Still Savoring the Blood

Old-School blog entry today dealing with Cheeseburgers.
Today I went with my wife, her Sister, and her sister's b-fri to Rockit for lunch. Rockit's hip and new, but the food is great. Last time I was there, I had the Guiness cheese soup and a Salad. Plus they serve these pretzel bread rolls. It was awesome.
I've been wanting to take my wife there since then, and finally the opportunity presented itself today.
Typically, I ordered the cheeseburger. I have taken the leap to ordering Medium-rare at the behest of many a "Best Cheeseburgers of ________" articles. I may bever go back. Rockit's came on a pretzel bread bun, coated in cheddar, and bleeding through fissures in the cheese. I upgraded to truffle-oil fries on the side. More on that in a minute. The Meduim rare paid off because so many places kill their burgers, so it's a safer bet than ordering medium. This may now be my second-favorite burger in the city behind Weber Grill's. The truffle fries had a distinct, even good flavor to them, but it was a flavor that I could have gone without. I didn't get to see what my upgrade cost, as Matt picked up the tab. For my money, there are few better orders of fries in the world than Portillo's. My sister-in-law ordered the French Onion soup that had an inch of Gruyere cheese on the top if it had a shred. Man, was that good. I was jealous of my companions because they could order beers to gird themselves against their North Michigan Avenue shopping trip, while I had to return to work. Two intriguing things also stuck out on the menu: a Kobe beef hot dog, and a Kobe Beef Hamburger. $18 and $19 respectively. I was close to ordering the Kobe burger, but it's served with foie gras. I can't stand foie gras. It's goose liver pate, for those who haven't had it, and it tastes like Fancy Feast (cat food). Maybe I'll order that sometime with the foie gras on the side. I'm torn on the Kobe thing, though, because I herad it can't truly be Kobe outside of Japan (where they feed the beef beer and grain and rub the cows with sake (seriously)).
Also on the burger tip, I recently hit Poag Mahone's in the 175 Jackson building. This is the only burger in Chicago that made GQ's top 25 in their July issue, and has been acclaimed by the Trib and a few other local news outlets. In a word, I was UNDERWHELMED. The most disappointing thing (save for not being able to accompany it with a beer...) was the bun. It was so toasted that it was sharp and crumbly. I wouldn't go back for it, but I may go back for the mini-burgers. They're supposed to be good as well.
I'm staying in for NYE. Nothing tempting enough to draw me out. You have a great new year, you crazy cats. Yours, Zach

Get Fucked.

All right, Tara D, here goes (the title does not apply to you).
Best Christmas Ever. And a total whirlwind at that. I'll start with Christmas Eve, since that's where the title comes from. We were to host all the relatives. My in-laws, my sister-in-law and her b-fri, and the 6 of my family. I was sent to get groceries CEve morning. My sister-in-law's boyfriend, who I'll call Matt, since that's his real name, accompanied me. We ran all over god's green to get the final ingredients for the italian buffet we were to enjoy that night. It took WAY longer than I anticipated. I tacked on a trip to Costco because I had to pick up pictures, and if I didn't do it then, it would have been a week or two later when I finally got to it. All the while, I was lamenting to Matt that Kiki was going to yell at me for being gone so long; we still had a LOT to do before the 5 PM party start.
We pulled in the driveway behind my in-laws' car. They'd just arrived. I fought with my keys and the door before I walked in the door fully laden with the groceries. I was met by my mother-in-law, who said, "It's about time..."
My response, without a hint of kidding, " Get Fucked."
It shocked the both of us, as I stammered through a "just kidding, merry Christmas" and a half-hug. She gets on my nerves from time to time, but that was no reason for me to act like that. I don't even know where it came from, honestly.
I think I effectively played it off as a joke, but I STILL feel terrible about it. I had kind of prepared a pissed-off response for Kiki in case I got guff for taking so long; everything was nuts.
I contemplated apologizing again, but I felt like that would make it out to be something other than a flippant comment. The rest of the weekend went smoothly between us.
...And way better than expected otherwise. The Best Christmas Ever bar was set a year or two ago when my mom opened her home to my wife's family and my wife's best friend's family. They were in Chicago from Michigan in support of my wife's best friend who had to spend her baby's first Christmas apart from her due to a messy divorce. The father had little competence to care for a dog let alone a child, so they decided to stay in Chicago in case the panicked "She won't stop crying no matter how hard I shake her" call came. They were in a strange place for CMas, so my mom insisted they come. The love in the house was amazing, so that unseated Christmas 1982 (I received the AT-AT and a Mr. Bill Calendar with a record).
But it was Miette that stole the show this year. She recieved scads of sentimental meaningful gifts including a bunch of Chris Van Allsburg books that were my brother's favorite. He even wrote a dedication in each. He also bought and read to her the Polar Express, that was a Thompson Family tradition before it became a Tom Hanks pocket-padder. We hadn't read it in years because my brother equated a lot of sick christmases (pre-transplant) to reading that book, so it was something of a breakthrough that he bought it and insisted on reading it to her.
I got some dope gear, Kiki got showered in clothes; her one big request now that she's in better shape than before Miette (though she'll never believe that).
Another highlight came after we exchanged gifts at my parents' house. My dad tried to read Miette "I already Love You" by recent grandfather Billy Crystal, and couldn't get past page 2.
Miette got a lot of clothes and noisy talking toys (how come every fucking toy has to talk? Even those fisher-price rings that are rainbow colors and you stack them on a stick have to have rattles inside...). She also discovered the jumper. That's a spring loaded seat that you hang in a doorway; you probably had one as a kid. Anyway, she does a combo bell kick and jig in it that might kill you with cuteness. I have a short video of it. If I can figure out how to post it, I will. It's the shit.
She and Kiki are down at my in-laws this week. The house is unbelievably lonely.
Loneliness can get fucked.

Miette has a new hat.

Sunday, she'll be 7 months. She is amazing.
Busy this week. Busy as hell. Trying to wrap up things here at work because I'm off next week. Also being pressed into service to help Kiki wrap up all the things she has to accomplish before her last week. Next week we'll begin finishing what needs to be done before Christmas.
I put the tree up Sunday, lit it Monday, and haven't done anything with it since. I ended up making cookie dough Monday night, and making more last night when we realized that what we'd made wouldn't make nearly half the cookies that Kiki needs for all the kids in her class.
A couple things I've been meaning to tell you about.
1) The other night, I walked by the entryway to an office building on LaSalle and Franklin. There was a man in a full business suit and coat on the phone. He was rapt in conversation and unwittingly reached back, dug into his ass crack to scratch, and then smelled his fingers. Golden.
2) Last Thursday night, Kiki and I went charity shopping. Every year, the Key club at her shcool sponsors needy kids. They send a list of what they need (and want) for Christmas. Kiki collects money from her students, and we match whatever they raise and then buy gifts for the kids. It's always a trying experience in that it's fun to buy toys and clothes for kids, but then tough to think that the reason they're asking for a winter coat is that they're too poor to afford one. We usually supplement the gift with Sacagawea dollars hidden in the pockets of the clothes. This year we had an infant, and three others aged 4, 7, and 12 respectively. The 7-year old asked for "action figures". Since I am not allowed to buy Star Wars anymore, I went a little wild and even gave the kid some extras out of my personal collection. Some rare mail-aways too. I hope he likes Star Wars.

I love it. I have a huge collection. I need to get rid of some of my stuff that is from '97-'02 (for space reasons, literally), but I'll never part with my stuff from '77-85 if I can help it.

I may even break our rule of not allowing Miette to watch TV over my vacation, and show her Star Wars. I know she won't last the whole movie, but I may try.

Maybe I can get her to want all those toys and not have to get rid of them...

I ain't afraid of no Rolly coaster!

Thanks to Mr. Show for the title of today's post.
It took one word to evaporate my hopes of that house. Asbestos.
I could tell Kiki's dad wasn't impressed to begin with, but when we went in the basement, the first thing we noticed was that the pipes were wrapped with Asbestos. Wonderful. We dutifully toured the rest of the house, noting as we left that it's not just the picture; the chimney is indeed leaning in toward the house. Once we were in the car, I wondered if the owner let the tenants know about the asbestos.
Plus, some of the floors are warped, there's a useless oil tank from an old oil furnace, and some questionable plaster in the house. When you're in love, you tend not to see faults.

My weekend stared with an ugly fall down the escalator at Union Station. Thanks to the slush, I have teeth marks on my calf and forearm, plus pain I can't see on my ass and lovehandle. Luckily my pride was not damaged.

I was underperofming due to aches and pains of the fall and my dream being killed throughout my shows Saturday. I was aware of it, and it made me mad.

Sunday my wife woke me up to mop up the dog's pee. He couldn't wait for her to make coffee before he went out.

Last night I put up a pitiful artificial tree. It looks okay, but we had to have a smaller one because of the crowd of the baby's stuff.

Coming out of a disappointing weekend, I tried like hell to dwell on all the great stuff we have coming up... It was even harder when Kiki put a mope on.

Fuck this moping. It's not me. I'm going to make some fun.

Still haven't quite righted myself...

Okay, so we haven't made a decision whether or not we're going to get that house. It's still eating at me. Tons of possibilities...some risks.
The big "is it worth pursuing?" questions SHOULD be answered this weekend. Kiki's dad, an experienced builder, is coming up for a walk-through. A quick exam from him should be a good guide for where to go with this.
A quick note on her dad. He is probably the most generous person I know. Whatever improvements we do will be done by him (with a little help from me), and if we get it at all, it'll be thanks to his financial assitance. So much of what we've been able to do already has been thanks to him. We'll never be able to repay him; though he'd never ask it. I am grateful for him.

Did a gig last night ripping off the Superfans sketch from SNL. It was fun and funny even if it didn't feel "clean". We were at Ditka's for the gig, and provided Burgers for dinner. Their burger is MONEY. Speaking of Ditka, there he was at his table on our way into and out of the party room in full superfans regalia. Fun gig. Fun bits among us. Here's me last year doing the same gig at Fogo de Chao...

I love Eric Lindberg. There, I said it.

Pranks

And, as a point of clarification on the previous post, I did play plenty of pranks. However, I'm way too clever to simply sharpie someone's forehead (or penis head), or cover them in shaving cream or take a picture of them sleeping with a hotdog by their mouth...
One time, a guy stormed into our room after being at the bars. He was ripped and announced that since he was done for the week, he'd have his ideal night by ordering a pizza at our place and have it waiting for him when he got home. He was unbelievably obnoxious and when he did finally leave, we'd had it with him. I called the pizza place he'd ordered from and said in my best drunk voice that I'd changed my mind, and didn't want the pizza. Later, when he got home, he called the pizza place to find out where his food was. When they told him the order had been cancelled, he was so pissed that he broke a window.
Another time, 2 pledge brothers were staying in my apartment. One had dropped out of school, and the other couldn't stand him. Nobody could. For Clarity's sake, they were Flemm and Strapman. Strapman was the one nobody could stand. Anyway, as they were getting ready to go t sleep, Flemm went to the bathroom. I pulled Strapman aside and I said that things had been really tough for Flemm since Strapman had dropped out, and that Flemm was really upset with him. I went on to say that Flemm would never admit how upset he was, and that Strapman couldn't just come out and ask him about it, because Flemm would know I was the one that told Strapman. I concluded by saying that the negativity was really hurting the Fraternity, and that if Strapman had any love for us, he wouldn't let Flemm go to sleep until they'd resolved everything. Flemm didn't get a wink of sleep that night, and he had no idea why Strapman was being so talkative.
Flemm got me back some months later, though. There was a midget (literally) girl who was crazy about me (90 percent of women at ISU were. Crazy that is. Most didn't know me). She was stumpy and wide, and shaved her sideburns, so that when she trapped me at a party and wanted to dance, I could always feel her whiskers.
Anyway, Flemm was sleeping at my place again, and he and another guy convinced the midget, whose name I forget, that I was in love with her and really shy about it. I woke up to her in my loft (top bunk, not excuse for an apartent) with her whispering in my ear and could have really hurt myself jumping out of it as recklessly as I had.
Now THAT'S hazing.

Stuff (for Shitheads)

I should have known what I was getting into, but Mila Kunis on the cover suckered me into buying a STUFF magazine at the Westmont Newsstand this morning. I breezed through that pile of crap on the train, and left it there. $5 well spent (I also bought a GQ that was twice the thickness [homoerotic italian fashion ads, no doubt] and it was a dollar less). The content included "hilarious" pictures people took of their friends. Like the ones that people forward you in emails that were taken at 4 AM after the victim was markered up and pissed on or worse. It also included a story by Steve-O (Kato Kaelin of the '00s) and some other Jackasshole about taking pills on a plane. Plus lots of gratuitous nearly-naked shots. Seriously, I don't understand this in a "men's" magazine. A Man, should he want to see naked ladies, will buy a proper nudie magazine. I say this after admitting that Mila Kunis without pants made me buy the magazine... I couldn't help but feel like I was in my 7th grade bedroom. Bedecked as it was in posters from Spencer's gifts featuring two ferraris and a topless woman holding her breasts. The tag line? NICE PAIR! Or, my personal favorite, Miami Nice, featuring a busty blond and a bustier multiracial woman in bikini bottoms and linen jackets in front of a ferrari holding guns...
What disturbs me is the demographic for this magazine; the subscriber.
Go agead and say it. I know you want to... the Frat Boy.

Here we go.
First of all, it's a fraternity. You wouldn't call your country a cunt, would you? ZING!
Second of all, stereotyping all visor-wearing t-shirted shitheads into being Frat guys is just as bad as any other stereotype.
I realize that as a fraternity member (and past president), I am not the picture of the Sig Ep from your Psyche 101 lecture who probably was a date rapist. And though all sig eps are rapists*, not all fraternity guys are shitheads. Some foolishly took the ideals to heart and fought in vain against that perception. It wasn't until my senior year that I realized how futile it was. I stood up at the interfraternity council meeting and said that no matter how much money we made for charities, how much food we collected, how much free labor we were to the community, people's perceptions would never change. They would still see us as the Alpha Betas from Revenge of the Nerds.
Had I to do all over again, it would have been different. More fun and more bits. Less "Apollo Man" (The TKE greek ideal). Do I regret all the charity we did? Not at all. Do I regret the BS Self-policing that the greek system at ISU put on itself, and the fact that we (and I) took ourselves so seriously? You bet.

I digress. Rest assured, there are plenty of shitheads out there who never went greek. As the adage goes, "there are more horses' asses than there are horses."
So, the next time you see someone reading STUFF magazine, call him a horse's ass. Better yet, a shithead.

*Not ALL sig eps are rapists. Some are too concerned with messing up their hair. However, All sigma chis are rapisis. SOURCE: University of Nebraska Sociological Makeup Study Chapters 12-15 "BAD fraternities".

Holidaze

I hate that. I hate it when people type Holdiaze as if it's supposed to be funny. I feel like Strongbad does when people say GarbAHge sale instead of Garage sale. Like I should be offered some mint meltaways and sleepytime tea to cope with the Holidaze. Gah.
Anyway, I wrote in an earlier post the Holidays have higher stakes in my brain because it's my daughter's first. I wish you could have seen her when the snow hit her face this AM. She was practically amazed.
I am working from like 8 lists of things to do right now. I misplaced one last night and nearly farted blood. Luckily I found it. No way I'd be able to re-create it; I keep lists because I'm so dern forgetful.
I'm sure it will all go well, but my wife and I had a holiday collision last night in which we each discovered a present eachother is getting. Boo.
My baby sister's giving me the most gift-stress right now, as all she wants is a white sox championship sweatshirt. Easy, right? Not. The official ones are over $50; not that that's a lot for a xmas gift, but if clothes were fire, my sister would be the sun. I know it's just going to sit in a closet. I saw a great Ben Sherman Jacket I'd love to get her yesterday, but then it's just something she didn't ask for taking up the closet space.

One part of shopping got easier... Kiki has too much doubt for us to pursue that house right now. I just hope we don't regret that later. We still need to find a place, though it's not urgent. I'll keep my eyes open. Thanks, Internet!

Nert.