SIGH* Sooooooooo, what movie should I rent? What? No, just having a night to myself. Seen anything good lately? *SIGH* I don't like scary movies...."
God, I could stab you.

Also, talking on the phone while dealing with a cashier is the new coughing without covering your mouth. If I was president, all cashiers would have nightsticks, and they'd be legally allowed to clout that phone off your face.

Also if I was president, owners of parking lots would have to hire attendants with ball peen hammers that would be required by law to dent your hood if you parked like an idiot. ESPECIALLY if you love your shit ass Baretta so much that you back it in diagonally over 2 parking spots. If they caught you in the act, they'd be legally allowed to sodomize you with said ball peen hammer.
If no hammer were available, they could use your cell phone.

Buttered Brownies

I am STARVING today. My wife and I usually have breakfast together due to the combined effort it takes to get the baby to daycare.
I hated oatmeal all my life. I'm a texture guy and couldn't stand it served as cereal. I could eat all the oatmeal cookies you put down in front of me, though. Texture.
Anyway, when we started living together, I started tasting the instant oatmeal she'd sometimes have, and would eat it on occasion, but could never get through a full serving. Recently, I discovered Irish oatmeal. It has more texture and it doesn't have the shit that instand does to give it flavor. It's naked, so you add what you want. Our favorite is blueberries and brown sugar, though my wife takes a touch of margarine and pours milk over hers. Yuck.
Anyway, Miette's been eating baby oatmeal of late, and while I was boiling ours up, something about it smacked of her recent diaper bounty. I was grossed out and couldn't finish it. I had a granola bar on the train 'cause I was already hungry.
When I got off the train, I was hit with a very common loop smell: Brownies. I don't know where it is, but somewhere along the river there's apparently a bakery or cocoa factory. Some woman walking over the bridge next to me was blabbing loudly into her cell phone about it.
(incidentally, unless your phone is a piece of shit, you don't have to shout to be heard. Try it sometime.) She may have been talking to herself but holding the phone so as not to seem crazy. More on this later. ANYWAY, you can smell baking chocolate in some incarnation on the Adams St. bridge and on the State St. bridge, so it's pervasive. It always smells like fresh-baked brownies. It drives me nuts. Luckily, the corporate smell of the Leo Burnett building cleans your nose as soon as you go through the revolving doors.
I was reminded of a story of a good friend of mine who returned from wrestling practice to find a cooling pan of brownies his mom had just made. He cut out one and ate it. It was still warm, so he BUTTERED the entire pan and finished it. Though he was known for doing shit like this, and his food dare resume includes eating a stick of butter, drinking a large gravy from KFC, and inventing the Oreo cookie Power Hour (one cookie per minute for an hour), he remains built like an adonis and strong as an ox.

I am also reminded that there could be worse things to live by, like the sewage plant by our fraternity house, the garbage incinerators by my college dorm...
And better things. The house I used to live in was within an egg's throw of the Country House, a tavern known for their magnificent cheeseburgers. Where we live now is downwind of the Pepperidge Farm bakery. Most mornings it smells like toast or cinnamon toast.
I'd eat a whole pan of buttered brownies right now.

Back to Life, Back to Reality

I hope I put that crap ass song in your head. Remember "Pump Up The Volume"? The song, not the Christian Slater pirate radio movie.
So Miette had a great checkup and is healthy as a horse. Okay, a pony. All that craziness (see previous posts) is supposedly normal. Ugh. Proceed with caution when procreating.
Though I'd do all it again in a heartbeat.
Anyway, Miette's head is supposedly in the 90th percentile in terms of size. She's got a baby melon. Also, the doc says she's way ahead in her motor skills. That's Daddy's little birdie!

She had some shots yesterday that left her cranky, so I got to stay up with her from 4:30. I had one of those naps on the train where I wake up and don't immediately know where I am or how long I was out. I think I'll have another on the way home.

A thought that crossed my mind recently is how busy I am now, or even before the baby versus the busiest I ever was in college. I think I could have three degrees if I filled up my time the way I do now with coursework. Especially at Illinois State. The only low grades I got were because of laziness, and the most difficult test I ever took was the one where the maniacal TV professor, John Fisk, made us memorize all the model numbers of all the equipment in the TV studio down to the mics.

If I had it all to do over, I'd at least get out with a double major. And I would have partied balls a lot more. Balls.

Miette's 4 months old.

and that means she gets more shots. I feel terrible that I can't be there with Kiki and her. My mom is going with them, but still, I wish I could be there as well.
A friend of mine told me never to go, because you never forget the look in their eyes as they get shot after shot, and they want you to make it stop. I feel bad enough not being there.

Tonight is a mandatory meeting at ComedySportz. Not the reason I'm Missing Miette's appointment. That's today at 4:30, and I offered to get out of work, but Kiki told me to go. She is amazing. I thought I loved my wife before we had a baby. I did. More than anything in the world. After Miette, my love for her has grown exponentially. She is Profoundly Amazing.

After said mandatory meeting, If I can make it, Little Room has a show at IO. If not, I'm heading straight home to be on feverwatch from the vaccines.

Speaking of shows, I had three great ones this weekend. The all sit-in cast (me, Wolfson, Gotsick, Kinney, Simms, Chamberlin, and Joey Bland) gave the audience a right smashing show. Then to CSz for the 10:30. Truly a gem, and the funniest CSz show I've been a part of in months. Then we cranked out a hell of a Hot Karl based on Utopian Society.

Then I dozed while sandwiched between accidents on the Stevenson on the way home. The radio warned me of the one, but I foolishly thought I could beat it getting too bad. Also, I don't think the report said all lanes were blocked. Anyway, while we were all stopped, one car didn't, and there was an 8-car pileup behind me. I was held up 'til almost four, low on gas and dozing off due to the hour. I didn't want to sleep, though, as I was a fraid a state trooper would roll up on me an think I was passed out. Why? Because every swingin' dick, drunk or sober, was getting out of their cars and walking up to gape at the accident. Most of them were walking visibly drunk.

I've seen a lot of drunk assholes and accidents since I drive home to Westmont from Chicago every Saturday night around 2 AM. This one had all lanes blocked because it was a rolled over SUV with ejections, so I'm glad I didn't see it.

Regarding this Funny Business

There have been some nice reflective posts of late among Lindblog, A Laugh Bra Minute, and A Blast of Silence. I was thinking about posting the following quotes anyway.
It's nice how the group mind is now digitized.
My pal Danny Mora admitted that he's always trying to find parallels between sports and improv, and has written some nice pieces on them. Unfortunately for improvisers, many of them have only been written in emails to Little Room.
I am always looking for similar parallels, but just between Pro Wrestling and Improv. It's easy 'cause it's character-based storytelling...
Anyway, I'm reading "Walking a Golden Mile" by William Regal, a British wrestler. I'm not far into it, but here are two gems that apply universally:
"Make everything you do in there mean something, otherwise don't bother doing it." - Pete Roberts to William Regal
"I've always found that if people can make you laugh, it doesn't matter what else is going on - everything's always a thousand times more bearable." - William Regal.
How 'bout it?
The first one applies to economy on stage, and makes lots of sense, especially on a ComedySportz stage where we constantly wrestle with the choice vs. obstacle bits...
Teh second is a universal truth. My boss is constantly surprised that my counterpart and I don't get at eachother when the going gets tough. In fact, things get funnier; and that's helped dissipate a lot of pressure in the past.

One last thing: I'm one of a very few improvisers who's a wrestling fan, but I can say that there are a few of these books that are fantastic for anybody who has to get in front of people at ant time. The best is probably 'Have a Nice Day' by Mick Foley. He's legendary for total disregard for his health and safety for an audience; be they a VFW of 20 fans, or an arena of 60,000. For no particular reason, here my favorite wrestling books I've read in order:
1) "Have a Nice Day" - A tale of Blood and Sweatsocks by Mick Foley
2) "Pure Dynamite" by Tom Billington, AKA the Dynamite Kid and 1/2 the British Bulldogs
3) "To Be the Man" by Ric Flair, Still The Man
4) "Hooker" by Lou Thesz, NWA champion from the 1930s to the 1970s.
5) "In the Pit with Piper" by Rowdy Roddy Piper
6) "Bobby the Brain - Wrestling's Bad Bot Tells all" By Bobby Heenan.
7) "Dusty: Reflections of an American Dream" by Dusty Rhodes.

Bottom two:
1) Worst - Diamond Dallas Page's book
2) The Rock's Book - written when he was 26. What wisdom!

If you wanted an accurate picture of Pro Wrestling, read Thesz's book, then Flair's, then Dynaite's then Foley's, and you have it all.

Parting shot

Tomorrow I'm performing in a benefit for ComedySportz New Orleans. I was reminded of the comments Kanye West made; "George Bush does not Care about Black people", and the comments made by Barbara Bush referenced in the post below. It got me to thinkin... I know that this would never make it to TV, and by the time it did, it'd be a dated reference, so here's a sketch I wrote about the whole situation.
Since this is posted to the public, I guess I should state that it's satire, but for anyone that needs this qualifier, get a GD sense of humor!

OPEN ON WHITE HOUSE PRESS BRIEFING ROOM, PODIUM SHOT.

V/O: LADIES & GENTLEMEN, THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, GEORGE W. BUSH.

BUSH TAKES PODIUM.

BUSH: MY FELLOW AMERICANS: IT HAS COME TO MY ATTENTION THAT DURING A TELEVISED BENEFIT FOR HURRICANE KATRINA VICTIMS, THE DEGREE TO WHICH I CARE ABOUT AFRICAN-AMERICANS WAS CALLED INTO QUESTION. LET ME ASSURE ALL MY FELLOW AMERICANS OF AFRICAN HERITAGE THAT MYSELF AND MY WHOLE ADMINISTRATION DO CARE. WE CARE SO MUCH, THAT WE'VE CALLED THIS PRESS CONFERENCE TO SEND A SHOUT OUT TO ALL OUR (N-WORD)S!

CAMERA PANS BACK TO REVEAL LEATHER COUCHES. SEATED ON THEM ARE SEVERAL VISIBLY UNCOMFORTABLE MEMBERS OF BUSH'S CABINET. ALL ARE DRESSED IN TRACK SUITS AND THE LIKE. BUSH SHEDS HIS SUIT COAT AND PUTS A HUGE FUBU SWEATSHIRT ON OVER HIS SHIRT AND TIE. HE'S HANDED A PIMP CUP, AND PULLS ONE WIRELESS MIC FROM THE ONES ON THE PODIUM AND MAKES HIS WAY TO THE THRONE IN BETWEEN THE COUCHES.

BUSH: AWWW YEEEH. NOW I'D LIKE TO ADDRESS ONE SPECIFIC (N-WORD), MISTER KAYNE WEST. KAYNE, I DO CARE ABOUT THIS NATION'S (N-WORD)S. MORE THAN YOU KNOW. I BET YOUR MAMA KNOW HOW MUCH I CARE!

OTHERS (COVERING THEIR MOUTHS): OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH!

MISCELLANEOUS AID: I THINK IT'S KAN-YE…

BUSH: DASS RIGHT. I CARE ABOUT YOU AND ALL YO HOODS. FROM 115TH STREET IN HARLEM. 'SPECT TO MY MAN SHORTY B AT SHORTY'S CHICKEN! TO THE CENTER OF FUCK ALL WATTS IN L.A.! WHERE THA PLAYAS STILL PLAY.

OTHERS: (HALF-ASSED) AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!

BUSH: (GRABBING A CHICKEN LEG AND TAKING A TINY BITE) MISTER KAYNE WEST, I'VE BEEN TOLD YOU'RE A COLLEGE DROPOUT. WELL, THA BIG G, THAT'S ME, THE BIG G. THE G STANDS FOR GEORGE. IS HERE TO HELP YOU THE FUCK OUT. ALL YOU NEED TO DO IS GO DOWN TO YOUR FLY MILITARY RECRUITING OFFICE AND SIGN UP FOR A G.I. BILL-ZILL! HERE TO TALK ABOUT THIS IS MY MAIN MAN DONN E RUMS.

RUMSFELD IS DRESSED LIKE THE BISHOP DON "MAGIC" JUAN. HIS GLASSES ARE THE SAME, BUT HAVE RHINESTONES ON THEM. VISIBLY PISSED AS EVER, HE GETS UP AND BUSH WHIFFS A HIGH-FIVE AT HIM, AND THEY ATTEMPT THE BUMP-HUG. RUMSFELD GETS TO THE PODIUM.

RUMSFELD: MISTER PRESIDENT, I THINK YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE SAYING 'NIGGAS' NOT '(N-WORD)S'. EITHER WAY, I DON'T THINK WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BE SAYING IT ALL.

SHOT OF BUSH ATTEMPTING TO USE A SIDEKICK AND STILL HOLDING THE CHICKEN LEG, STEALING LOOKS AT THE CAMERA.

RUMSFELD FROWNS AT THE CAMERA: I'D JUST LIKE TO REMIND ALL MY… I'M NOT GOING TO READ THIS. IT'S… FINE!. …I'D JUST LIKE TO REMIND ALL MY HOMIES THAT YOU GO THE FLOOR WITH THE DANCE MOVES YOU HAVE, NOT THE MOVES YOU WISH YOU HAD. WO.. UH… WORD. SIGN UP FO MILITARY SERVICE TODAY, AND THE CASH MONEY WILL ROLL IN!

HE ROLLS HIS EYES AND LEAVES.

BUSH COMES BACK TO THE PODIUM WITH A HUGE BOOM BOX PLAYING THE 2 LIVE CREW.
BUSH: YEAH! HOO-WEE! I LOVE THIS 2 LIVE CREW! IT'S THA FRESSHESSSS!
AND WITH THAT, I'D LIKE TO BRING UP MY NUMBA ONE BITCH (N-WORD) CONDI-CON!

CONDOLEEZA RICE GETS UP DRESSED LIKE LIL' KIM, BLOND WIG AND ALL.

RICE: I THINK THE PRESIDENT MEANS BEEYOTCH NIGGA…

BUSH: SHUT YOUR FACE, BITCH (N-WORD), LEST YOU WANT MY 'ZECUTIVE BRANCH SHOVED IN THERE. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH! LIKE THE (N-WORD)S WITH ALTITUDE SAID, "DON'T MATTA, JUST DON'T CHEW IT!"

BUSH LOOKS FOR HIGH FIVES FROM OTHERS ON THE COUCH AND IS LEFT HANGING.

RICE: (CLEARS THROAT) UM, I AM PLEASED TO ANNOUNCE THE PRESIDENT'S "PIMP MY SHELTER" INITIATIVE FOR THOSE OF YOU LIVING IN COMMUNAL "CRIBS" SINCE HURRICANE KATRINA. FIMA AGENTS WILL BE INSTALLING PLASMA TVS ON THE LARGEST WALL OF ANY COMMUNAL SHELTER. UM, SO LOOK FOR THAT.

CUT TO SHOT OF BUSH WITH MOBILE PHONE. THE PHONE BEEPS.

BUSH: CHENEY! CHAIN-GANG! WHERE YOU ARE AT?

RICE LOOKS AT CAMERA, GAGS AND LEAVES.

BUSH: NOW WITH EXECUTIVE SEAL HANGING AROUND HIS NECK LIKE FLAVOR FLAV'S CLOCK, AND BRANDISHING A GOLD GUN IN ONE HAND.

BUSH: YESSSSSS! BOY! IMA POP THE GAP IN YOUR ASS! YO! CHILL FOR A MINUTE DOUGLAS FRESH SAID SILENCE!

BUSH THEN CROSSES HIS ARMS IN A FAT BOYS POSE AND FREEZES.

BUSH: I REALIZE THAT SOME (N-WORD)'S GONNA HAVE TO TAKE THE HEAT FOR WHAT HAPPENED IN THE GULF COAST. SO WITHOUT FUTHER ADO, PLEASE BRING OUT FORMER FEMA DIRECTOR MICHAEL BROWN!

BROWN IS BROUGHT OUT IN LEG IRONS, VISIBLY UPSET. BUSH GETS RIGHT UP IN HIS FACE WITH THE GOLD GUN.

BUSH: JUST LIKE MY MAN ICED TEASE SAID IN LOJACK CITY, "I WANNA SHOOT YOU SO BAD IT MAKES MY DICK HURT!"

BUSH LOOKS AT CAMERA AND GRINS. BROWN FLINCHES.

BUSH: BUT DEF IS TOO GOOD FO THIS HONKAY! INSTEAD, I INTEND TO "WILDING OUT" ON YOU LIKE M-MAN RICK CANNON!

BUSH SWEEPS THE COUCHES FOR WEAK HIGH-FIVES, PUMPING HIS OTHER FIST IN THE AIR. HE DONS A NEW ORLEANS SAINTS CAP, COCKED OFF TO THE SIDE AND POINTS TO IT.

BUSH: THIS FO ALL YALL!

BUSH GETS IN BROWN'S FACE AGAIN.

BUSH: BROWNIE, YO MAMA SO FAT THAT SHE LOOK LIKE A BLOATED CORPSE FLOATING IN THE STREETS OF N. TO THA O. OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

HE IS MET WITH SILENCE.

BROWN: MISTER PRESIDENT?

BUSH: ARE YOU TALKING TO ME, 'CAUSE I SEE YOU MOVIN' YO MOUF / YOU BETTA STOP TALKIN, YOU BETTA CUT IT OUF! OOHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
SILENCE AGAIN.
BUSH KICKS BROWN IN THE STOMACH AND HE GOES DOWN. HE GRABS A SILVER TRAY COVERED IN CRYSTAL PIECES.

BUSH: NOW I POUR OUT SOME CRYSTAL FOR MY DEAD HOMIEZ IN NEW ORLEANS!

BUSH DUMPS TRAY ON BROWN. THE REST OF THE CABINET LEAVES.

BUSH: GET YOUR BITCH ASS OUTTA HERE! I'M THE HEAD N!GGER IN CHARGE!
I HOPE I HAVE SHOWED YOU ALL THAT I DON'T GO FOR ANY CRUNK. I CAN ASSURE YOU N!GGERS AND ALL MY FELLOW AMERICANS THAT I DO CARE ABOUT ALL OF YOU. YOU ALL MY BOYS. WE'RE SPENDING BILLIONS OF DOLLARS ON FEDERAL AID SO THAT Y'ALL BE LIVIN' LARGE LIKE M.C. HAMMER REAL SOON! IT'S MY PERROGATIVE, AND AL B. SURE IT HAPPENS! BE SURE TO CHECK MAH NEXXX PRESS CONFERENCE IN WHICH I'LL OUTLINE MY PLANS TO PIMP IRAQ! BIG G OUT!

CUT TO TEST PATTERN.

Straight, no chaser

Saturday was my baby sister's 21st birthday. She and one of her roommates went and rented out a bar on west Fullerton (at Southport) called Ta'Too. Knowing them, I thought it'd be like Zero Gravity, the pre-teen suburban dance hall. Ta'too bills itself as a public ale house, and uses the ol' Irish Pub font, but it was very upscale. Red walls and dark wood and mirrors. Plus they blared hot dance music. And by blared, I mean when I left the bar, I had numb hearing, and the last time that happened was when I went to see Kiss at Allstate.
It was fun. All my sibbies were there, and a bunch of classmates of my other sister were theer from her culinary school. Two of them seemed fun. There was a third, the only dude, who was totally gettin' his mope on. He told my sister that he felt too old for the bar because he was 31. Asshole. Then leave. Go feel 60, but don't mope at a party.
It was $30 for all you can drink. I set out to get my money's worth, and didn't quite succeed. Here's what I had between 9:20 and 11:20:
A Kamikaze - Ric Flair's signature Drink, and a regular favorite of mine.
A Craig T. Nelson - See previous post
A Jaeger Bomb.
A "Randall" - Ginger Ale & Captain Morgan. Apparently all the rage in the Hamptons according to the guy who got most of the bar to try one.
A 7 & 7.
I can honestly say that I should have had 5 beers in that time. I would have been drunker and not experienced the vertigo and fecal odor I did the next day. Oh Well. I t was a good time nonetheless. I think the median age at the place was 22. Some people obviously looked younger than others, I mean, my brother has trouble looking of age and probably always will:
But there were two guys that are at least 23 that were wearing baseball caps, brim low, that made them look 12. It was kind of funny, 'specially the kid that had his slightly cocked off to the side. I think he's the creative force behind Thunder Midget (TM), my brother's garage band. My sister was resplendent and quite the hostess. I got to meet her new "friend" who I was relieved to find out is 22. He looked older. He can also string a sentence together, which is more than I can say for some of her previous boyfriends. ...I don't know. I guess since my brother and I are such smartasses, I thought she'd date someone more like us. Of Course, that may be why she dates like she does.

Sunday we went to my parents' house for the family party. My mom made a heavyweight dinner consisting of homemade beef and noodles, mashed potatoes, niblet corn and green beans, and rolls. Dessert additionally rediculous and irresistible.
We went home just in time to have the baby scream all night.
I sure could have used a beer.

Mutual Admiration Society

I have to admit that I check the blogs of Lindberg, Chidester, Defran, Dowling, and Bryant every hour or so, hoping for updates, a spark of the power I feel when hanging around them. Man, did that sound gay, but I mark out for those dudes early and often.
I mark out harder if I'm actually mentioned in said blogs, and I was today, as Lindblog's inspiration of his atheist rant.
I guess I consider myself an athiest, though it's tough being married to a catholic... anyway, I'll hit that another time.
What I want to post about is the rise of atheism, or at least laziness with regard to religion, and its perceived (by me) correlation to pop or mild mental disorders.
My contention is that so many people nowadays are diagnosed as depressed, bipolar, manic, whatever; depression being the big one, and I think that has a lot to do with the decline of religion in our lives.
My Disclaimer: I do believe that all these mental conditions are real. I see people with them all the time. Also, I am not religious. I can probably count on available digits the number of times I've been in a church.
I believe that it's so common for people's mental states get out of hand because they don't take that hour to stop and confront their problems. Think about it. That's all prayer really is (or meditation or whatever the religion calls it). For that hour a week, people who participate in religion look inside, and then 'talk' through their problems with God (I started typing "whatever deity they worship" but I don't need to sanitize this. You get the idea).
All they're doing is taking the time to mentally confront what's troubling them, even if they have to address their thoughts to God to get them out. Most prayer is asking God to keep an eye on your worries, be they touchdowns, loved ones, or the good ol' US of A.
There are few things more cleansing than dumping out that stuff you keep bottled up inside of you. In today's society, so many people don't take that time. They may even put off that reflection by trying to drink away their thoughts. Soaking your brain in alcohol or worse certainly helps you forget, but unless you lay out all your problems in front of yourself and plow right through them, they'll continue to eat at you. That will sure as hell cause someone to get depressed. Leaving that unchecked can sure as hell lead to worse.
Just a theory I have...

Marking Out

Not Making out. Marking Out is the term pro wrestlers use if a fan is going crazy (in a good way) over something. They call fans Marks.
Anyway, I'm marking out right now.
I went to Nordstrom Rack on State over my lunch, and there it was...
A black velvet overcoat. Fully lined with purple lining. It was stunning. The size? My size. a 44, AND the sleeves weren't too long. It looked great on me. Too bad it was $200.
Kiki's on a 3/5 schedule so she can be home with the baby part time, and we just don't have the money for me to buy a coat right now. I'm sure it'll be gone by the end of the day. I literally saw 4 dudes try it on while I was there.
Oh Well... It's just a coat, Right?

Movin' Very Slowly

A break from all that is my life lately.
The CIO of our company took the IT department out on a lovely evening Cruise on the Chicago Little Lady. It's like the Architectural Boat Tour without the narration, and like the Oddyssey night cruise without the prom, Drakkar, and boners.
Plus there was an open bar. It was hard to have much other than a surface conversation, but I had a great time. I had three Beers and a Coach, A.K.A. Craig T. Nelson. A Coach is like a Long Island Iced Tea, except there's Peach Schnapps instead of Tequila. It's fabulous, and I suggest you try one. I need to invent a drink called a Kitten Natividad...
Anyway, here are some pictures I took.

I Saw a Dead Body this Morning, and that's not The Worst Of It.

The train was an hour late today due to a "Pedestrian Incident" at Cicero Avenue. I got on th train 30 minutes late, and awoke from my nap as we were stopped at the accident site. They supposedly had it cleared, as they were letting us pass.
The first thing I saw was police tape and police in windbreakers and latex gloves.
Next was something I couldn't identify. I thought maybe an animal got hit as well, because it was bloody and hairy. I'm trying not to think it was the victim's scalp.
Before I could process that, there was more blood and tissue.
Then I saw several feet of intestines tangled among the ties and spikes abd rails.
Then a large white mass of tissue.
Just as I was thinking that the cops did a less-than-half-assed job of cleaning up the site, there was the body, covered in a sheet.
I wish I hadn't seen it, but I couldn't look away.
The conductor, when we got on the train, announced that there had been "a Pedestrian Killed at Cicero 'again'". I can think of three killed there since I started commuting in 2001. Apparently it's either a very dangerous crossing, or a popular place to end it all. Apparently also, this is a common way of doing the latter. It's especially common around the holidays.
Went to Perry's with Dave Gaudet for a corned beef today. Managed not to think about it the whole time.

A note on the last 2 posts

I did inherit my dad's legendary windbag temper from him... I wonder if Tim had it?
In fact, in my delirium last night I giggled at a story about my dad. It seems that in my parents' young life together, my mom and dad went out for milkshakes. The milkshake was so thick that my dad couldn't suck it up the straw. He waited for a little while and it still would not budge. He got so pissed that he punched the PAPER cup drenching the both of them in milkshake.
Yeah! Take that Penguin Point!

On the short end of the genetic Stick.

My father recently had prints made of some negatives he'd taken from his family home after his mother passed away. That was probably 10 years ago, and my grandfather on his side passed away while I was still an infant. Here is Erwin Walter Thompson. He went by Tim as he was nicknamed after tiny Tim from "A Christmas Carol" because of his stature.

Here's my father... not a great picture, but you'll get my point...

... AND my mother, of course, and the baby. Finally, here I am.

It'd make sense if I was Jim MacDiarmid or Phil Pace, the in-focus guys over my shoulder, but I'm the blurry one in the center. I guess it merits noting that nt grandfather was a gymnast and outdoorsman, and that I never deny myself anything that MIGHT taste good, but I don't even have the rugged features.

Incidentally, They lived on Lake Mohawk in Sparta, NJ, hence the getup above. I do have some small pecentage on Native American in me, but that's on my Mother's side. If I can post more pics of my grandfather, I will. I look at them and can't believe I'm related to him.

Also, he was a draftsman for Johns-Manville in NY. My other Grandfather (Wagner) made patterns for a foundry. I can barely draw a stick figure. Hopefully I can breed some of this back into my kids.

The view from the end of my rope.

Where to begin?
When I was 15, I developed a terrible temper. This was dragged out of me by my then-girlfriend Arielle, and her fat know-it-all shrew of a mother. Her mother perpetrated all sorts of cuntery (tm) on me, including telling me my xmas gift from Arielle was stolen. I just realized how many of the exchanges between her mother and me have been repressed, since I can't remember many of them, but that may have to do with the amount of sleep I've had (incidentally, the point of this post). Anyway, the only mementos I have from that relationship are a strangely curved metacarpal in my hand known as a healed boxer's fracture (Suffice it to say that your hand gives WAY before a cinderblock wall in the hallway of Lisle Senior High), and the remnants of two METAL softball bats I managed to break in half by repeatedly hitting a tree with them.
It is because of those manifestations of uncontrollable rage that I didn't drink alcohol until I was 22.
I'm recollecting all of this because I've recently rediscovered all that rage while taking care of my infant daughter. LET ME STOP HERE AND POINT OUT THAT I HAVE NOT PHYSICALLY EXPRESSED THIS FRUSTRATION IN ANY WAY BUT A FEW PILLOW SCREAMS, AND MAYBE POUNDING THE FLOOR IN FRUSTRATION. I WOULD NOT, AND WILL NOT EVER DIRECT MY RAGE AT SOMEONE I LOVE. HENCE THE COLLECTION ABOVE.
Now that that's out of the way, let me attempt to paint a picture for you of what it's like to have a child with colic.
My wife soothed her to sleep by 8:30. She awoke with a start at 9:00, screaming and writhing uncontrollably. We had tried a new cereal on her and mixed it with formula (also new), so I am HOPING this is the root of all of this. We had the worst night last night since the second night she was home. I also think the diet change may be responsible because of the hilariously large farts she was letting. After some medicine drops for gas, she settled back down and I put her to bed at 9:35. She awoke screaming again ant 11:30, and my wife took that bullet, staying up with her until one. And again at 3. This time, Kiki fed her, and then I got to take over. We went from the rocking chair to the floor to the guest bed; All the while Miette vascillated between asleep and blood-curdling scream. Finally at 4:30, I put her in her swing, and she stayed calm until 5. I then held her in our bed while she screamed.
It was at that moment that I started crying. All I wanted was for her to stop crying. All I could think was "I wish I was Dead".
I don't, of course, but I was so beyond frustrated. I was gentle as ever to her, but I was crumbling on the inside. When the alarm went of at 5:45, everything was fine and she was all smiles and laughs... so was I. That's the nature of this colic shit. Hence my Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde analogy in previous posts. She was a doll all morning, and she held my hand on the way to day care.
I love her more than anything in the world, and wouldn't give up being a dad for anything. She's truly a treasure. But that colic, man, that colic could drive a man to lose control.

"Eric Lindberg makes my day" or "Unintentional Live Talent"

'member how all the Bullwinkle cartoons had 2 titles? You don't? Then you are a lameo. This is the second Bullwinkle reference in my day today. The first was the birthday of "Fearless Leader" Dave Gaudet.

I think I know how game fisherman feel. I started soothing the baby to sleep at 7:30. She fell asleep right away. I was thinking, 'great, I'll put her down and get some shit done'. I jinxed myself. Exactly a half hour later, she started screaming as if I had slugged her. Heaving and scratching and screaming. I got her settled into those little sighs kids make when they're done crying, and administered the bottle. After the bottle, she was an attentive smiling doll for 5 minutes or so before becoming a howling mess again. And so it went until about 9:30 when she went down to sleep. My wife thinks I'm doing something wrong, and I think I am too... at least it seems like it. However, she laid on the floor and graded papers while watching me and said I do nothing different than she does. Maybe the difference is phermonal. I don't know. Miette (the baby) is an angel during the days. At night all bets are off. I have nicknamed her Dr. Jeckyll snd/or Mr. Hyde.
She woke up and screamed for a little at 4:30, and again at 5:30 when my wife took over, thankfully.
So, after getting us both ready and her to Day care, I raced back and barely made my train, where I promptly fell asleep. I woke up to the embarassment of having the railing in front of me tapped by the ticket taker and his hole punch. I then fell back asleep 'til the train pulled into Union Station. I felt like my brain had been sanded down, and the leavings had run into my eyes as I trudged to work.
Just over the Adams Street Bridge, enter our hero.
I heard a commotion ahead that I frankly believed to be a fight. Through my haze, I saw that there were three referees, and a camera and a sound guy doing a live performance of the Miller Lite party foul thing. The crowd of passersby was pretty significant, and a throng of people were watching from the safety of the building at Adams and Wacker. As I got a little closer, I realized it was none other than Eric Karl Lindberg, Russell "I'm not George Hamilton" Hackney, and some black dude.
Unintelligibly, I blurted, "A rope, a tree, Hang the referee" (My HS football fan rallying cry).
I was promptly flagged and pulled in front of the camera. The exchange went a little something like t h i s:
Lindberg: YOU, sir. WHat's your name and what do you do?
Me: (at the HEIGHT of my creativity): My Name is Zach Thompson and I'm a Telecommunications Analyst for a large Law firm. What have I been flagged for?
Lindberg: You're not drinking!
Me: It's nine Something in the morning. ( I literally said "nine something").
Lindberg: That's no excuse.
Me: But the sun isn't even past the yard Iron yet! (Thanks, Mame the Musical, in which I played Mr. Babcock/arab party guest)
Lindberg: Yard Iron? What's that? Some kinda old-timey expression?
Me (again at the HEIGHT of my creativity): YOU're and old timey expression!
Hackney: Here you go sir, hold your hand there... (they then proceeded to cover me in Miller light Collateral; a Koozie (presumably for my cooze), some party beads with a miller light emblem, and the ever-popular fake bottlecap button with the flashing red LED light.
Lindberg: Now look into the camera and say (something about drinking responsibly)
Me: (Repeating whatever he said)
Hackney: Look into the camera and give us your Social Security Number and Bank account number
Me: Three... hey, waitaminit!
They then sent me on my way, and I saved a little face by yelling "I can't wait to start drinking!" as I left. I have no idea what it was being filmed for. I imagine it won't end up on TV, because I didn't sign anything. I imagine the outtakes of the people that freaked out when they were flagged would be pretty funny.
I walked the rest of the way thinking about shit I should have said, and how great it was to be knowingly Punk'd by EKL. Lindberg will be so flattered that I said I was Punk'd... he's a HUGE Ashton Kutcher fan, and the only person I know who owns multiple copies of "Guess Who" in case he burns out one DVD. I wish I could run into Lindberg every AM to get him to push me to my operating speed.
Then I got to the corner of Madison and Wells where this creepy panhandler is always stationed. He's never creepy to me, but when women walk by, you can see him lean in and say something to them. It seems like he's saying something lustful to them, based on his expression and body language, and the fact that I've seen one woman stop and tell him he had no right to talk to her like that. Anyway, on Fridays, he always bellows "Happy Fieday!" (yes, FIE day) as an attempt to garner more change. A stark contrast to his usual furrowed brow cup thrust. One piece of advice I'll probably never give him is that it's a bad idea to be working on a large Jamba Juice when panhandling.
At Washington and Wells I see Ross Bryant some afternoons, and we usually engage in a knowing nod and passing wordless handshake, and I leave wondering what other people think just happened.

Astonishing

...The shit that's going down in this country.
My wife wants to take on a refugee or two from the hurricane and put them up in our guest room. I am leery of the idea, but I feel like I have to do something. Something. I'd go on TV and say the victims were better off living in tents than they had been previously if Barbara Bush hadn't already.
I'm sick about this whole thing.
Anyway, the state has a number for people willing to help. I'll let you know if we add anybody to the household.
My in-laws were in this weekend. My father-in-law and I started to patch a leak in our roof when we realized that it was a huge old section of dry rot (when his knee went through the roof). We ended up replacing a 4 by 12 foot section of the roof. I say "we" but he did it all. Damn, it's great to be related to someone so handy.
A quick aside, my father-in-law reminds me physically of Sergeant Slaughter the 80's wrestler. Brawny, bald, and mustachioed. When I was courting my wife, I was at their house when he handed me a steak knife and beckoned me out into the back yard. Apparently, he had been mowing on his riding lawnmower when he ran over a kitchen rug that his wife had set out in the yard to dry. He said, "I'm going to pick up this mower, and I want you to roll underneath it and cut the rug out of the blades". A riding lawnmower. Also, he didn't just pick up an end of it. He deadlifted the whole thing and held it. He asked me once to move so he could take a short break, and then picked it up again until I cut the rug out.
Saturday night I worked a party for Plutocrats that had to cost $5 million if it cost a dime. You can read the details here and here if you like. I played Augustus Gloop from Willy Wonka and the chocolate factory. Let me tell you, little gets you wired like eating three humorously large candy bars in the span of a half hour.
My daughter has discovered her feet, and is trying to sit up nowadays... it makes the fact that she HATES to sleep worth it.
I went to a Voice over internet protocol (voip) technology conference yesterday. Some good info, but some humorously bad public speakers. Plus, there was a heated argument in the panel discussion at the end. My usual tension breaker of yelling, "HIT HIM!" when there's an argument has unfortunately become a reflex, and didn't go over so well...
And just so it doesn't go unsaid... Eric Lindberg.

Hanna's Bretzel: the new Cosi

I went to Hanna's Bretzel on Washington across from Rock Records with my dear friend Heather. It was good; I had an Alsacean-themed ham-and swiss with mustard on Bretzel bread. (Not sure why it's Bretzel and not pretzel, but they've been in business[the chain] since 1455 per the sign). It was good, but not great. It came with exceptionally bland chips, and the only carry teas and microbrew sodas. I like the convos Heather and I have because I don't believe she ever bullshits me.

It's like Cosi in that it's nothing to write home about, but you'll leave hungry if you don't drop $10. I might try their breakfast or just a pretzel sometime. They also have a shload (and I'm paraphrasing) of european candy bars if that's your thing. (For my money, you can't beat Hershey's chocolate, though.) Other than that, I don't expect to go back. That's a pic of Heather and I from Taste of Chicago (or Waste of Chicago, as my Father calls it) taken by Hans Holsen. Trip & Mount was a bit we used to do regarding relationship ice breakers.

I stole that "Shload, and I'm paraphrasing" from someone at a high school or college speech tourament. My wife was ranked 7th in the nation in After Dinner Speaking (read: a humorous speech on a serious topic), so I've been to a few speech tournaments. That's the only thing I really remember from any of them except for Kiki's speech on Binary Thinking. Binary thinking is best exemplified in American Political rhetoric; you're either a long-haired libreral idiot that would abort a late-term fetus and feed it to hungry stray kitties or a suit-clad, power-haircutted conservative who regularly attends church in his massive gas-guzzling SUV.
The real illusion is that you get any real difference between the two.
I find myself believing more and more that the answer is invariable in the middle, even from my point of view.

Pure Dynamite

My wife graciously took all baby duties last night, so I feel reasonably well rested. I also sucessfully resisted the urge to get a breakfast sandtwich from mcdonald's.
My in-laws are coming in this weekend, and I intend to spend Labor Day weekend doing some labor. I have a leak in my roof, and my father-in-law and I will be fixing it. I'll then be heading to Kenosha to take part as live talent for a party thrown for a Plutocrat. No Shit. Hopefuly it will be enjoyable, and hopefully, we'll be back in time to hit the tub with the Hot Karl.
I was totally out of it after about 9 PM last night, and woke up late leaving my wife to do too many things that I should have done. Boo me.
I also learned yesterday to add a picture to my profile. I chose my old standard, the American Dream; Dusty Rhodes. Those of you unfamiliar with Dusty are just plain missing out. The charismatic, overweight powerhouse was on top of the wrestling world forever, and he's funny as hell.