Chicago Boat Ride

One of the coolest videos I have seen in awhile with one of my favorite quotes. Not a bad pairing.


Chicago by boat: A timelapse journey from Philip Bloom on Vimeo.

"As we ride past, I fall in love with my city all over again. Yes, it’s crowded and expensive and full of people who annoy me, but at this shining moment, I’ve never seen anything more gorgeous. I realize Chicago’s a great city not because it’s glamorous, but because it’s real…People come from all over the world live here, and each of them fits right in without missing a step. The beauty of this city is not that it’s exclusive but that it’s inclusive." - Jen Lancaster

If you Don't Like Big Red, then Fuck You!

I went through a drastic change this weekend and love every second of that decision.  I walked into a hair salon (seven hours too late because of my choice to part-ay the prior night) with a picture of "pre-coke/poor life choices Lindsay Lohan."  Recently single?  Bring. It. On.

Me: "I want this."
Amazing stylist whom I now love/BFF: "This is going to be fun...ya, I love this.  We are going to make this happen."

A little over an hour later, I began life as a happy-go-lucky redhead.  My best friends from home and I were shopping in Chicago this weekend when a homeless, wheelchair bound man with no legs (as most solid Chicago stories start) even declared, "a brunette, a blonde, and a redhead?!  Well I be lookin' at Charlie's Angels!"

Yes, sir.

After a truly epic weekend it is fair to say that is a good start.  Keep the "Ginger," "Ariel," and "Fire Crotch" nicknames going everyone.

Lolla. Epic.

Lollapalooza is a three day music festival of absolutely epic proportions.  As a Chicagoan of over three years, I obliged to attend at least one.  At the end of it all, it's nearly impossible to describe my abundance of love for it.  My parents raised me and my brother with an appreciation of all types of music (primarily Fleetwood Mac, Meatloaf, the Eagles, the Beatles, you name it).  Ryan began playing guitar around the age of eleven and I am still jealous of his ability to create.  Someone, if you're reading this, buy me an acoustic please!

I wrote about Lolla, I talked about it plenty, played the music on loop, and took enough pictures.  I will leave you with those because sometimes experience cannot be put into words.  Seriously, three of the best days of my life.

One for mom and dad.

 When Crystal wants to sit on a broad man's shoulders to see Eminem, she gets it done. 

Then it rained for over an hour, as me and my friends stood forlorn and defeated under trees that provided us no shelter.  Ryan's dri-fit shirt wouldn't even keep him dry.  That is the moment we knew to embrace the storm.

Double rainbow? What does it mean?!

Why are we planking?  Because we are at Lolla and in the middle of Jackson St. and can do whatever we want.  That's why we are planking.

 It took three days for me to feel clean again and there may still be mud behind my ear.  Worth it.

 

Then this.  David Grohl and Foo Fighters killed it.  During the most intense storm of Lolla (seriously, pelting rain hitting your face hurts) we sang "My Hero."  Just watch.

This gives me chills every time.

Lil' Bit 'O Magic

Sometimes I just enjoy the simple things in life.  This is one of the things I love so much about Chicago.  Yes, it's the third largest metropolitan area in the country but, here and there, we can find quirky little things to amuse.  Little secrets that a handful know about, even as the tourists with wallets full of cash scamper on to Michigan Ave.  One of my favorite gems is Puppet Bike.  It's exactly like it sounds, a puppet show on a bike.  It is impossible for me to explain what I love about this.  Puppet Bike makes me feel like a child.  A tiny for her age child who read Baby Sitters Club - Little Sister books and watched Stick Stickley on Nickelodeon before lunch time.  

 Specifically the child second from left.

I don't care how ridiculous this sounds but when a tiny white dog waves its stuffed paw at me, I smile.  I smile big.  So imagine my delight when I walked into work today (one of the agencies in my building is celebrating its "76 years young" birthday) and saw Puppet Bike.  Hoorah, my little friends even posed!

I never want to see who actually rides the bike; I imagine that is a mortifying experience similar to what a small child at Disney World endures when Mickey Mouse's head falls onto the ground.  Reality shattered.  As one of my friends put it, "I imagine that an even bigger puppet is inside with all the little puppets. That or a tiny sweaty man. Yes, let's not open it up."

Fun Fact Friday

I am a self proclaimed Groupon fan.  Every day I discover ways to whiten my teeth, relax my tense deltoids with an hour long massage and remove unsightly hair.  Realistically, I just buy deals for new restaurants and mini adventures in Chicago.

Through the years though, I screwed up.  I bought Groupons that went to waste as the expiration date ticked closer then passed.  Money down the drain! (noooooo.)

Then today, per a recommendation from a friend, I called Groupon's customer service department.  From what I can tell it is a young, fun group of people who probably don't love being on the phone but do a pretty good job of pretending they don't mind.  I spoke with a bubbly girl and explained that "I'm an idiot whom allows perfectly good Groupons to expire."  From here I earned one of two options:

1.) Use that Groupon as cash at the business
2.) Refund the amount back to my Groupon account to be used on a future Groupon purchase

Already stated, I am a Groupon fiend and excitedly opted for option number two.  Now I possess $73 to spend on a future purchase I may or may not need.

Lesson learned, your money is not lost.  Ask the question and you shall receive.  I feel as rich as Scrooge McDuck right now, swimming in intangible Groupon credits.

"Just play. Have fun. Enjoy the game." - M. Jordan

The beer dinner from last night aside, I am currently in some of the best athletic shape of my life.  I blame Chicago and its miles of bike and running trails, numerous park areas, and Groupon for its various deals on hot yoga.

A couple months ago I bought a bunch of attire from some little boutique called "Nike Running" then a month later acquired a fancy bike from Target.  I also bought a helmet, which gets me made fun of relentlessly, but I don't want my brains splattered!  Then I joined some sports leagues and just kept it going.  Did you know Chicago has dodgeball AND kickball AND some weird thing called 16-inch softball?  TRUTH.  First I ran a 5K then a 10K and everyone is talking to me about running something called a "half marathon" which is ridiculous because when the hell did I start to like running?  Jury is still out on the half, because that's hard.

Below are testaments to my current athletic prowess as I attempt to keep my competitive edge and not get chubby.  Coming soon: the video of me playing sand volleyball last week, where I fell backwards and landed on my ass.  However, I did hit it over the net so wapow!

I ran a 10k through a zoo in 56:20, then took a picture with a shoe. Normal Sunday morning.   

502 overall but 20 out of 103 in the F20-24 age group. I'll take it!

I channeled my catcher training last night and blocked home plate in a one-run game, bang-bang play situation.  This is the result.  I have been giving everyone, deserving or not, the thumbs up today.  Best part of the story?  We got the out and kept the lead that inning!  I would do it again if necessary.  

Not pictured: my bruised shin and cleat mark in my ankle.

In April, my gal friends and I also ran an Easter bunny themed 5K in this beautiful attire.  Awk-ward. 

Finally, some of the coolest BAMFs you may never know.

Won't you be my neighbor?

I'm inspired by the site Dear Girls Above Me.  In celebration of three years of cohabitation with my heterosexual life mate, and one of my best friends, I'm writing an open letter to our past and present neighbors.

Dearest neighbors,

Let us take a few moments to thank you for shaping the history of the Fry - Voyles Château, 1 and 2.

First, to the girls living above us in 2008.  We were so excited about our first big girls' apartment post-graduation.  It was a palace in our eyes, with amenities close to the after college mecca, Wrigleyville, that allowed us to get the collegiate partying "out of our system" at the dreaded Clark St. JBC.

What we would have gave to get some fucking sleep that summer, on account of your 80's rock mix.  As much as we love Journey and Bon Jovi, would it have KILLED you to put your iTunes on shuffle once in awhile?  Another favorite is when you would listen to the first two minutes of the song, then start over, on repeat.

That same summer Coldplay released "Viva La Vida" and changed all our lives forever.  You loved that song...twenty times in a row at deafening decibels at all hours of the day and night.  Never mind our twisted schedules of work and sleep, we woke up and for some reason I can't explain / I know St. Peter won't call my name / Never an honest word / But that was when I ruled the world.  It was time to enact sick revenge.

About a week later, post-Cubs game and all day weekend binger, we rolled in around 2 a.m. and way past the point of regular adult motor skills.  Side thanks to mom and dad, for the gift of computer speakers with a separate bass large enough to fill our home with sound.  Dear neighbor, Micah and I will never forget plugging in those speakers, holding them to the ceiling, and pressing "play" therefore releasing an explosion of "Viva La Vida" directly at your floor.  Oh sure, we heard your foot or shoe or whatever that was pounding.  All ten minutes of it.  Drunkenly falling off a chair and risking bone breaks were totally worth it.

We didn't feel bad when you moved out.

Next up, to the girls living upstairs #2.  Sorry your living situation was shortened by the fact that you two bitches fought constantly, apparently fueled by serious arguments as "it's YOUR turn to buy the TOILET PAPER."  Unfortunately, you two also brought Karma in with you as you were another set of loud music players.  A little more alternative, with the Dave Matthews Band all the time.  Fortunately, we were experienced, and cut you off the passive aggressive way by coming straight up the stairs.  I hope the next neighbor that you ignore, the one buzzing and knocking, lights a fire under your door.

Me, fist sore from knocking, viewed by Micah and the bottom of the stairs: "Hey.  I'm your neighbor.  And I like Ants Marching, don't get me wrong.  I just don't want to hear it through my ceiling at 8 a.m."
You, terribly awkward and bothered: "All you had to do is ask."
Me, perturbed by your ignorance: "That's exactly what I'm doing.  Please stop."

Fortunately you both grew to hate each other and moved your belongings, including the KISS boots you all must have worn indoors, and put your shit in the building's courtyard until evening.  God help me, I prayed for rain all through that sunny day.

For the new neighbors at the new apartment, I'll save most of this for another time.  This means you: immature dudes upstairs with friends that piss on our front door, guy in sweatpants whom waters the sidewalk, drunk girl in a prom dress.  Most of all you, awkward short man and your Delia*s freak wife downstairs with the bat shit crazy dog.  Believe us, if your dog bites us in the middle of doing laundry again it will be drop kicked.  Yep, it's us who purposefully press our own buzzer to cause chaos and relish in delight as your pup goes into a thirty minute freak out session.  It's retribution for your music playing (really, is that a CELLO?!) in the make-shift conservatory below Micah's room.

Until next time neighbors.

Gratefully yours,
The residents of The Fry-Voyles Château
 Please note Lincoln Park change of address

Duh Bears.

Sunday will mark one of the biggest NFL games ever played in Chicago. In the next five days I will hear "Bear Down, Chicago Bears" more times than ever necessary. I am not a Bears fan unless it's a SNL skit. My brother is a big Packers fan and his happiness is vital to mine. Also, Aaron Rodgers is a stud. You can see where my loyalty lies.

Except the Bulls, because '91 to '98 hold a special place in my heart, I am the worst Chicago transplant sports fan ever. In celebration of that fact, here are some images that amuse me.

Brother's facebook

Look at the kind Packers fan and the aggressive, mauling Bears fan!

"'The Last Airbender' is an agonizing experience

...in every category I can think of and others still waiting to be invented." - Roger Ebert, The Last Airbender review, June 2010

I grew up admiring Roger Ebert for his pudginess, snappish demeanor towards Siskel and his character on The Critic. In college I began visiting the movie theater less often and read less reviews. My brother maintained a loyal Ebert following and gobbled up the opinions in books such as The Great Movies and the spectacular Your Movie Sucks, a title inspired by the "greatest" comedic leech of our time, Rob Schneider.  Ebert, love him or hate him, is an author of outstanding imagery and, although I believe he has grown a tad soft over the years, writes even the most shaming of reviews with careful tact.  He has inspired an unknown number of journalists, rooted in his home state of Illinois and elsewhere, to put pen to paper.  Including my brother.

This past March, Esquire came out with the moving article , "Roger Ebert: The Essential Man."  I'm older now, I'm a Chicagoan and smile a little bit when I think that I now live in this man's neighborhood in the midst of his journalistic integrity.  However, the fiery man that once argued with Siskel on a worn-in plush seat is now mute.  Read the article to learn more about his battle with cancer and his relentless ability to continue what he loves.

"On some morning or afternoon or evening, sometime in 2006, Ebert took his last bite and sip, and he spoke his last word."

I don't believe it fair that the web site header says, "what happened to Roger Ebert?"  Roger Ebert may have slipped out of our visual realm but he is very much active.  He still has the Sun-Times page that made him a household name.  More wit shines in freelance writing and his blog, where he wraps his head around current events.  His 190,000+ Twitter followers get a daily dose of sarcasm, insight and of course, film criticism.  Perhaps my biggest praise of Ebert is that he shares the ideas and concepts that others bring to the table.  Each day, he reads and shares the works of people in lists he has entitled the "wise, the sub-continent, the politics and the elites."  He brings it all to the table and encourages others around him to do the same.

 I encourage you to take a page from his book.  Even for a day.

picture from Esquire.com article

Did you hear about the Lebron bobble heads...

...they had to be recalled because the heads were too big.

I admit, I wanted Lebron in Chicago.  I wanted to relive the glorified days of Chicago basketball between 1991 and 1998, minus the baseball years.  I remember wearing my black, number 23 jersey to intramural basketball practice and stopping "little girl" sleepovers to watch Playoff games in my friend Rita's living room.  Every boy I knew had basketball themed birthday parties and some girls did too.  Jordan built an empire with a whitey like Steve Kerr, a total hood rat in Scottie Pippen, a cross dresser with Dennis Rodman, and a smoking Croatian with Toni Kukoc.  My GOD, Chicago was IT.  I have full intentions of how the intro to my wedding reception will play out.  "From SAINT [pause] Louis University...THEERRRRREEEESSSAAAAAA [insert last name here]!!!"

Instead, Lebron needs two other All Stars to accomplish his "goals" and "what will make him happy."  Whatever.  After watching over two hours of his giant head spit out emotionless, rehearsed speeches I don't really care.  ESPN [which I have an extreme love-hate relationship with and that's a topic for another day] took every chance it could to elevate the situation including obnoxious epic voiceovers similar to blockbuster trailers.

There were even ads for DECISION WATER by Vitamin Water, like f off Coca-Cola.

I feel bad for Cleveland which, from what I can piece together, sucks.  (Cleveland Tourism Video, Attempt 2: Our Economy's Based on Lebron James!).  Do I understand why he left?  Totally.  I think it's wrong that he didn't sit down and speak to majority owners with a simple, "I am not intending to stay in Cleveland."  After seven years it's like telling your significant other "it's not you, it's me" except it's in front of millions of people and nationally televised.  The ultimate break up.  So much so that majority owner even wrote the entire city of Cleveland, and indirectly Lebron as well, a psycho ex-girlfriend letter.

To be honest, I am simply tiring of living in a city where I am completely apathetic about how the sports' seasons end.  Sigh.

"We just wanted to be famous on Youtube."

In case you haven't seen this (200,000+ views in 48 hours) they love the Hawks and they always love the Hawks, they just learned about the Hawks this year!

They give a puck.

Way Out Where the Dandelions Grow

Opening day is tomorrow, 80% chance of rain pending. It's time to grab my Dr. Dot Richardson bat out of the closet and oil my glove. Ten glorious weeks of company softball on team SMG-Unit starts soon, the first organized team I've been on in four years! Last week we had practice and I have to believe there are few things more exciting in Chicago than playing catch underneath of the city's skyline. I missed a catch due to sun shining off a skyscraper. Glorious!

Summer ball was an essential part of my upbringing. From Ryan's t-ball to my five hour All-Star game when I was 11 to having my life threatened by drunk parents as a 15-year-old umpire. A first team all-conference plaque with Theresa "T-Dawg" is lovingly packed in a box full of high school memories.

Granted, this season will be more about leisurely playing with a 16" colossal softball (Chicago's thing, apparently) and the bars we are destined to frequent post-game.

Wherever I am and no matter my age, I have always loved playing this game. The video below is from 1990. I remember the commercial from childhood and everything about the song reminds me of growing up playing the sport. A game tying foul ball hit to you or two strikes with a runner in scoring position...and the relentless butterflies in your stomach. Then, all of a sudden, you pull through for the team! What is more fun for a child than being the hero?

When I was about nine I had a strong arm but lacked coordination to take on the infield. So I played right field where it's important to know, you gotta know how to...just watch the video.

Cheers to summer and all the past, present and future memories we make on the field.

If you don't like Julia Roberts, then screw you!

On the weekends I wait tables at California Pizza Kitchen. Now that you know that, feel free to come in on a Saturday afternoon and tip me 20%+. On these days, many devil's rejects from Northwest Indiana come in and stuff themselves with a meat cravers pizza. Sick. But sometimes I forgot that I still live in a city that attracts celebrities...then forget that celebrities eat food. CPK is a chain, granted it's based in over-the-top LA, but still. Ichizo Suzuki makes regular visits and orders two cheese pizzas with very little cheese and extra sauce which is pretty gross. The Obama ladies came in without papa Barack but with a secret service entourage and were incredibly polite to all. Then TODAY, after I enjoyed an amazing work lunch at Chicago hot spot Sunda, I find out Julia Roberts dined at CPK.

I fell in love with Julia Roberts when my dad let me watch the story about a hooker shopping on Rodeo Drive. I wanted to be a lawyer when I saw Erin Brokovich. Then she's married to Danny Ocean in the Oceans movies?! Julia Roberts, give me your life. Tomorrow afternoon I work. I plan to find out what seat she occupied, sit in it, and soak up her glamorousness.

One of my favorite movies ever?  You betcha!

Good mooooooorning Chicago!

Today on my blog I salute a man I love to hate.  He is one of the first voices I hear in the morning when he enters my living room around 8:03 a.m.  When he's absent, I am curiously upset.  The villain appears, with a menacing smile, after I nod a good morning to Mr. Matt Lauer (long-time crush) and Mr. Al Roker says, "here's what's happening in your neck of the woods!"

This posting gives me a good excuse to put up this picture!

This antihero, with an advanced degree in meteorology, makes proclamations like, "arm up for the weekend!" and "it's sunny out there but grab your sunglasses and a warm coat.  You'll need it."  Never mind his incessant ramblings about how gorgeous it is on Tuesday but "expect a cold chill starting Saturday."

Andy Avalos, you have ruined so many of my days with your talk of showers but, without you, how would I know to carry an umbrella? 

Thank you NBC 5 for giving me your weather man, whom brings me hope of sunny days and summer porch drinking and the crippling depression of April flurry warnings.

Until morning, Mr. Avalos, good night.  I will see you when I wake.

The infamous Mr. Avalos up to no good, per usual.

Things White Theresa Likes

Unfortunately for us all, Phil Punswhatthehellshisname (real name: Punxsutawney) the groundhog saw his shadow yesterday, signifying six more weeks of grueling winter. I was talking to a friend about it yesterday and made the observation that Groundhog Day is something "white people like."

To clarify, this theory was first brought to my attention by the discovery of stuffwhitepeoplelike.com.  It is decidely created around the middle class, happy-go-lucky Caucasian.  Hilarious and fulfilling, the page makes you [assuming you, reader, are white for simplification] think things like, "you're right, I do love wearing my North Face jacket while shopping at Whole Foods!"  If you, reader, are not white than please read and gain material to make fun of your stereotypical white friend.  I encourage it.  Still can't decide if this site spits truth?  Check out the full list of stuff and you'll figure it out.

As a white person of 24 nearly years, it is fair for me to make assumptions about my cracker brethren as well.  I live on the Near North side of Chicago surrounded by the masses.  The area is full of 20-somethings who occupy sports bars on weekends to cheer on their Big 10 Alma Mater in Division I athletics.  Later, they discover new cultures by eating at that ethnic restaurant "like totally recommended to me by a co-worker who loooooves Ethiopian food!  Or maybe it's Indian?"  Still others wear skinny jeans, bitch about conformist music invading Lolla, and bike to Wicker Park to check out a new hookah bar.

Truth be told, I don't find myself in any cookie cutter stereotype.  Oh sure, I'm a Midwest girl who loves burger specials and light beer (especially during baseball!) but I'm also passionate about finally filling my passport or buying a new pencil skirt to up my professional edge.

On second thought, I just confirmed a few things about me.  I happen to love the Onion (#109), my grey New Balance kicks (#96) and living by the water (#51).

I need a new defense.

Bucket List

Bah, I hate it when I do not have time to write.  After a long weekend of "tonight's gonna' be a good night" Black Eyed Peas style, I settled down with the boyfriend on Monday to experience Chicago culture and recharge the brain cells.  We strayed from the long line at the aquarium and visited the Field Museum.  Mummies, diamonds and ducks.  Oh my!  I was able to cross Chicago Field Museum off my "Chicago Bucket List."

I'm a strong believer in bucket lists, not the "before I die" kind, as I appreciate creating tasks and fulfilling goals for oneself.  Mine are at least feasible.  I've called a few interesting cities home with plenty to keep me busy.  Branson, Mo. in junior high for a couple years (where the old go to die), St. Louis for college, Rome for studying abroad, and now the third largest city in the U.S.  I created so called "bucket lists" for each of these moves, largely influenced by my dad's career in hotels and the ability to travel at a whim.  My fulfillment of each list is varied. I dominated Rome's (one real chance) and so-so for the Lou.

At the moment my Chicago list is in its primary stage, mostly because it's full of stupid tourist things.  The "things" European tourists visit with their big cameras.  Or people from the suburbs whom ride the Metra into the city for the weekend and pretend they're from Chicago; I hate those assholes.

My first order of business in Chicago was to find a career focused position [note I did not say job] in a building that is part of the Chicago skyline.  Call me vain but the idea of working in downtown Chicago was fun for an 21-year-old college graduate AND I accomplished this.  Check, please see my twitter background for reference.  The money isn't outlandish but I am constantly learning with the potential to move up and rotate clients within the company, so I'm content for now.  Around the city, I've taken tourist pictures on the Navy Pier ferris wheel, rode along the river as part of the Wendella Boat Tours, and been a stupid goober in front of the Bean.  I even did a segway tour!

See self-deprecating photo below.

This is all amazing fun but I am looking for even higher expectations. I just have to find them first.  Until then, I'll keep you posted.

What I'm Thankful For

Back to the grind!  I hate that term.  Only 3.2 weeks of work until Christmas break.

For realsies though, it's almost December and this morning I accepted the fact that a cold Chicago winter is inevitable.  As if there is any other kind.  In reflection of the holiday, here is a list of things I am thankful for in somewhat of an order.  Family first, then everything else!

• Being my Dad's sidekick when I am home.  Sporting events, Wal-Mart three times in one day, Cracker Barrel?  Works for me and padre.
• My brother and the next Peter Gammons, Ryan!  (Please see resemblance below.)  I imagine Ryan will age better than Peter but that's neither here nor there.  Catch his front page story, here SIU Daily Egyptian 

•  That after viewing the effects of my mom taking vitamins I decided they all negate each other and, in conclusion, cause unnecessary napping.
• Casey, the boyfriend.  I forgot him in the first publish of this post.  We spend a solid amount of our time making fun of strangers...and each other.  When he buys me flowers for the second time (ever) I might buy him a helicopter.
  
• Returning to Chicago after a long train ride and riding in the cab home.  Seeing the lights of the city and personally being part of the skyline is an outstanding experience.
• On the Chicago note, not being a Bears fan.  For real, they are awful.
• To piggyback off THAT, not being a Cubs fan.  Go Cardinals! Less than 100 days until pitchers and catchers report.  My winters are so lonely.
  

• Lady Gaga.  "If I'm a guy and I think Lady Gaga is incredibly talented, am I gay?" The answer is no.
• Kitten Mittens
• Glee and 30 Rock.  I, like, really enjoy those shows.
  
• Being incredibly better looking than the mutants that shop in Southern Illinois at 5 a.m. on Black Friday.  Straight from Dante's seventh ring of HELL, they resembled Sloth from the Goonies.  I will not stand in line with these freaks for a $79 Blu-Ray player.
  

The end.

Cards and Cubs, the I-55 Series

"The Red Sox and Yankees is a tabloid-filled soap opera about money and ego and sound bites. But the Cubs and Cardinals are about... geography and territorial rights." - Buzz Bissinger, Three Nights in August

To start, I am from Springfield, Illinois and extremely proud of it. Land of Lincoln. The kick off point of Barack Obama's presidential campaign Booyah. I find it impossible to believe that anyone outside of this area can appreciate this post for all its worth. This is about the I-55 series or, if you're still reveling in the pre-Eisenhower era, Route 66. However, keep reading because I do not have many followers.

Two words and two worlds: Cardinals, Cubs. Central Illinois is the Berlin Wall of baseball rivalries. I chose West Germany.

Sure, Chicago will blabber on about Sox and Cubs, Southside Northside, whatever I get it and I don't really care. Your fate was primarily decided on your neighborhood, central Illinois isn't like that. We are conservative and liberal, Christian and Lutheran, right-brain and left-brain. Gray area. Boggles your mind. Above all - there is a choice and it is guaranteed you will choose against someone you love very dearly.

Beginning at childhood your world is turned upside down and the manipulation begins by adults pursuing you to sway towards the bright light.

Concerned adult: "Who do you like better, the Cardinals or the Cubs?"
Ignorant child: "I like both?"
Now exasperated adult: "YOU CAN'T LIKE BOTH."

I chose Cardinals. Well Dad chose Cardinals and what four-year-old chooses against Dad? Especially when this Dad had a mustache. I absolutely watched the Cubs' afternoon games with my Grandma and swayed to Harry Caray's drunken rendition of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." Some of the best memories of my life. For me though, trips to St. Louis took a day and we frequented the Arch City often. Score one for the Cards. The tradition of losing by an unsaid team probably helped solidify this lasting allegiance. Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa in '96. Enough said.

This excerpt is from George Will at a commencement address at Washington University in St. Louis - down the street from my own alma mater at SLU. If you don't know who George Will is, and I will carefully let it slide if you don't, he is a Pulitzer prize winning journalist with a history at both the Washington Post and Newsweek. He was also referenced in "The Jimmy" episode of Seinfeld but that's either here, nor there.

"I grew up in Champaign, Illinois, midway between Chicago and St. Louis. At an age too tender for life-shaping decisions, I made one. While all my friends were becoming Cardinals fans, I became a Cub fan. My friends, happily rooting for Stan Musial, Red Schoendienst, and other great Redbirds, grew up cheerfully convinced that the world is a benign place, so of course, they became liberals. Rooting for the Cubs in the late 1940s and early 1950s, I became gloomy, pessimistic, morose, dyspeptic and conservative. It helped out of course that the Cubs last won the World Series in 1908, which is two years before Mark Twain and Tolstoy died. But that means, class of 1998, that the Cubs are in the 89th year of their rebuilding effort, and remember, any team can have a bad moment."

Amen sir.

Sometimes I wonder why.

Happy January 26th. Today's temperature in Chicago, Ill. is 15 degrees fahrenheit, but oh! Feels like eight. So far in 2009, I experienced two (TWO!) days where the temperature reached above freezing. Next Saturday a high of 33 teases us with promise. Expect me in Chicago for awhile but eventually I'm headin' down South or packing for the west coast. Dressing like this here is not only necessary but absolutely ridiculous.