"I ain't what I used to be, but who the hell is?"
I live outside Chicago with the Redhead, the poet, three cats, and two dachshunds.
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Having been lax in my reporting, although not in my consumption, today's subject is another fine Wisconsin product, Huber Bock.
The Huber Brewing Company of Monroe, Wisconsin is probably best known to those of us in the Chicago area for brewing Berghoff beer, but the house beers are just as good. Huber Bock is robust and tasty - I had one tonight to accompany the Redhead's 15-bean soup, which is robust and tasty in its own right.
Pick one up if you can.
Our Ernie is a sad fellow. With his Nick gone, he spends the evening with an eye on the door, waiting for his buddy to come bursting in, before going to bed unfulfilled. We try to tell him he'll be back to visit, but poor Ernie doesn't want to wait four weeks.
This is the face of a sad dog - show him some love.
The house does seem a little empty today. Tuesday morning, the three of us, plus Maggie and Ernie, set off for
I was guilty of overpacking as well, but not for myself. Wanting to be prepared for any contingency, I had packed a bag for the dogs. In addition to food, there were chews and toys, towels and cleaning supplies, and piddle pads in the event of their needing to go while we would be out of the motel room.
Here was yet another variable. How would they react to a 400 mile drive, a night in an unfamiliar hotel room, being left in the room while we moved Nick into his dorm, and another 400 miles back home? Ernie does not travel well as a rule, so while we were optimistic, I wanted to be prepared for any ‘accidents’ he would have.
As it turned out, he only barfed once during the entire trip, and that was as we were heading out of
Aside from that, they were real troopers the entire trip. Maggie likes to see what’s going on when in the car, so she was in front for the trip to
They knew something was up, because when any of us left the room, they would get agitated, making much complaint until we would return. Fortunately, they only barked a couple of time at passing guests in the hall, although I was privy to one fellow’s grumbling as he passed our room. They did frighten the maid Wednesday morning, who was clearly not expecting excited barking while she made her rounds, albeit followed by wagging tails.
As for the actual moving in…we went over to the campus Wednesday morning, whereupon I was left to mind the store while the Redhead and Nick checked in. Upon their return, we pulled into the driveway of the dorm, whereupon several athlete types descended on our vehicle. Turns out that the school has student volunteers assist new arrivals in moving in. Instead of the couple of hours we were expecting, Nick’s things were in his room inside fifteen minutes. A trip to the local CVS for a few extras, and we were done.
Nick and the Redhead had decided that a long, drawn-out farewell wasn’t necessary, so it was time to let him go. Hugs and tears all around, and as we pulled away, I could see that the Redhead was holding it together pretty well. Better than I was, I think.
She had told Nick she wouldn’t keep calling to check up on him, and managed to wait until late that afternoon before calling. By that time, his roommate Michael had arrived, and Nick had been treated to dinner by Michael’s parents. That meant one less worry, as he’d gotten a good meal.
One has to understand that back in the Pleistocene when I was an undergrad, I went to a commuter school, never lived on campus, and therefore can offer next to no advice on the total college experience. Given my extraordinary lack of social skills when I was 18, I have business offering counsel to offer Nick; in fact, given his easy way with the girls, I should be asking him for tips.
The Redhead did end up talking to him several times yesterday, although in her defense, some of the calls involved getting a microfridge delivered, getting the correct address out to family and friends, and making sure he could pick up mail. Nick did report that several of his fellow freshmen promptly headed off to a fraternity party after arrival on Wednesday. Evidently, the college experience hasn’t really changed.
And yea, there was much rejoicing, as the Cubs finally bowed to the wishes of all semi-intelligent fans, and shipped Neifi Perez, possibly the worst player in baseball, to the Tigers. Poor Dusty, deprived of the Neifinator. Who will replace the vortex of suckitude that was Neifi?
Even more amazing, the Cubs actually got a player in return. Getting a bag of donuts would have made me happy, but a real live baseball player, even if he's a minor league catcher? Amazing. Who says you can't get something for nothing?
On the other hand, Jim Hendry still doesn't seem to have a clue. Signing Juan Pierre to any sort of multi-year contract would be a mistake on a par with the stupid contract given to Jacque Jones, who is completely feeble against left-handed pitching.
I’m not sure why I’m getting all worked up about leaving for
Same goes for the cats – Beth's ex will keep them fed, and he can give Puck a shot Wednesday to keep him safe. Our next-door neighbor, a talented shade-tree mechanic, is going to do minor work on the cars, with an oil change for hers and a hose replacement for mine.
So why the nerves? There’s an element of the unknown, of course, but nothing worth worrying to excess about.
Every day, I ride the local commuter rail line between my home and the office I work at in downtown
These are hardly new, these hundreds of empty lots. Fifteen years ago, I would ride the L through these same neighborhoods, and the number of empty lots doesn’t seem to have shrunk. I imagine that these lots have lain bare since the late 1960s, when riots convulsed
I don’t understand why this remains the case. Why hasn’t the city put these lots up for sale? After all, if no one owns these lots, potential tax revenue is being wasted. Or, if they bear no responsibility (which I doubt), why hasn’t an enterprising real estate speculator bought a number of them, built inexpensive housing, and returned this fallow ground to the tax rolls? Failing either of these, why not build public housing?
(Interlude) This train is operating approximately seven minutes late, due to Metra being run by the Three Stooges.
(End interlude) I suppose that nobody wants to put any money into the west side of
It's time for another episode of "You Be The Manager."
Today, your team is facing a left-handed pitcher. He's having a poor season this year, and interestingly, is slightly less successful against left-handed hitters than right-handed hitters, as lefties hit about 20 points higher against him. Your left-handed hitting right fielder, player A, does not hit left-handed pitching at all - his OBP and slugging this season against the sinister pitchers are .212 and .344, respectively. Meanwhile, you have a young outfielder, player B, who is hitting 367/446/592 since the All-Star, and bats righthanded. Who do you play today?
If you have any sense, you play the right-handed hitter. Unfortunately, this is the Cubs, and Dusty Baker has no sense. Player A, Jacque Jones, went 0-4 today and left six runners on base in an 8-6 loss.
Seriously, is Baker that dense, or does he just not give a s***?
The youngster and his girlfriend are spending the weekend with tens of thousands of their closest friends at Lollapalooza, while the Redhead and I play the part of the parents who have lost their cool. Actually, she had been making noises about going to see Wilco and others today, but as of now, she's still home. I’ll pass at any rate, and spend my day pulling weeds, because that’s what we old folks do with their summer weekends.
Then we discovered that the stage where all the aforementioned artists would be playing was actually a large tent. At first, this didn’t seem to be an issue, but as the day wore on and the crowds grew, it became stultifying inside, as no breeze could get through, and leaving for a piss or snack meant a 45-minute wait. Much as I enjoy the Guinness family of products, I have my limits.
Then there was the atrocious sound, which led to much shouting and pointing between band and crew when a member of Altan gave the soundman a piece of his mind. Richard Thompson was unaffected, playing brilliantly as usual, and Billy Bragg was equally fun. The luck ran out with Squeeze, who, in the several years since I had last seen them, had gone from a brilliant pop group to a lost arena band.
It remains hot and stupid in these parts, so much so that thinking processes have slowed to a crawl, preventing any sort of posting. Trying to rouse myself out of the torpor, I observed that I wasn't nearly as sweat-soaked upon arriving at work this morning as on previous mornings, so perhaps relief is in sight.
I envy those who actually go out to exercise in this weather, as I was once of them. I'd like to resume exercising regularly, but restarting when it's 95 outside probably isn't a recipe for long-term success. The whole being hospitalized for heat exhaustion, brought on by trying to run a mile, holds little appeal, oddly enough.
