This weekend marks the opening of the much-anticipated “Sex and the City” movie, so it’s a perfect time to talk about “chick flicks.” All over America, men are being given a choice today: either go to the movie with their significant others, or sleep on the couch for an indefinite period. Tough call.
Actually, it’s not that simple. In addition to actually paying (wasting) good money for a ticket and physically occupying a seat in the theater, you have to pretend to care. Will Carrie and Mr. Big finally get married? (Personally, I’d like to know how Gloria Steinem and the N.O.W. would feel about a TV/movie character whose official name was “Super Jugs,” but we can discuss that another time.) Will Samantha ever be able to settle down with one man? (Yeah, what we’re really thinking is, how much longer can her luck hold out before she gets every possible STD?)
Will Charlotte’s new baby finally give her happiness? And will, uh, the red-haired one, um, Miranda? Is that it? Whatever her name is, will she, um, oh, who cares. Hey, I remembered all the names, isn’t that enough? Do I really have to follow the storyline too?
No, you don’t. Forcing a man to go to a chick flick is unfair and borders on cruel and unusual punishment. This is a perfect opportunity for her to go to this lame movie with her girlfriends. They can dress up in their Jimmy Choo shoes (which cost roughly the same as a mortgage payment) and their best streetwalker miniskirt/bustier combination and make it a girls’ night out at the movie. They could even top off the night with cosmopolitans at the trendiest club in town and come back home to their men with a good buzz on. It’s a win-win situation.
It’s a double standard with women and chick flicks. Why should we men be subjected to two hours of the exact same predictable plot with the same half dozen actors and actresses every time? I’m sorry, but every time I see Julia Roberts, all I can think about is how she stole another woman’s husband away when she was obviously rich enough to buy a guy who was single. She must be a really good actress to pull off the "respectable lady." And I can’t even look at “Charles Award” winner Hugh Grant without laughing. Seriously, don’t even try.
Chick flicks are almost always about relationships, and everyone knows that men do not want to talk about relationships, do not want to hear about relationships, and do not want to see other people talk about or hear about relationships. We want to see Sly Stallone or Will Smith shoot some Commies or aliens and walk out of the theater chanting “U-S-A! U-S-A!” To us, a “relationship” is the method James Bond uses to get information out of the hot Russian spy.
Face it, ladies. The surest way for a guy to lose interest is to start talking about “feelings.” We’re not talkers; we’re doers. We like to stay in our comfort zone when it comes to movies, and the tried-and-true formula for us never changes: Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy finds guy who took the girl and blasts him into next week, boy gets girl back. (Note: the successful formula requires that girl is scantily-clad throughout most of the movie.)
The way I look at it, if you want the guys to go to your movies, you have to give a little back too. I’ve told my wife that I’ll be happy to go to a chick flick with her as soon as she watches a Bears game or a NASCAR race with me. And by “watch” I mean that she has to pay attention, she cannot use her laptop or Blackberry, and she cannot read a book during the entire game/race. I haven’t been to a chick flick since, and I’m not expecting to go to one anytime soon.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Friday, May 30, 2008
The 2008 Charles Awards
Welcome to the 2008 Charles Awards for Romantic Idiocy. These awards are given to the men who, against all logic, have split from the super hotties they were fortunate enough to marry or date. This award is, of course, named for Charles, the Prince of Wales. Charles is proof positive that men are idiots. Dumping Princess Diana for Camilla Parker Bowles is the height of idiocy. I know what you’re thinking, looks aren’t everything. Sure. You’re probably the same person who said, “Money doesn’t buy happiness” yesterday, aren’t you? On with the awards.
Oh, by the way, I refuse to say, “First Annual Charles Awards.” Don’t say “first annual” anything. That’s just more proof that you’re an idiot (and if you’re a guy, you don’t need any help proving you're an idiot).
Billy Joel – Billy, I’ve got three words for you: Christie freakin’ Brinkley. What exactly were you thinking? You look like a little troll who has lost his bridge; you’re short, fat, and bald. You were lucky enough to land her. Every straight guy in America (myself included) drooled over her swimsuit pictures, and you were the one who won her heart by writing her a song. That certainly gave me, a budding musician and less-than-attractive piano man, hope. And then you threw it all away. Did you think you could do better? You certainly haven’t done any better since, and I’m not sure that would be possible anyway. Every time I see her infomercial with Chuck Norris, I laugh at your expense.
Hugh Grant – This guy demonstrates that no matter how “charmingly befuddled” you look on the screen (blatant Family Guy reference), you’re still an idiot. Let’s recap. You have Elizabeth Hurley waiting for you at home, and instead you choose a $20 streetwalker? In case you didn’t catch that the first time, Elizabeth Hurley. Have you seen her lately? Have you seen her at all? I’d like to know the thought process behind choosing Ms. Devine Brown over Liz Hurley. What, you couldn’t wait a few days until you were heading back that way? Oh, by the way, you are both millionaires! I think either or both of you could have afforded airfare to get together. But no, you gave up Grade A Top Choice for the Extra Value Menu.
Mutt Lange – The newest award winner is the total imbecile who blew it with Shania Twain. A guy who got his nickname the old fashioned way: he earned it. No, they don’t call you Mutt for your charming personality. Shania Twain, possibly the hottest woman in the Milky Way galaxy (I have not visited Andromeda or the Magellanic Clouds, so I can’t speak for them) graciously allowed you to share her life. And then you go and sleep with her best friend? It’s not even like she was out on tour or anything. She took time off just to have your children and be with you. I almost renamed these the Mutt Lange awards just for that.
David Copperfield – What part of Claudia Schiffer did you not understand? Do you have any idea how many guys out there would kill for a supermodel? And not just an airhead blonde supermodel, either. When she was discovered, she was planning to go to law school! Law school! She is a knockout babe and she has a brain! She was not an illusion, David. She was real. You were not supposed to make her vanish. Now our respect for you has disappeared as well.
Vince Vaughn – Vince, you’re my guy, you’re my homey. You have a condo in the Palmolive building across the street from my office, and I’m hoping that I’ll run into you one of these days to show you the totally awesome screenplay that you would be perfect for. (It’s called Countdown and it’s a thriller set in Chicago. If you or any other production company wants to talk option, drop me a line.) But Vince, dude, you’re an idiot. Jennifer Aniston is such a sweetie, how could you break up with her? What exactly were you smoking, and why didn’t you share? You know, you’re not exactly Brad Pitt, either.
Brad Pitt (honorable mention) – He, on the other hand, is Brad Pitt. I know what you’re thinking. Jennifer Aniston or Angelina Jolie, either one would be a good choice. But Brad still qualifies for idiocy. On the one hand, you’ve got cutie-pie girl-next-door Jennifer, with the sweet face and surprisingly nice body. On the other hand you’ve got Creepzilla, with the Billy Bob blood and the “I want to adopt a child from every country.” No contest. To quote the last surviving knight, “He chose…poorly.”
That’s it for the first installment of the Charles Awards. There are plenty more out there, and I will have another list soon.
Oh, by the way, I refuse to say, “First Annual Charles Awards.” Don’t say “first annual” anything. That’s just more proof that you’re an idiot (and if you’re a guy, you don’t need any help proving you're an idiot).
Billy Joel – Billy, I’ve got three words for you: Christie freakin’ Brinkley. What exactly were you thinking? You look like a little troll who has lost his bridge; you’re short, fat, and bald. You were lucky enough to land her. Every straight guy in America (myself included) drooled over her swimsuit pictures, and you were the one who won her heart by writing her a song. That certainly gave me, a budding musician and less-than-attractive piano man, hope. And then you threw it all away. Did you think you could do better? You certainly haven’t done any better since, and I’m not sure that would be possible anyway. Every time I see her infomercial with Chuck Norris, I laugh at your expense.
Hugh Grant – This guy demonstrates that no matter how “charmingly befuddled” you look on the screen (blatant Family Guy reference), you’re still an idiot. Let’s recap. You have Elizabeth Hurley waiting for you at home, and instead you choose a $20 streetwalker? In case you didn’t catch that the first time, Elizabeth Hurley. Have you seen her lately? Have you seen her at all? I’d like to know the thought process behind choosing Ms. Devine Brown over Liz Hurley. What, you couldn’t wait a few days until you were heading back that way? Oh, by the way, you are both millionaires! I think either or both of you could have afforded airfare to get together. But no, you gave up Grade A Top Choice for the Extra Value Menu.
Mutt Lange – The newest award winner is the total imbecile who blew it with Shania Twain. A guy who got his nickname the old fashioned way: he earned it. No, they don’t call you Mutt for your charming personality. Shania Twain, possibly the hottest woman in the Milky Way galaxy (I have not visited Andromeda or the Magellanic Clouds, so I can’t speak for them) graciously allowed you to share her life. And then you go and sleep with her best friend? It’s not even like she was out on tour or anything. She took time off just to have your children and be with you. I almost renamed these the Mutt Lange awards just for that.
David Copperfield – What part of Claudia Schiffer did you not understand? Do you have any idea how many guys out there would kill for a supermodel? And not just an airhead blonde supermodel, either. When she was discovered, she was planning to go to law school! Law school! She is a knockout babe and she has a brain! She was not an illusion, David. She was real. You were not supposed to make her vanish. Now our respect for you has disappeared as well.
Vince Vaughn – Vince, you’re my guy, you’re my homey. You have a condo in the Palmolive building across the street from my office, and I’m hoping that I’ll run into you one of these days to show you the totally awesome screenplay that you would be perfect for. (It’s called Countdown and it’s a thriller set in Chicago. If you or any other production company wants to talk option, drop me a line.) But Vince, dude, you’re an idiot. Jennifer Aniston is such a sweetie, how could you break up with her? What exactly were you smoking, and why didn’t you share? You know, you’re not exactly Brad Pitt, either.
Brad Pitt (honorable mention) – He, on the other hand, is Brad Pitt. I know what you’re thinking. Jennifer Aniston or Angelina Jolie, either one would be a good choice. But Brad still qualifies for idiocy. On the one hand, you’ve got cutie-pie girl-next-door Jennifer, with the sweet face and surprisingly nice body. On the other hand you’ve got Creepzilla, with the Billy Bob blood and the “I want to adopt a child from every country.” No contest. To quote the last surviving knight, “He chose…poorly.”
That’s it for the first installment of the Charles Awards. There are plenty more out there, and I will have another list soon.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
I Want Money!!!
There. I said it. Yes, I want money, and I’m not too proud to admit it. Call me greedy if you want. I can take it. A very wise man once said, “Greed is good. Greed works.” OK, so it was actually Michael Douglas in Wall Street, but I would consider him wise. Anyone who marries Catherine Zeta-Jones at his age has got to have a few brain cells up there.
What do all those sayings have in common? Right, you never hear a poor person saying them. Rich people say that all the time. Why is that? I’ll tell you why. Because they know the truth and they don’t want the rest of us to find out. Money does make you happy, it’s not evil, and it’s good to have a lot of money. If you have a lot of money, your bills are paid. You’re not constantly worrying about how to pay ComEd or Comcast. We had an Internet outage over the weekend, and our first reaction was, “But I swear we paid the bill already!” Same thing goes for the electricity, gas, whatever. If you have money, it’s less stressful because you already know who to blame: the stupid power company, not your lack of money.
When you have money, you have peace of mind and no worries. You’re not obsessing over retirement. You’re already retired! You’ve got loads of cash in the bank and you can do what you want, where you want, with whom you want. Hey, that beach on TV looks nice, let’s go there right now! The Cubs are in the playoffs and tickets are $1,000 apiece? Let’s go, let me grab my jacket.
My son is graduating high school in a couple of days. (Ah ha, now we know why you’re stressing out about money.) Yes, now it’s time to pay for college. If you have a lot of money, it doesn’t matter. Sure, you want to go to Harvard? Where’s my checkbook? Oh, you didn’t have good enough grades for Harvard? That’s OK, I’m sure they could use a new library; where’s my checkbook? (I’m just kidding, of course. My son wants to go to Georgetown.)
So the question is, where do I get all that money? Well, I kinda missed out on that Microsoft IPO back in the 80s, so I need to have a Plan B. Or in my case, Plan L, as in “lottery.” I assume that those are real, actual people at those press conferences, so somebody has to be winning those mega jackpots, right? Why not me? I’ll tell you why. Because those idiots at the lottery are stupid. They keep picking the wrong numbers every single time! I play the correct numbers twice a week, and nothing! I don’t care if Linda Kohlmeyer is really hot, she’s an imbecile! How can she smile like that while simultaneously ripping my dreams to shreds? Can I sue them for gross negligence and incompetence?
Oh hey, as long as you’re here, how about clicking on one of those banner ads you see on the right? I’m sure that it’s displaying something interesting right now, and if you click the arrows up and down it will display something else equally interesting.
Where was I? Oh yeah, how to get money. I suppose I could go the whole “hard work and sacrifice” route, but that hasn’t paid off yet. Too bad I was born at the end of the Baby Boomer generation and not a little later, then I could be a whiney Gen-Xer and demand everything for nothing. Money for nothing and chicks for free, indeed.
Did that banner just change? No? Are you sure? Maybe you’d better click on it just to be sure.
We’ve even tried writing. We have a couple of screenplays for sale, and a couple of books out there too. This book is really cool. Whisper Alley and if you like it (and have several million dollars lying around) the screenplay is available to be optioned. The wife has a self-help book at Amazon too (The Portable Coach: A Do-It-Yourself Approach to Personal Coaching)
Somebody told me that if you click on the banner 10 times, a picture of Catherine Zeta-Jones in a bikini appears. Try it and let me know if it works.
I suppose I could answer one of those emails I got saying that I won the British Lottery (funny, I don’t even remember entering) or the one from the kind old widow who just wants to leave me her fortune to carry on “God’s work.” Or maybe that one from the long lost relative that I never heard of, whose jeep overturned in Nigeria. Again, that seems like an awful lot of fuss to go through just for a measly $27 million. I think I’ll hold out for at least $50 million.
I don’t know, I’m pretty much out of ideas. I’ll keep thinking, and meanwhile you go ahead and click on one of those banners. I’ll be here when you get back.
"Money can’t buy happiness."
"The best things in life are free."
"Money is the root of all evil."
What do all those sayings have in common? Right, you never hear a poor person saying them. Rich people say that all the time. Why is that? I’ll tell you why. Because they know the truth and they don’t want the rest of us to find out. Money does make you happy, it’s not evil, and it’s good to have a lot of money. If you have a lot of money, your bills are paid. You’re not constantly worrying about how to pay ComEd or Comcast. We had an Internet outage over the weekend, and our first reaction was, “But I swear we paid the bill already!” Same thing goes for the electricity, gas, whatever. If you have money, it’s less stressful because you already know who to blame: the stupid power company, not your lack of money.
When you have money, you have peace of mind and no worries. You’re not obsessing over retirement. You’re already retired! You’ve got loads of cash in the bank and you can do what you want, where you want, with whom you want. Hey, that beach on TV looks nice, let’s go there right now! The Cubs are in the playoffs and tickets are $1,000 apiece? Let’s go, let me grab my jacket.
My son is graduating high school in a couple of days. (Ah ha, now we know why you’re stressing out about money.) Yes, now it’s time to pay for college. If you have a lot of money, it doesn’t matter. Sure, you want to go to Harvard? Where’s my checkbook? Oh, you didn’t have good enough grades for Harvard? That’s OK, I’m sure they could use a new library; where’s my checkbook? (I’m just kidding, of course. My son wants to go to Georgetown.)
So the question is, where do I get all that money? Well, I kinda missed out on that Microsoft IPO back in the 80s, so I need to have a Plan B. Or in my case, Plan L, as in “lottery.” I assume that those are real, actual people at those press conferences, so somebody has to be winning those mega jackpots, right? Why not me? I’ll tell you why. Because those idiots at the lottery are stupid. They keep picking the wrong numbers every single time! I play the correct numbers twice a week, and nothing! I don’t care if Linda Kohlmeyer is really hot, she’s an imbecile! How can she smile like that while simultaneously ripping my dreams to shreds? Can I sue them for gross negligence and incompetence?
Oh hey, as long as you’re here, how about clicking on one of those banner ads you see on the right? I’m sure that it’s displaying something interesting right now, and if you click the arrows up and down it will display something else equally interesting.
Where was I? Oh yeah, how to get money. I suppose I could go the whole “hard work and sacrifice” route, but that hasn’t paid off yet. Too bad I was born at the end of the Baby Boomer generation and not a little later, then I could be a whiney Gen-Xer and demand everything for nothing. Money for nothing and chicks for free, indeed.
Did that banner just change? No? Are you sure? Maybe you’d better click on it just to be sure.
We’ve even tried writing. We have a couple of screenplays for sale, and a couple of books out there too. This book is really cool. Whisper Alley and if you like it (and have several million dollars lying around) the screenplay is available to be optioned. The wife has a self-help book at Amazon too (The Portable Coach: A Do-It-Yourself Approach to Personal Coaching)
Somebody told me that if you click on the banner 10 times, a picture of Catherine Zeta-Jones in a bikini appears. Try it and let me know if it works.
I suppose I could answer one of those emails I got saying that I won the British Lottery (funny, I don’t even remember entering) or the one from the kind old widow who just wants to leave me her fortune to carry on “God’s work.” Or maybe that one from the long lost relative that I never heard of, whose jeep overturned in Nigeria. Again, that seems like an awful lot of fuss to go through just for a measly $27 million. I think I’ll hold out for at least $50 million.
I don’t know, I’m pretty much out of ideas. I’ll keep thinking, and meanwhile you go ahead and click on one of those banners. I’ll be here when you get back.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Hail to the Bus Driver
Don’t you love it when it feels like it’s Tuesday, but it’s really Wednesday? Only two more days until the weekend. I love Monday holidays!
Oh yeah, right, grumpy. Give me a minute to get in character.
It’s after Memorial Day, which means that the summer driving season is upon us. According to the news, Chicago has the highest gasoline prices in the nation. Wow, big shock there. Gas is well over $4.00 per gallon everywhere now, and it’s only going to go up higher. They’re saying that it’ll be over $5.00 by the 4th of July. Also, as part of the deal to avert the latest “doomsday,” the wonderful idiot governor of Illinois struck a deal to let everyone over 65 ride the CTA, Metra, and Pace buses for free. Put that all together, and we’re seeing a lot more people riding public transportation.
So, whether you’re just starting out or if you’ve been riding the trains and buses for years, here are some tips to keep yourself from being soundly beaten by your fellow passengers (especially if you’re on my bus).
Try to keep these helpful tips in mind as you take advantage of public transportation, and remember to smile at your fellow travelers. Perhaps you could strike up a conversation with them. Brighten their day.
Oh, right, right, grumpy. I keep forgetting. Scratch that. Don’t smile. Grr.
Oh yeah, right, grumpy. Give me a minute to get in character.
It’s after Memorial Day, which means that the summer driving season is upon us. According to the news, Chicago has the highest gasoline prices in the nation. Wow, big shock there. Gas is well over $4.00 per gallon everywhere now, and it’s only going to go up higher. They’re saying that it’ll be over $5.00 by the 4th of July. Also, as part of the deal to avert the latest “doomsday,” the wonderful idiot governor of Illinois struck a deal to let everyone over 65 ride the CTA, Metra, and Pace buses for free. Put that all together, and we’re seeing a lot more people riding public transportation.
So, whether you’re just starting out or if you’ve been riding the trains and buses for years, here are some tips to keep yourself from being soundly beaten by your fellow passengers (especially if you’re on my bus).
- Be Prepared – like the old Boy Scout motto, have your fare ready and act like you've done this before (because you have, about a million times). Here comes the bus, get in line! Yes, you! Stop looking at the new Victoria’s Secret window display. Have some consideration for your fellow passengers. The rest of us planned ahead and were here five minutes ago to allow extra time to check out the 10 foot high photo of the hot redhead in the bra and panties. (Well, at least some of us…ahem…)
There’s one guy who gets on at the Erie Street stop. Every single day he gets on the #125 Water Tower Express and stands there. Then he slowwwwwly pulls out his wallet, gets out his pass, shoves it in the bus driver’s face (like three inches from his/her eye), then slowwwwwly puts it back in his wallet and even more slowwwwwly walks to his seat. (He actually takes up two seats, but who’s counting? Well, to be honest, I’m counting.) Dude! Have the damn pass out and ready to show! We’re trying to catch our train down at Ogilvie, OK? - Ladies first – It pains me to have to even mention this. Were you all brought up by wolves or something? No, I guess not, because I’m pretty sure that wolves have manners. Every day I see the same thing: There’s always this guy in a suit, looking important, apparently doing a corporate takeover with his Blackberry. (Note: I’m sure I’ll devote a separate column to those stupid things later.) He’s got his briefcase taking up the seat next to him, and there are several ladies standing in the aisle. What a jerk. His suit is probably off the rack, too.
Now I don’t claim to be perfect, far from it. But I was taught to stand for a lady. I have a bad knee, and I’m still recovering from a partially torn Achilles tendon. To be honest, between my knee and my foot I’m in pain pretty much all the time now. But don’t tell my wife, because she’ll tell me go back to the doctor. (I know what you’re thinking; doesn’t she read your blog? Yes, but I thought of that. I’m going to tell her that this one is really boring and she should skip it.) My point is that even when I’m on crutches or a cane, I still stand up and give my seat to a lady. Surely the healthy 20-something yuppie can afford to put down that damn PDA and stand up for a few minutes. - Know Where You’re Going – The bus driver is a bus driver. He is not the Bureau of Travel and Tourism. He is not Google Maps, and he is not the RTA Trip Planner. He is the bus driver. Stop asking him directions! While you are asking him, “Which bus do I take to get to Millennium Park?” the light just turned red. Now we have to wait through another cycle, and we’re going to miss our shot at catching an earlier train home. Thanks a lot. Hey! You see that thing right behind you? It’s called a shelter. Most of the bus stops have one, especially the ones in the city. You see that big thing on the wall of it? The thing that reads, “CTA Bus and Rail Map?” If you look closely, you’ll see that it’s a map! Read it! You want to know how to get to Millennium Park? Read the map!
- Know the Difference between Front and Back – It’s really very simple. Maybe too simple, perhaps that’s what is confusing you. You get on the bus in the front, and you exit the bus via the rear door. I can’t tell you how many times I have seen someone walk all the way from the back of the bus, past the rear door, and get off the bus in the front. Meanwhile, the people who want to board the bus (and cannot legally board the bus through the rear door, for obvious reasons) have to wait. Meanwhile – you guessed it – the light just changed and we have to wait through another cycle, so we’re not going to make that train. Thanks again. Between you and the “Does this bus go to Randolph Street?” guy we’re never going to make that train.
- Voices Carry – It seems as though everyone has a cell phone now, even little kids. But let’s keep in mind that we are all in a small place, packed in like sardines. I don’t want to hear the blow-by-blow details (no pun intended, I think) of your one-night stand last night and how drunk you were. My cell phone only comes out once in a great while. If I’m on a different train than my normal train (probably because someone had to wait for someone else to exit in the front so they could ask the bus driver for directions) then I make a quick call so my family knows when to pick me up. That’s it. That’s enough. And please remember that speaking a foreign language does not make you exempt. Just because we don’t understand you doesn’t mean we can’t hear you. Pipe down or power down.
Try to keep these helpful tips in mind as you take advantage of public transportation, and remember to smile at your fellow travelers. Perhaps you could strike up a conversation with them. Brighten their day.
Oh, right, right, grumpy. I keep forgetting. Scratch that. Don’t smile. Grr.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
A Greenpeace of My Mind
Today is May 27, 2008. Memorial Day weekend has come and gone, and the temperature in downtown Chicago today was around 45. I work on Michigan Ave., near the John Hancock building. We’re pretty close to the lake, and my office building is on the corner of Walton and Michigan. I’ve been told that Walton is the windiest street in Chicago. Today (like most days) I believe it. The wind had to be gusting close to 40 mph on Walton. When you factor in the wind chill, that’s not exactly May 27th weather, now is it? (Wait a minute; wind chill in May?)
Let’s put it this way: if the Phoenix Lander had missed the polar ice of Mars, gotten lost, and landed in Chicago, we wouldn’t have known the difference until the camera went online. And even then, the people back at JPL in California would have said, “Hey, look! Olympus Mons looks just like the Sears Tower!”
My point, of course, is that today was absolutely not the day for the Greenpeace-niks to harass me on the street. They stand out there every day; about 20 years old, fresh-faced and thinking that they’re making a big difference in the world. In reality, what they’re really doing is pissing me off. I’m minding my own business, trying to get to work or catch my bus or grab a bite to eat at noontime, when one of them blocks my way and asks, “Do you care about the environment?”
How am I supposed to answer that? Of course I care about the environment. I recycle, I own an E85 car, and I take public transportation to and from work. Even as I type this, I’m sitting on the Metra train, on my way home. Of course I care about the environment. If I said no, I’d really look like a jerk, wouldn’t I? I usually just say yes and keep walking. I know that their goal is to get me to stop and talk and sign their petition.
Once I looked at the Greenpeace-nik and said, “Sure I care about the environment. My job is all done digitally. I don’t use any paper at all. That petition you have there and those brochures you’re handing out. Are you proud of yourself for killing all those trees?” Yeah, that shut him up. Made me feel real good for about five seconds until the guilt set in. Damn him for looking so innocent. I swear I saw his lip tremble and tears well up.
So today when he asked me, “Do you care about the environment?” I was in no mood. I said, “Actually, I’m ready for some of that global warming! Tell Al Gore to send some of it over here, OK?” (Where is Big Al anyway? Ever since he picked up his Nobel prize and his 7-figure check, I haven’t heard a lot out of him.)
Of course, if I hadn’t been in a hurry to catch my bus down to the train station (public transportation, lowering my carbon footprint, remember?), the Greenpeace-nik would have been happy to explain to me that it’s not really “Global Warming,” it’s actually “Global Climate Change.” At least that’s what my daughter says. She’s the hippie flower-child throwback of the family. Wears tie-dye shirts, listens to the Beatles. She’s a vegetarian, too. My god, she’s one of them.
But I’ve noticed that they didn’t start saying “Global Climate Change” until we started getting cold weather all of a sudden. A scientist in Russia said that we were actually starting to enter another Ice Age, and the Global Warming people said, “Well, of course it’s going to get colder.” But I thought it was warming? No, they said, it’s “climate change.” Oh, so global warming makes it hotter and makes it cooler too? Yes, global warming makes it cold. Because since humans have started burning fossil fuels, the temperature of the Earth has gone up one degree. And that’s why it’s cold. Oh, OK, thanks for explaining that.
Meanwhile, I’m shivering out on Michigan Ave. because I refuse to take my Bears coat back out of the closet. I don’t have many fashion rules, but one is that you don’t wear winter coats after Memorial Day. Maybe Al can lend me a sweater.
Let’s put it this way: if the Phoenix Lander had missed the polar ice of Mars, gotten lost, and landed in Chicago, we wouldn’t have known the difference until the camera went online. And even then, the people back at JPL in California would have said, “Hey, look! Olympus Mons looks just like the Sears Tower!”
My point, of course, is that today was absolutely not the day for the Greenpeace-niks to harass me on the street. They stand out there every day; about 20 years old, fresh-faced and thinking that they’re making a big difference in the world. In reality, what they’re really doing is pissing me off. I’m minding my own business, trying to get to work or catch my bus or grab a bite to eat at noontime, when one of them blocks my way and asks, “Do you care about the environment?”
How am I supposed to answer that? Of course I care about the environment. I recycle, I own an E85 car, and I take public transportation to and from work. Even as I type this, I’m sitting on the Metra train, on my way home. Of course I care about the environment. If I said no, I’d really look like a jerk, wouldn’t I? I usually just say yes and keep walking. I know that their goal is to get me to stop and talk and sign their petition.
Once I looked at the Greenpeace-nik and said, “Sure I care about the environment. My job is all done digitally. I don’t use any paper at all. That petition you have there and those brochures you’re handing out. Are you proud of yourself for killing all those trees?” Yeah, that shut him up. Made me feel real good for about five seconds until the guilt set in. Damn him for looking so innocent. I swear I saw his lip tremble and tears well up.
So today when he asked me, “Do you care about the environment?” I was in no mood. I said, “Actually, I’m ready for some of that global warming! Tell Al Gore to send some of it over here, OK?” (Where is Big Al anyway? Ever since he picked up his Nobel prize and his 7-figure check, I haven’t heard a lot out of him.)
Of course, if I hadn’t been in a hurry to catch my bus down to the train station (public transportation, lowering my carbon footprint, remember?), the Greenpeace-nik would have been happy to explain to me that it’s not really “Global Warming,” it’s actually “Global Climate Change.” At least that’s what my daughter says. She’s the hippie flower-child throwback of the family. Wears tie-dye shirts, listens to the Beatles. She’s a vegetarian, too. My god, she’s one of them.
But I’ve noticed that they didn’t start saying “Global Climate Change” until we started getting cold weather all of a sudden. A scientist in Russia said that we were actually starting to enter another Ice Age, and the Global Warming people said, “Well, of course it’s going to get colder.” But I thought it was warming? No, they said, it’s “climate change.” Oh, so global warming makes it hotter and makes it cooler too? Yes, global warming makes it cold. Because since humans have started burning fossil fuels, the temperature of the Earth has gone up one degree. And that’s why it’s cold. Oh, OK, thanks for explaining that.
Meanwhile, I’m shivering out on Michigan Ave. because I refuse to take my Bears coat back out of the closet. I don’t have many fashion rules, but one is that you don’t wear winter coats after Memorial Day. Maybe Al can lend me a sweater.
Introduction
Welcome to my blog. This first entry will tell you a little about me and what to expect. First, let me explain the name. I don’t really consider myself “grumpy” or “old,” but the name seems to fit. My wife and kids are always rolling their eyes because I go into a “tirade,” or “get on my soapbox,” as they call it. One of my favorite things to say is, “If everyone would just shut up and listen to me, the world would run much more smoothly.” I would run for President except for:
a) I have been arrested at least once in my life;
b) I have smoked pot at least once (and admittedly inhaled);
and most importantly,
c) I don’t want to age 10 years for every year in office.
I’m in my mid 40s, so that’s not exactly old, but I’ve always been very mature for my age and I’ve been told that I have an “old soul,” whatever the hell that means. No matter how many times my kids call me a “dinosaur” or make fun of me for listening to classic rock music, I don’t think I’m that old. But I hope to be one day. I was born in 1964, which is defined as the last year of the Baby Boomer generation. My goal is to eventually be known as the last surviving Baby Boomer, so I plan to be around for a very long time.
I wanted to include Chicago in the name of my blog because I love Chicago. I grew up in the Midwest and I have only lived in the Chicago suburbs since 2000, but I have always considered Chicago my town. Working downtown is a blast, except for the commute. (You can expect to see a rant or two about the commute sometime.) In my opinion, Chicago is the greatest city in the world. We have world-class restaurants and hotels, art and theater, diverse architecture styles, and the best sports fans in the world. Our weather is incredible, too. California? Florida? Hawaii? Boring! What’s the fun in 85 degrees and sunny every day out of the year? We have our share of beautiful sunny days in the summertime, but we also have spring, fall, and winter. Oh boy, do we ever have winter! It’s never boring in Chicago. But I won’t be limiting my posts to the Chicagoland area. If you don’t live in Chicago, you might learn a little about it, but don’t feel as though you have to live here to read this blog.
I’ve been married for nearly 20 years and am the proud father of two children. I was a stay-at-home Dad for the first 10 years or so, back before the “Mr. Mom” fad became cool. (I really hate that term, by the way. Men are just as capable of being parents as women. Be prepared for several rants on that subject.) We moved around a lot when the kids were little, living overseas for a few years. We have settled down in one place now, but I will have a lot to say about my travels before and after children.
One quick note: have some fun with this, because I plan to. Am I totally serious about this? Maybe I am, and maybe I'm not. Remember, Steven Colbert is actually a Democrat in real life. So before you send me death threats because I said something bad about your fluffy kitty cat, give it a rest and get a life.
So that’s about it for the introduction. Bored yet? If so, fine, go read someone else’s blog or write your own. If not, keep posted, the posts are just starting. Between the commute, kids, winter, and the idiots in Washington, this blog practically writes itself!
a) I have been arrested at least once in my life;
b) I have smoked pot at least once (and admittedly inhaled);
and most importantly,
c) I don’t want to age 10 years for every year in office.
I’m in my mid 40s, so that’s not exactly old, but I’ve always been very mature for my age and I’ve been told that I have an “old soul,” whatever the hell that means. No matter how many times my kids call me a “dinosaur” or make fun of me for listening to classic rock music, I don’t think I’m that old. But I hope to be one day. I was born in 1964, which is defined as the last year of the Baby Boomer generation. My goal is to eventually be known as the last surviving Baby Boomer, so I plan to be around for a very long time.
I wanted to include Chicago in the name of my blog because I love Chicago. I grew up in the Midwest and I have only lived in the Chicago suburbs since 2000, but I have always considered Chicago my town. Working downtown is a blast, except for the commute. (You can expect to see a rant or two about the commute sometime.) In my opinion, Chicago is the greatest city in the world. We have world-class restaurants and hotels, art and theater, diverse architecture styles, and the best sports fans in the world. Our weather is incredible, too. California? Florida? Hawaii? Boring! What’s the fun in 85 degrees and sunny every day out of the year? We have our share of beautiful sunny days in the summertime, but we also have spring, fall, and winter. Oh boy, do we ever have winter! It’s never boring in Chicago. But I won’t be limiting my posts to the Chicagoland area. If you don’t live in Chicago, you might learn a little about it, but don’t feel as though you have to live here to read this blog.
I’ve been married for nearly 20 years and am the proud father of two children. I was a stay-at-home Dad for the first 10 years or so, back before the “Mr. Mom” fad became cool. (I really hate that term, by the way. Men are just as capable of being parents as women. Be prepared for several rants on that subject.) We moved around a lot when the kids were little, living overseas for a few years. We have settled down in one place now, but I will have a lot to say about my travels before and after children.
One quick note: have some fun with this, because I plan to. Am I totally serious about this? Maybe I am, and maybe I'm not. Remember, Steven Colbert is actually a Democrat in real life. So before you send me death threats because I said something bad about your fluffy kitty cat, give it a rest and get a life.
So that’s about it for the introduction. Bored yet? If so, fine, go read someone else’s blog or write your own. If not, keep posted, the posts are just starting. Between the commute, kids, winter, and the idiots in Washington, this blog practically writes itself!
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