Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Operation Stay Insanely Busy

That is the plan right now. I can have no idle time at all right now because that is no good for me. Not only that, I need plans at all times or figuring out what to do will turn into turmoil, somehow.

So, I'm kicking ass the rest of this week and beyond.

Tue: Cleaned the bathroom, worked out with weights and then yoga with the television, helped rescue a very elusive stray dog, and rode the rickshaw bike by Wrigley until 11pm, watching a drunk get pummeled by bouncers. Who gets that lit on a Tuesday?

Wed: First day of work back at the old schoolhouse, first day at my new gym with a lifting group (which is cool cause you don't have to pay a personal trainer when you do it like a class), and then trivia at the bar with friends. I just want to add that I hate when there is a sports category, I suck it up, and all the girls expect me to know the stuff. Now, I'm good with sports stuff before 2000, but current stuff I'm clueless. So, when that happens, I say, "Yeah, would you beat up a sewing category because if we're going to assign gender roles here . . ."

Thur: 2nd day of work, volleyball at 5:30 and then again at 6:30 if we win (playoffs), and then watch the Bears and Northern Illinois either at a friends or at a bar (I know, two bar nights on a school night, but I'll behave. Just being social, not schnockered).

Fri: 3rd day of work, yoga class at 5:30, and then for the rest of the weekend, ride the rickshaw to make extra cash and then at night, as they said in the film "Old School," reintroduce myself into the wild.

Operation Stay Busy will be good for me. You won't see me sitting still much, and if I am, I'll be writing. Keep it Gancey, y'all.

A Poem For My Seven Readers

I just reconnected with someone from high school through Facebook, and we have been talking on and off the last few nights. It turns out we have a lot in common, and we never knew it because, like many friends on Facebook, we hardly really knew each other before. Well, now we do.

People, Dr. Ken has made some recent changes in his life that are going to allow for more artistic endeavors, and I plan on keeping like-minded folks around me for inspiration, and it helps when they're great people like this guy is. Hope you enjoy it.

By Brad Burjan

I think

if we close our eyes

really, really tight,

tight enough

not to let any light


we can pretend

that we were

never there.


we could imagine

that there was never

any bed

where we played with dreams

until we molded them

into ours.

maybe those cities

and towns

that we captured

had no flag, and

we were left

with the make believe.

but it's then,

at that moment


my eyelids

begin choking my eyes,

and everything inside

my brain


it's then,

when i open my eyes,

and all that i can see

is everything i remember.

Here's a link to more of Brad's stuff.

Monday, August 30, 2010

I'm 45% Better Today!

Today, as I was getting ready for a shift on the rickshaw, I was playing a song by Yo La Tengo, I think "Deeper Into Movies," and I noticed that I clapped my hands. Wow. I was enjoying a song and not just farming the music to get the cries out of me. Sometimes it really feels like there is a certain amount of crying in your heart that you can actually feel, like mucus, like you would take an expectorant to knock loose your phlegm, you use the sad bastard songs to get all the crying loose and out of you.

But this wasn't that. This was genuine enjoyment. Then once I was working, I was enjoying the company of people and making jokes. Oh yeah! I'm funny too! I'm not worthless. Then, Heterosexual Life Partner (HLP) met me out for a couple of dollar Leinenkugela, and I put down a whole plate of tacos. My appetite's coming back! I may have overdid it because my stomach wasn't quite stretched out enough for that undertaking, but I'm thrilled that things are looking up.

Still, there is that pressure of being single, and I felt it tonight. You get that feeling that you should always try to be meeting people, putting yourself in situations where you could meet folks, and not necessarily sleeping with everyone, just talking to them and having some laughs. All that pressure was off when you thought you were on your last stop. Suddenly, the bus lets you off earlier than expected, and it becomes somewhat of a race against the clock. I'm 33, still relatively good looking, have a decent head of hair, I'm in good shape (but need more muscle mass), so I could still meet someone. But, by the time I have kids, am I going to be 40? Also, when you come out of something like this, you just can't see yourself loving someone else. Sure, it's going to happen some day, but do you fall madly in madly, deeply in love with someone in your 40's?

Am I just over thinking all of this? Probably, but still, I'm 45% better, tomorrow I'll feel even better, and by the weekend I'll be ready to go, only I have so few single friends and I'm not quite ready and . . . Ah, fuck it. I'm on the home stretch here, so let's just feel good about that.
Update: I just inadvertently caught a glimpse of her face in a picture. That shot me down to 30% better. Tomorrow is another day, but tonight is starting to really suck all of a sudden.
The day I got the bad news, I wasn't in the mood to do anything. You ever feel like that? Doing anything sounds awful and doing nothing sounds worse, so you just sit there trying to figure out what to do with yourself. TV sucks, all songs suck, work sucks, writing sucks, obviously, right?

Still, my sister was able to convince me to make good on going to see Rodrigo Y Gabriella at Ravinia with her and her three boys as planned. Last time I was this miserable, somehow being around the kids made it worse. I was so irritable that I couldn't take it, and they never annoy me. This time, they were just so great, and they helped me without even knowing they were helping. I envisioned them getting bored and being loud, but all three of them were perfect gentlemen.

Here are some highlights:

- The littlest one says some words funny, but some of them are too cute to correct, such as jumpoline (trampoline) and Scooby Diver (SCUBA diver).

- The middle one said that one of the policies there was "crud," and I fell out laughing because nobody says that word. People always default to crap, but crud is hilarious. You certainly never hear anyone say, "Excuse me. Where can a guy take a crud around here?" Tremendous word.

- The band was incredible. It's just two people, a guy and a girl, and they play incredibly intricate instrumentals, banging on the guitars for all the percussion, and it sounds like there is a 5 piece band up there - at least. I was thrilled that they played Orion by Metallica, which is always awesome to hear.

- I convinced the littlest one that the music was being played by Diego from "Dora the Explorer," and the older ones got on board with messing with him too. I just thought it so cute that he's still little enough to think a cartoon character could be playing flamenco guitar for us.

- After the show, Heterosexual Life Partner (HLP) and I met up at a karaoke party, and the two of us ripped through song after song and beer after beer until I was good and shnockered and not thinking about how miserable I was every other second, just around every five minutes or so, which was great.

- Now I'm back to the every other second variety.

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Have You Ever Seen Someone Jogging and Crying At the Same Time?

Well, you would have if you were near North Avenue Beach along Lake Michigan in Chicago at around 2:00 PM today. Usually running is when I do my best thinking, and it's the time where I'm most confident; Not so confident this time.*

I found it kind of odd that hundreds of people saw me running around crying, sitting in the fetal position trying to distract myself by watching volleyball, again, crying, and no one asked me what was wrong. Is that a big city thing, an American thing, and/or a detached modern society thing? I feel that in Sweden, for instance, someone would have stopped and asked how I was - preferably the concerned pedestrian would be a buxom blond-type Swede. Still, when one is going through a horribly depressing episode, as I am, one can tend to get a little self-absorbed, so I guess it's possible I'm apt to jump to the conclusion that no one cares about poor, poor Ken.

Still, I said to myself that if I ever saw someone in a similar position, I would make sure that person was okay. Oddly enough, as I was on the home stretch of the run, I saw a young woman sitting outside of her apartment building, talking on the phone, and she was either crying or had been before. Since I made a pledge only moments ago, I just had to honor it, so I turned around and asked if she was all right. She assured me that she was fine, and to me it was evident that although she didn't want any of my "counseling" at that time, she smiled in a way that suggested that she was touched that I took the time to see if my fellow Chicagoan was okay.

So, what do you think? Given similar circumstances, would you stop and ask someone if he/she was all right? Oh, and you don't have to ask how I'm doing. Old Gancey is going to be just fine. I promise.

*The day before was during the anger stage, so it was, of course, a very angry run complete with swearing, punching street signs, and ripping leaves off of most every tree I passed. Very tough-guy, right?

Friday, August 27, 2010

In Case You Didn't Read My Facebook Status . . .

. . . I'm listening to Willie Nelson alone at 1 in the morning with a vodka and diet Pepsi, and it feels pretty good. There's something about Willie's guitar and voice, along with his sister Bobby on Piano and Mickey Rafael, or whatever his name is, on harmonica. To me, Mickey is the bomb harmonica guy. Give me him over that high pitched craziness of John Popper any day.

ANYWAY, I feel like I deserve a little celebration because I wrote some decent scenes for the play I'm determined to finish. It's starting to take shape.

Now I have The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust by bowie playing, all vinyl, of course. Drunken listening parties are not at all fun unless you have actual records. I just can't describe why; It's just a more of visceral experience, somehow. In my younger, crazier days, I'd wake up the next day to see records sprawled out all over the room after a night out at the bars and think, "Wow. That's right, I did have myself a listening party last night. I have problems." Then my next thought would be, "Oooh. Good choices on those records! Even in my drunken state. All right, Ken!"

ANYWAY, I was talking with people tonight at a bar that I'm a writer. I'm not what I do to pay my bills. No. I write. When I'm getting on a role, it's a high, and I need to remember that every time I push off committing myself to big projects. It's so easy to say that it's not practical or realistic. No, it's neither of those, but it's something that I need to do whether I'm a success or not. It's who I am, and I feel better when I do it, so fuck it. This thing is going to hit the stage, probably in May, and I'd love it if you were there, Seven Readers. If not, oh well. As long as I'm proud of what I've created, I can literally have seven people out there and feel good about what I've done.

It's been too long since I had me a listening party, and I'm glad I could share it with you, My Beloved Seven Readers. Try it some time, and remember not to be too neat and tidy about it. Let those big ass records spread out across the room, listening to only a track or two off each one. Make it decadent. Make it Gancey.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

I have some friends who were in town here in Chicago, and they were very excited to be able to spend some time together with their son staying with his grandparents. Apparently, the night before we saw them, they met some friends at Heaven on Seven, a Cajun restaurant that boasts hundreds of hot sauces. They got a little crazy with sampling some of the hotter ones, and later that night, despite the fact that they had washed their hands numerous times, he burned his wife's "you know what" with his fingers.

Moral of the story? If you're going to be using lots of hot sauce, skip the foreplay.

Moral of the story number two? If the hot sauce has the word "ass" in the title, Set it down; Don't even look at it.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

I decided tonight to finish the play I started writing. I had reservations about the material having gross elements that might make me look sophomoric, which I am, and then when my director left the state, that gave me an excuse to sideline it. But I can't just let the piece waste away in half-finished obscurity forever. No, I need to produce it in a small Chicago theater to seventy people at best, so that it can live on in finished obscurity!

Tonight I did the character bio for the female lead, which was helpful because I write so poorly for women because I don't understand them and never will. This is frustrating because they seem to have me figured out perfectly upon meeting me. In any case, I think Maya Mayorga Bosley is shaping up to be a pretty rad chick.

I have to study to take a licensing test a few nights a week, but I'm going to try to set aside a night or two a week to finish this sucker up and hopefully take it to the stage before next summer. Anyone know any directors who aren't assholes?

In the meantime, since this shit is likely not interesting to you, here's that picture of a monkey faced piglet.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

I got no good ideas, but I know I want to post something to stay busy so here is the 2nd time I will hit random on my itunes and talk about the first five songs to come up - an idea ripped off from the AV Club from The Onion, I believe.

1. "You Spin Me Right Round (Like a Record) by Dead or Alive. First off, I like songs with parenthesis. Secondly, this song is "lots of fun." Third, singer Pete Burns claims that the more famous Boy George stole his look. I will say that Pete was a slightly more convincing tranny.

2. "D.A.N.C.E." by Justice. I liked this one when I saw it come on one of the MTV channels back when they played decent songs. Justice is a French dance duo. I probably would have had more thoughts on this one a few years back when I was more into it. I think I played it out, which is a surefire sign that I really dug it at one time.

3. "Peace Sells" (Live) by Megadeth. My downstairs neighbor, a father of three who is a lawyer, but I only see him dressed up once a month or so (the other days he has on metal shirts like Dio) saw Megadeth, Testament, and Slayer at UIC here in Chicago. I asked him if Megadeth played anythign off of "Rust in Peace," one of the only metal albums I can still enjoy all the way through, and it turns out they played the whole thing that night. His three-year-oldish son has super long hair, and I asked if he went to Megadeth too. As he casually smacked at a bird feeder with a stick as if it were in a pinata, he said, "No. Daddy did."

4. Song number four is a bad, bad country song. These come on a lot because I have downloaded a ton of country music for my two annual Redneck parties. We get moonshine from Alabama, a mystery tub of beer where you have to reach in there without knowing what you're getting, we decorate the house all white-trashy, and we encourage guests to dress up. I'm thinking this is the band Alabama . . . Nope, it's the Oakridge Boys, "One in a Million." I should have known by the guy with the deep voice, the guy who sings the deep part in "Elvira." That song used to crack me up when I was a kid.

5. "She Came in Through the Bathroom Window" by The Beatles. This is one of those songs, just like most everything on "Dark Side of the Moon" by Pink Floyd where you can't hear just one song because each song flows into each other so well, like a part of a perfect whole. Has anyone ever seen that part of Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story where he drops acid with The Beatles? Whoever wrote that scene really knew what was funny and interesting about The Beatles.

Monday, August 23, 2010

Tales from the Rickshaw Volume 4: The Final Chapter?

I saw a fairly attractive girl's boobs pop out of her shirt the other night, and I was not at all turned on.

Allow me to explain. I was working a shift on the rickshaw/pedicab as the locals were growing increasingly intoxicated, and three females were crossing the street to the bar in which I was parked nearby. As the second drunkest one gets to the curb, she trips over it, knocking over the drunkest one to the ground, causing her shirt to get pulled down and her bare breasts to get pulled out of the top of her top.

This was what Jerry Seinfeld called in one of his episodes of Seinfeld, "bad naked" for at least three reasons:

1. She was horribly, horribly drunk.
2. She was possibly hurt.
3. And worst of all, she was crying.

It kind of reminded me of that picture on the inside of the Appetite for Destruction album.

I got off my bike to make sure she was okay, and she did seem unhurt. However, I did advise her friends that they should take her home, which they didn't. Sure, pay no attention to me just because I'm carting around drunks on a bicycle. That's exactly why they should listen to me. I'm the sober man out there on those streets, giving me superpowers. I know them better than they know themselves. I know when boobies are going to pop out even before they know it. Actually, I don't quite know that much. That really would be a super power . . .

Friday, August 20, 2010

The Word of the Day . . .

. . . is ignominious.

Pronunciation: \ˌig-nə-ˈmi-nē-əs\
Function: adjective
Date: 15th century
1 : marked with or characterized by disgrace or shame : dishonorable
2 : deserving of shame or infamy : despicable
3 : humiliating, degrading
— ig·no·min·i·ous·ly adverb
— ig·no·min·i·ous·ness noun
(copied with no permission whatsoever from Mirriam-Webster Online.)

This is a word I heard my father, a college professor, say all the time in reference to the Chicago Cubs. He'd say something like, "Oh, Ken. Today our Cubbies lost ignominiously. They were throwing the ball into the stands, outfielders were running into each other, and, of course, nobody could take a walk." I found myself using the word when talking to customers around Wrigley Field during my summer job, and I'm glad that one of my dad's favorite terms is now one of mine. I just wish we weren't both using it to describe our Cubbies in two different generations. Hell, it's a term applicable for over a century of mostly terrible baseball.
Is it sexist to use these images? Should the word of the day be "objectify?" Perhaps, but I thought I'd try to offset this humiliation with some beautiful women because it never hurts. I'm working 7 straight home games, a rarity in baseball because there typically are days off. I said that during game (shift) one that I had a feeling they would go 0 and 7 on this homestand, and so far they are 0 and 4. I knew that once I said it out loud, there was no avoiding it. Wish me luck today, Seven Readers (some fans, like myself, can hold themselves personally responsible for losses by the choices they make. It makes no sense scientifically, but we do it to ourselves anyway.)

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Tales From the Rickshaw #3

So I did return that good karma today (see last post). An elderly guy wanted a ride back to his car, which was miles away, and he only wanted to pay 5 bucks. Nobody wanted to do it, but I just said what the hell. Some of the other riders said they would take him as far as this road or that road, and i thought about doing that, but coming face-to-face with leaving an elderly guy not that familiar with the city on a street corner in Chicago at night just didn't sit well with me. It ended up being just about the longest ride I've ever given, but I was happy to do it because he was a really nice guy and a retired teacher.

Oh, and earlier that night I took a girl for a ride for 2 bucks just because I knew she was going to school for social work and would be broke her whole life. More good karma. Tomorrow I can kick some puppies.

Tomorrow I'm going to cut out of the rickshaw biz early to go see Bellator 25 (mixed martial arts) at the Chicago Theater. Get a look at the interview I did with Dan "The Handler" Hornbuckle. Easily the coolest, funniest, most down-to-earth guy I've interviewed thus far, and plus he likes to kick people in the face and he's an American Indian. He will be fighting at this event tomorrow.

Much love and good karma to all . . .

Monday, August 16, 2010

Tales from the Rickshaw #2

Just after dropping off my last fare* of the night, the chain fell off my rickshaw, and I couldn't get it fixed. I was trying everything, and as far as I could tell, it looked like it should have been working. After a while, a guy with a twelver of High Life under one arm and an Asian girlfriend under the other stops to ask me if I could use some help. He decided that we needed to flip it over to get a look at the chain hooking up to the back two wheels. Oh yeah. Didn't think of that . . .

The guy even went into the supermarket to get us a pair of wet naps to clean the oil off our hands. I told him if he took down my number, I'd give him and Asian girlfriend a free ride any time. I couldn't think of anything else to do for him. He didn't seem like he could benefit from my other job, as he didn't present as a guy who needed counseling.

He turned me down on the free ride, but he said that for doing that he expected some good karma to come his way, and I hope it does. Now I feel like I need to do something randomly extraordinarily nice for someone. Any ideas, Seven Readers?
*The guy from my last fare of the night looked just like Patrick Dempsey. I told him this, and his Asian girlfriend (two nice guys with Asian GF's in 10 minutes time!) said that he gets that daily. We discussed Loveryboy, the one where Dempsey plays the pizza delivering gigalo who nailed housewives when they called asking for extra, extra anchovies. His girlfriend was very attractive, but to be honest, looking that much like McDreamy, he could probably take a new girl home every night.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Tales from the Rickshaw #1

I'm riding a rickshaw bike as a summer job, charging fares to drive people around, usually to the ballgame, to a bar, or back home. I see a lot of strange stuff riding around or parking my bike waiting for fares, especially being that I'm stone sober, which is like having super powers of observation skills if you've ever been the lone sober guy out.

So, here is story number one.

A woman and her boyfriend are outside the bar, leaning against the brick wall, and he's trying to talk to her, but she's swaying back-and-forth quite a bit. Suddenly, she barfs so much puke directly onto the pavement and some directly on her own feet and sandles. If only it were winter; maybe her feet would have been safe.

Anyway, it took at least ten minutes for the guys from the bar to come out to hose down the patio, so I was doing my best to warn pedestrians not to step in it. It's the least I could do . . .

Saturday, August 14, 2010

Perhaps the Most Boring Post You'll Read All Month

I accidentally (Cocktails, ahem) turned on the ceiling fan before Gancey Girlfriend and I went to bed last night, and I guess it triggered her allergies and she's been stuffy all day. Oops. At least I didn't flip on the garbage disposal and leave it on all night.*

Anyway, when I woke up, I was too tired to move from biking thousands of miles (see Rickshaw posts to come) and the aformentioned cocktails, that I was just lying there staring at the ceiling fan. I noticed something: It spins counter clockwise. I thought for sure fans would spin clockwise, and some go both ways (AC/DC), right?

I got thinking about pretending to want to buy a fan at Home Depot and insisting that my fan only spin clockwise. Would the sales guy be able to say which way it spun? Would that even be in the directions?

Help with these questions and check out the direction of your ceiling fan, Seven Readers, and be honest: Is this the most boring post you've ever read?
*No, Gancey Girlfriend does not have the Batman ceiling fan. That's even too dorky for me, so not likely she would own that sucker.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Maggie Talks Back

It's time, once again, for another song analysis, this time with Rod Stewart's older girlfriend from his youth, Maggie May, saying back to him what Dr. Ken thinks she might have said.

Rod the Bod:
Wake up Maggie I think I got something to say to you
It's late September and I really should be back at school
I know I keep you amused but I feel I'm being used
Oh Maggie I couldn't have tried any more
You lured me away from home just to save you from being alone
You stole my heart and that's what really hurt

Maggie May:
Listen, kid, don't blame me because you chose to come over and lay around and have sex with me all day instead of going to class. I can live like this because my ex husband has to cut me 7k every month, but your narrow ass should be in the classroom every now and then. It's not like you couldn't go to class during the day and then come over and bone. Don't blame me for being a dead beat student, dude; that's your thing.

Rod the Bod:
The morning sun when it's in your face really shows your age
But that don't worry me none in my eyes you're everything
I laughed at all of your jokes my love you didn't need to coax
Oh, Maggie I couldn't have tried any more
You lured me away from home, just to save you from being alone
You stole my soul and that's a pain I can do without

Maggie May:
Hey, I know I was a little hard on you there, but did you really have to tell me how old I look in the light? Jeez! And I stole your soul?? That's being a little dramatic, don't you think? I may be a sex fiend old cougar, but it's not like I'm Pinhead from Hellraiser sucking souls out of teenagers.

Rod the Bod:
All I needed was a friend to lend a guiding hand
But you turned into a lover and
mother what a lover, you wore me out
All you did was wreck my bed
and in the morning kick me in the head
Oh Maggie I couldn't have tried anymore
You lured me away from home 'cause you didn't want to be alone
You stole my heart I couldn't leave you if I tried

Maggie May:
You're wearing me out too, kid. We've been bumping fuzzies around the clock for four months here. And wait, I thought you were dumping me, and now you're saying you can't leave me? This is annoying; let's just screw again.

Rod the Bod:
I suppose I could collect my books and get on back to school
Or steal my daddy's cue and make a living out of playing pool
Or find myself a rock and roll band that needs a helpin' hand
Oh Maggie I wish I'd never seen your face
You made a first-class fool out of me
But I'm as blind as a fool can be
You stole my heart but I love you anyway

Maggie May:
I'd go with the books and school thing. The professional pool player or pool hustler thing seems kind of impulsive and poorly conceived. Now the rock star thing I can see! You have great hair, a good look, and a sexiness to you. I like your body, and I think you're sexy. That's almost a song right there . . .

Rod the Bod:
Maggie I wish I'd never seen your face
I'll get on back home one of these days

Maggie May:
Sure, kid. Look me up next time you're back in town. Just try not to be so dramatic, and don't talk about my face looking old because that's just not how you sweet talk a lady.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

I Have a Crush . . .

. . . on Christina Hendricks, the buxom redhead from TV's Mad Men. It's no secret that I like tall, confident, successful, ample bosomed beautiful women, and you need look no further than Gancey Girlfriend for evidence of this.

However, I haven't had a crush like this since we started dating, and I'm so, so thankful that my latest crush is on a woman on television and not someone in real life. However, sometimes it feels like a crush in grade school. I'll explain . . .

When she has a scene in the show, I get a little nervous, tweak my hair, sit up straight, and I get a little excited and nervous. What the hell is that all about? She's on the television, Dr. Ken! It's just a good thing she doesn't work in my office, that's all I"m saying, or I'd be a bumbling idiot. I'm just not nearly as smooth as Don Draper. She'd ask me if I wanted some coffee, and I'd mutter something about her big boobs and her milky white skin. Not smooth.

Thursday, August 05, 2010

KC and the Coke Prints

I was listening to "Tusk" by Fleetwood Mac, which is a really good record, by the way. Everyone bought "Rumors," and then there was probably a lot of hype for their next record, and although it is a double album packed with great songs, it didn't sell nearly as well as its predecessor. Perhaps releasing the double album was a bad idea, or they didn't pick the right singles, who knows?

Anyway, while I was paying bills and listening to Lindsey and Stevie and the gang, I was mixing up a protein shake with a whisk, and when I got up to switch to side 3 (of the two record set), my fingers got protein powder all over the vinyl. That shit is impossible to get off of there. If someone is robbing your house, be sure they play with your vinyl collection because it will leave a pefect damn print.

This got me thinking that in the 1970's and 1980's when everyone was tooting cocaine like it was going out of style, people must have gotten coke residue on their vinyls all the time. I'm just picturing a hairy guy in his leisure suit doing countless rails of blow before hitting the disco in search of foxy ladies, rubbing coke fingerprints all over his copy of KC and the Sunshine Band's 1976 release, "Part 3."

In other news, be sure to check out my open letter Chris, the guy Ali shot down in the latest season of "The Bachelorette." I think you'll find it insightful and wonderfully stupid like only the Good Doctor can do.

Wednesday, August 04, 2010

Where's the Roast Beef?

For some reason, I've been craving Arby's lately, and it's frustrating because there are none anywhere near me. I can't justify a trip to downtown Chicago or a remote suburb to buy a sack of sandwiches and maybe some curly fries.

Sometimes I randomly want to go to Chili's to get a burger and great big diet coke out of a mug. I like how they give you the steak knife to saw your burger in two. Again, they only have them downtown or in the burbs.

Bakers Square I like every now and again. I like free pie Wednesday where you get a slice of pie free with your meal. That's not too bad rinsed down with a cup of hot joe, but again, they're only in remote parts of the city. Luckily, I work most days out of the week near one, so finally that worked out.

How about Sonic? They have commercials on television all the time, I'd like to try it to have some chick roller skate out to my car with a tray of nachos like on "Happy Days," but there are zero in the city of Chicago - you have to go to the suburbs.

Why is this? Does Chicago, especially the Lakeview and Lincoln Park areas, think they are too cool for certain chain restaurants?

Does anyone ever crave something they were used to getting in their hometown and can't find nowadays? Anyone want to make a pilgrimage for curly fries?

Sunday, August 01, 2010

Crappy Nicknames

I was watching some UFC tonight, and there is a guy with the nickname "The Philipine Wrecking Machine", which I thought was bad. However, far worse was a fighter in the main event with a nickname of "The Janitor."

My favorite nicknames?

Those would be . . .

Keith "The Dean of Mean" Jardine

Brett "The Angry Hick" Bergmark

Yoshihiro "Sexyama" Akiyama

Jens "Lil' Evil" Pulver

"The Axe Murderer" and "The American Psycho," who I really think should fight one another in a fight called "The Blood Bath."