In this song, DJ Easy Dick says that his radio station, W-Balls, I believe, is the station that "slaps you upside your fat ass with a fat dick." I always thought that was a solid slogan.

Dr. Ken's Buddies

Last night I had 2 dollar pitchers with "the lads" from Ireland. A bunch of them went home early, but Skittles and I stayed out late. I don't think I'd feel nearly as hungover if he hadn't been scooping up so many abandoned pitchers for us to drink. I always blame someone . . .

I had lunch with Gung Ho today, and he and I have the best conversations. I really could just transcribe them and turn them into dialogue for a movie, like those scenes when the buddies get together and talk about life and women over basketball. Isn't there always a damn scene like that?

Now I'm off to go for a run with my other friend, Monique, who, like me, is running her first marathon in a couple months. I'm excited to meet her new puppy as well. The other day we were running together for the first time, sweating our asses off in the heat, and then we realized we were both running faster than usual, thinking that the other person wanted to go that fast. You ever do that?

I was riding home tonight, fresh off a night of trying to get my friend laid, and riding home, I really was looking forward to updating the blog. I think this is good, as many months have gone by without a 15+ month.

Well, Seven Readers. deal with this awful post, this awful, meaningless update of nothingness.

I'll tell you this: When I started this blog, I felt like the guy in the youutbe below, and now I'm much, much better. Everyone who has been here for a long time, I truly value your commitment.

Male Buddies Are Crappy at Staying in Touch

Have you noticed this? Women always seem to have this regularly scheduled activities like lunches, manicures, book clubs, and things where they make sure they stay connected with friends. Men, they usually just go out and get hammered with buddies every now and again.

So, with only around 3 of my closest friends still living in Chicago proper, I've been trying to find something to do that is biweekly or monthly that assures we see one another. Here are some options - let me know what you think . . .

Golfing: This is out. I hate golf because it's boring as hell.

Ballgames: This is not a bad idea because a few of us have season tickets to Cubs games. So, I'm thinking every other week the 4 of us go to a game, not because it's good to watch a team this bad, but because this is just what men do. I still have so many fond memories of Wrigley that it can still be a good experience.

Dinner Parties: This would be a couples thing, but I've done this before where you rotate houses, and it's pretty fun.

Sports: Maybe we could play on a team of some kind together, like softball?

Trivia at Bars: We have done this in the past, but you really can't do much catching up if you're racking your brain for answers the whole time.

Flag Burnings: I'm just seeing if you're still paying attention.

What do you think, seven readers? Do you have any write-ins? Anyone else have this problem?

Chicago Bucket List

So, with LSD, Dr. Ken's girlfriend, leaving for Los Angeles in the fall, she and I are putting together a Chicago Bucket List of things to do before she goes. Here are some endeavors:

1. A trip to Cinners, her bar when she lived in Lincoln Square. I also fell in love with this place because they have Hamm's for two bucks and I can B.S. about life and music with Tony, bartender and owner. Also, they have a night where you can bring in your own vinyl, so that would be a good time to go and spin some records. Currently, her neighborhood's neighborhood bars suck. Don't you hate when you don't have a good watering hole around the corner?

2. A trip to The Liars Club, Dr. Ken's all time favorite bar. LSD haven't done much dancing together, but this would be a good place for her to bang out the running and man and Roger Rabbit skills that made me crack up on one of our first dates.

3. Frank Lloyd Wright tour in Oak Park, Illinois. You see, not all the items on the list involve bars!

4. White Fence Farm in Joliet, Illinois. This is a place where a lot of old people go to eat chicken and look at antiques and they have this awesome gravy. Plus, they have a petting zoo for my nephews. And Uncle Ken.

5. A long ass bike ride until the end of the Lake Shore bike path.

Anyone want to share any bucket list things they want to do, Chicago related or otherwise?

Let's Play Guess Their Day Job!

I was at a concert last night, and there was a series of openers, one of which had the most eclectic-looking group you could ever see. I defy anyone to find a band where each individual has their own distinct look, and comes from such a wide variety of different age brackets, shapes and sizes.

I was at the show with my girlfriend, Law School Dropout (LSD), and a good friend of mine, Southie. All of us started playing the Guess Their Day Job Game, and the following is the consensus.

Drummer: LSD decided this guy's name was Merv, and we couldn't argue with that. He was bald, overweight, looked to be in his late forties, presented as a cross between Butterbean (only much thinner than that) and Larry Bud Melman, and he he on tinted glasses. I also thought he looked like one of those fat babies on Maury Povich, especially with the funny slack jawed, fly-catching face he made with his head slightly cocked through out his playing.





His Profession: Southie decided he was a school bus driver. Nailed it.










Bass Player: As you can see from the actual band shot below, this guy looks a lot like Ogre from "Revenge of the Nerds," but as Southie points out, he looks like he may have been a love child between Ogre and Kerry King from Slayer. This man is absolutely enormous and looks to be very active in a biker game full of marauders, so I really, really hope he never finds this blog for my safety's sake.



His Profession: He makes the majority of his money selling drugs and assault rifles to other biker gangs, but for tax purposes, Southie maintains that he cleans shoes at the bowling alley.






Keyboardist: I liked this guy because there were very few songs where you could hear his keyboard, and I just got the sense that he is always pushing the band to go in a more progressive direction like Yes or Deep Purple. He had that hair that is long in the back in bald in the front like Klaus Meine from The Scorpions, and he had on a 70's shirt buttoned down with nothing underneath. He was very short as well, which made him look a little like the second half of the life of the late great Dio.





His Profession: He is an insurance claims adjuster, but he produces the band's records in his home studio (his basement), along with local high school and college bands, for whom he also supplies with home grown marijuana, another source of income. He's doing quite well for himself!






Lead Guitarist: Now, when I say this band has people from all across the board, this guy is a prime example because he was way younger and more attractive than the rest of the band. He would be getting any chick showing interest in the band. Maybe on a good night the singer could land some of his run off, but the rest of the band would be hoping for the older bar flies to get on - and there were a few of that night - good luck, Merv! The lead guitarist also had a quite good physique, including some very nice arms, so again, I really hope these guys don't find this blog entry. Actually, though he played with a game face for the duration of the set, he was actually very nice and all smiles afterwards. LSD found his phone on a bench, and he was extremely grateful. Man, am I huge dick for making fun of these guys?

His Profession: We considered pool boy, but how many of those are there, really? LSD decided he was a construction worker, I'm thinking from 7AM to 3PM, and then he gives guitar lessons, showing young hopefuls the joys of the power chords and drop D's. But mostly trying to nail his students' mothers in the process. (There are no pictures because he had no celebrity twins).

Singer: Now, this is really the guy that got us looking for celebrities that they looked like because he had the exact hair and facial hair of Frank Zappa. I really hope he's in a Zappa cover band, having that look and being able to sing and play guitar well. LSD was quite jealous of his thick, lustrous hair, but I reminded her that he probably doesn't wash it much, which is the trick. Think about it: How many bald homeless guys do you see?

His Profession: Although he also looks a little like Otto from "The Simpsons," bus driver is now already taken by the lovely Merv, so for the singer, we're going with manager at Jiffy Lube. I can just see him pulling that mane into a pony tail and going to work, and I can see him being an honest mechanic, not encouraging his employees to rip people off, despite the heat he gets from corporate to do so. However, Frank-Zappa-Guy has been doing well at his location by getting regulars through his charm that spreads down to his hard-working and dependable employees.

And, here is the pic of the whole band, taken by the lovely and talented LSD:


I hope you enjoyed this, Seven Readers, and I encourage you to try this upon your next visit to a rock concert. However, make sure you get there for the openers, as the headlines may not need the day jobs, unless it's all cover bands, which makes for a really good time for this game.

I was walking home from the grocery store today, picking up some soup and juice and the like to make me feel a little better, when I heard from a line of cars at a light, "Move your fucking asses, people!" A light had changed, and there was no way in hell, even with perfect reaction times from all motorists, that this person would have gotten through. So, he's just swearing loudly for no good reason. Then I was shocked to see that this guy was super old. I'm disturbed by old people swearing, especially the fuck word, like Jack Lemmon as Shelley "The Machine" Levene in Glenngary Glen Ross.

Although, I have heard from a lot of people who work with the elderly that old folks start swearing like mad when they're starting to lose their faculties, so maybe they no long have the energy or patience to hold back.

So, I guess let it rip, old folks. You've earned it. I always try to be nice to the elderly and help them out however I can, and I guess I'll have to grow a little more tolerant of the disturbing swearing.

My Nephew Is Gifted . . .

. . . at Battleship.

He's a first grader and he was playing the seventh grade nephew in the classic naval battle game. It was clear that the little guy wasn't fully understanding how the game worked, so Uncle Ken was helping him along.

He got hits in like 3 out of his first 4 guesses, and each time I'd try to explain that he should keep guessing near those hit to sink them. He proved me wrong by finding new boats, which really is better - if you're gifted at Battleship.

When the older one would guess somewhere, the little guy would say it was a hit when it was really a miss, and I'd say, "You hit water," so then we were all saying it and laughing. I recommend saying that next time you play, with a pause: "You hit! . . . water."

The older one said that there is a black Battleship that has sound effects, and I let him know that they had that thing in the 80's, and I wanted it every Christmas, circling it in the Sears Catalog but never finding it under the old tree.

Later, while playing at the park, the 4th grader (there are three - he wasn't playing the Battleship) said out of nowhere, "butt licorice." I asked him just what in the hell that means, I think in those exact words (I swear a lot around them, but I'm working on it), and he said, "I just made it up." I think he's also gifted. At saying awesome stuff because that's pretty amazing. I think it could be an Urban Dictionary term for when you have that awful black poops or maybe even a band's record title. Better yet, a backup bands' name like Dr. Kenneth Noisewater and the Butt Licorice Experience.

Is any of this at all interesting or funny?

Is this thing on?

So, I Was Singing the Way You Make Me Feel . . .

. . . by Michael Jackson in the shower today, and the following statement occurred to me and rang true in my screwed up brain:

All that kid fucking really infringed upon all that hit making.

Jorts' Lesser Known Cousins

I'm having my second National Redneck Appreciation Day (NRAD) celebration/moonshiner tonight, and putting together my outfit from the local thrift shop was great fun and informative.

I had my heart set on a pair of jean shorts (jorts), but that begot a denim dilemma: everything needed to be denim. Before I knew it, I had myself full-blown, full-body Canadian tuxedo.

So, I got a jean hat and a jean shirt. Then later, while cutting my jorts shorter to get them nice and frayed, I made a some jean loops, two of which can be used for guests who don't show up with outfits; now they can wear jean hats (jats), one of which I inadvertently cut a tail in the back like a coon skin cap, or a Davey Jocket. Yet another smaller loop I'm currently wearing as a jean bracelet (jracelet) or a jean watch (jwatch), if you prefer.

Oh, I forgot to mention that I also bought a jean wallet (jwallet), but it's really more like a jean coin purse (coin jurse).

They didn't have any jean shoes, but that's probably for the best because then they'd be called jews.



How about you, Seven Readers? Have you thrown any theme parties lately or been a guest at one?

No. Not Another Caption Contest? Are You Fricking Serious, Ken?

Yes, I'm not feeling creative today, so we're doing another caption contest. You know, when you look up "weird pic" on Google Images, you get a lot of Weird Al pictures.


Anyway, here's the pic. As always, the winner gets no monetary gift, but he/she gets a virtual smack on the virtual butt and a "good effort."

Randomly Random Updates in No Particular Order

1. Last night, while celebrating my good friend Gung Ho's 30th birthday, we ended up stopping into Chicago's famous late night eatery, The Wiener Circle. Part of the schtick of the place is that the heavy set Black women swear at you, and you can swear back at them a bit, within reason. I talked all about the joint here at the forever floundering Chicago blog, "The Liars Club." I'm really looking for more Chicago based bloggers to get it running again, so email me if you're interested.

Anyway, after getting my dog and cheese fries, it dawned on me that I hadn't been sweared at, so I went up to the counter and said, "Excuse me, miss. You didn't swear at me." To which she said, "Man, I'm too tired for all of that." I said I understand she was working hard, to which she replied, "Just sit your pussy lips down."

Boom.

2. I'm horribly hung over, and at 8:00PM, I'm having a glass of wine out of a coffee cup that says "Special Interest Public On Target Marketing" that has a big target on it, and it's the only time I've felt good all day.

3. I saw an old guy filling up his cup of McDonalds coffee in the grocery store where you're supposed to use the dixie cup sized ones for free tastes. I figure he knows he's not supposed to do that, but like Honey Badger, he "doesn't give a shit." I saw another old guy showering in a fountain the other day, and I'm thinking it's the same effect. I can't wait until I'm old. Or a honey badger.



4. I have only one more day of physical therapy, and I'm excited about getting this ankle 100% so I can run my first marathon. At first I didn't like my therapist lady because I thought she was a snatchatollah khomeini (a Gancey original term), but once I get to know her, she's not so bad. Also, she was torturing me at first, so it's hard to like your torturer, unless you got that Stockholm Syndrome. Speaking of which, my favorite band from Sweden is coming to town, Truckfighters, the guys I interviewed here. Also, Stockholm Syndrome is an awesome song sung by the fat guy in Yo La Tengo. Give it a listen.



5. My roommate just got a ticket for parking more than twelve inches from the curb. I have done that a bunch of times and never have I gotten a ticket for it, usually when I'm parking drunkenly (is that correct grammar? Why can't I use the adverb form of drunk at the end like any other adverb?) The thing is, Chicago is bullshit about squeezing money out of people through parking violations and automated red light camera-jobbers and the like. As my roomy was looking at his ticket, another lady said that she got a ticket for the same thing, so it must have been some total doucher trying to fill his quota. But, here's the thing: that violation isn't even on the big list of things to check off on the ticket, so the doucher had to write it in. The beauty of it is that he put one hash mark instead of two, which would indicate that he was 12 feet from the curb, so I totally say the Spinal Tap defense holds up in this case.

The Cali Report

My lady (LSD) and I are back from our Cali trip where I accompanied her to a wedding and saw and fell in love with San Francisco for the first time. And I'm going to give you, my beloved seven readers, a full report. Now, don't worry - it won't be like a boring slide show. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I typically, although not always, succeed in making my stories funny, which is the mark of a good blogger. I just don't don't update enough to be really good anymore, which is what great bloggers do. However, I intend to do a decent job at this, so let me know how I did.

The beauty of doing things like this is that you get all the details down on "the page" to look at years later. Every once in a while when I leaf through some old entries, I will have completely forgotten about funny little moments, and I'm grateful that I have this rag for that reason.

Thursday:
We got into Oakland and the way I met LSD's parents was her father picking us up from the bus station. I liked him right away. He has a mustache, so he kind of looks like a cop but the good cop in the movie that you trust, not the crooked one. He also has a terrific sense of humor, like his daughter. Then we sat down to a dinner at their place, and I met mom, who I liked just as much as dad. I have been nervous in the past about meeting girlfriends' parents, but it's a helluva lot easier when I'm completely in love and 100% sure she's the right one for me.

Friday:
We got a nice early start to this day, but then we set ourselves back by royally screwing up the eggs we cooked and having to clean up the orange juice that I managed to spill inside of seemingly every kitchen cabinet, somehow. We then drove into San Francisco to check into the hotel before driving off to wine country.

The best thing about wine tastings is not the crappola lectures about grapes and shit, but more so I like getting to know these people and having some laughs, as many of them, you'll find, have terrific personalities. One small winery is owned and operated by a middle aged couple who look like the types who could also run "dopery" because they were just really laid back good folks, and the guy, while he was bright and witty, was a little deliberate in the way he carefully put his thoughts together into phrases. Somehow I sang a line from some random song, as I tend to do that sort of thing, and he told us how the two of them were just dancing to that song for their anniversary the night prior. They talked about it being an occasion ripe with wine flowing, dancing, and merriment. When I asked where they spent such an evening, they said that it was right where we were standing. Alone together in their very own winery, drinking their own blends, dancing to the sounds of their iPod.

After sobering up, we drove to Muir Woods because Dr. Ken had his heart set on seeing him some redwood trees. It was a long path through the woods, and we wanted to beat the traffic, so we decided to go back to the car to fetch our running gear to jog through it. This was a bad idea because there were wicked hills, giant red wood roots sticking out of the ground, the sun was beating down on us, and we got a little lost. One German guy with a giant back pack asked us if we knew where we were going, and I'll never forget the look of despair on his face when we told him we also had no idea where we were going.

But, we made it out of there alive to enjoy a great Italian meal in the North Beach area of San Francisco. We were going to hit some bars afterwards, but we were both tired from the Redwood adventure, so we returned to the hotel for some alone time. Why is it that "getting to know each other" in nice hotels is so damn awesome? We need to travel more because that's just a great deal of fun.

Saturday:
We knew that we had a rehearsal dinner in the late afternoon, so we packed in as much touristy stuff as we possibly could beforehand: cable cars, Bailey's and coffee at a bar called Buena Vista that invented the drink, some clam chowder, and Alcatraz. Overall, my impression of this city is that I've never been to a major city before that looks and feels so cozy and comfortable to me. All the buildings look like one of a kind, and there are so few Starbucks and Wallgreens on all the corners. You feel like you're living in a movie when you walk around that town, and it could be set now or twenty or thirty years ago.
The thing that I learned at Buena Vista is that they have plaques dedicated not to athletes who have nothing to do with anything, like say, Joe Montana, but to patrons who came to the bar every day for thirty years. The bartender told me this when I asked of the significance of a plaque on the wall that said a guy's name, a dry gin martini, and a range of years. That's what he drank and the years he did so, and it was hanging behind the bar on the corner in which he sat, along with the cane he would rest on the bar after ordering his martini before heading home, which he did every day up until he died at over 80 years of age. Another fellow who sat at the other end of the bar at a different time of day had just passed as well, and the bartender was in talks with the family to get his hat to put above a plaque over on his end of the bar. I don't know why, but I really liked that these guys were being honored in this way. Perhaps this appears as a random detail when you're talking about a trip like this, but not to me.

Saturday:
Just after waking up, I met the brother and his girlfriend, who are both great people. LSD had to do wedding stuff all day, so I spent the day with the family I had just met, which sounds strange but was totally fine. I went to the mall with the brother and girlfriend and watched the Giants game on TV with the dad, who rarely misses a game.

The reception was outdoors on a golf course with mountains behind it, which was beautiful, but it was just about the hottest day of the year. While it was a wonderful ceremony, getting to the indoor air conditioned reception and open bar was tremendous. LSD and I danced a few songs, had some shots cooled through a fire engine ice sculpture, and they had paid dudes out back to hand roll fresh cigars. I only smoke one or two cigars a year, but I really do like how it makes me feel more sophisticated and wealthy than I really am, if even just for a moment.

Around last call, I let LSD know that entering into what will soon be a long distance relationship, no longer scared me. It's just what we have to do, and we're going to do it right. I also told her that San Francisco will always be the city where we fell even deeper in love. I was thinking maybe we name a girl Bay some day, but maybe that's getting ahead of ourselves a touch. In the midst of this heartfelt discussion, one of the drunken groomsman came over to us to incoherently tell us some drunken philosophy. We politely told him that we were kind of having a moment, but that didn't really get rid of him. He was a lot like, and I hate to reference this show, but Joey from Friends: kind of stupid but lovable. So, we just had to laugh and not worry much about it because he kind of enhanced the moment in his own way, actually.

Sunday: Because this is getting long and nothing much happened on this day, I'll just take this time to say thanks for reading if you made it this far, and I hope you've enjoyed it.

Good night, seven readers. And goodbye San Fran. You'll see me again some day. Count on it.