Second Effort

Click the Polish Sasage Link Alert for some funny shit. Read it through and don’t foget to click on the “Bastards” link from brantshawks.

OK, I was working on a whole different post, but since the end of the convention last night I’ve been aching to share this with you. Sara and I are lying in bed and reveling in what we both thought was a pretty damn good speech by John F. Kerry. But don’t worry, I’m not going the political route with this post.

So Kerry accepts the nomination and yada yada yada, the balloons start to fall and whatnot. I’m not sure if this was some kind of intentional “behind the scenes” brilliant idea from CNN or what, but as Kerry is walking around shaking hands, you could hear the voice of the director of the production in the background calling for his balloons to fall. There was some malfunction, and as any red blooded patriotic American would do when he sees his career flash before his eyes, this guy began to panic.

First it was “JESUS, where are the balloons, we need more balloons! What are you guys doing? GO BALLOONS! BALLOONS BALLOONS BALLOONS! Come on, more balloons, go balloons, now! Go confetti! BALLOONS BALLOONS BALLOONS!” My interest was piqued at jesus.

But this guy was seriously freaking out. Sara and I were laughing, and this was going on for three or four minutes. He barely holds back from a big TV no no, saying only, “God Da…” Then it came, the moment of glory we were waiting for. “Where the fuck are the balloons?” he said live on CNN. I think that was it, I was so excited that I can’t keep it straight. It may have been drop the fucking balloons, or where are my fucking balloons, or even, what the fuck is going on with the balloons. It didn’t matter, it was just classic. And if you weren’t watching CNN, I don’t think you were treated to this momentous occasion in TV history.

Much was made of the Janet boob flash at the Superbowl this year. I didn’t even know what had happened, I just said, “What the fuck was that?” To which my dad responded, “Her tit.” And we went on watching the game. But, I’m sorry Miss Jackson, there was no mistaking this. That guy totally said fuck on CNN during one of their most watched broadcasts of the decade that didn’t feature bombs going off in Iraq. Wolf Blitzer finally broke in after the F-bomb, and they tried to explain and apologize, but that damage was done.

I flipped around to the other networks that were busy calling the lack of balloons a “dark omen” over the Kerry campaign. Are you fucking kidding me, the guy just called out W, spun every issue into his favor and they are worked up over the lack of balloons. That’s all beside the point, though. I recommend you catch the next episode of the Daily Show, which I think will be on Monday, because if “Where the fuck are the balloons?” isn’t your moment of Zen, I don’t know what is.

“Here is what I know about John Kerry. During the Vietnam War, many young men—including the current president, the vice president and me—could have gone to Vietnam but didn’t. John Kerry came from a privileged background and could have avoided it too. Instead he said, send me.”

Just a little snippit for you all from Billy Bob’s speech at the convention last night. Probably the most brilliant thing anybody has said over the course of the campaign, and Slick Willy had to steal the show. I have to tell you, I’ve found that repubs don’t mind being compared to Osama, Saddam or Adolf as much as they do Bill, and that little quote had to cut right to the bone. As Sara and I were switching between that and “Newlyweds,” I was thinking to myself, no wonder they had him speak on the first night. They don’t want him anywhere near Kerry. John and better John were sitting somewhere watching Bill and Hillary take on the Batman role and leave the scraps for Robin. The Clintons are the most finely tuned political machine in the universe, and in 10-20 years, we will look back in awe. This guy was so goddamn good at being president he could fend off the wrath of Newt, make everyone in the country a little more money, and score with a 20-year old intern after his 50th birthday. I bet he was high half the time too. And I miss him dearly. Hillary is in the wings, though, if we lose this time, she will be there to swoop in. And Edwards is almost better because he is a he, and he has that same southern charm. I’m not saying I would mind having a female president, I just don’t think it likely this country would elect one. And it’s not because men wouldn’t vote for her…it’s because WOMEN wouldn’t.

Also on the topic of the election, I don’t know that any of you caught it, but MC Cummstains left a comment on the blog about a week or so ago after starting his new job. Because it pertains to more recent developments, I thought I would republish it:

well, i’m going to hijack tony’s blog for a moment to share my experience as one of those annoying little geeks begging people to register for the upcoming election. i’ve always thought i was the uninformed douche bag that doesn’t give a fuck, but i’ve discovered in the last couple days that this is not true. there are actually people out there that greatly exceed my uninformed douche bag status. i’d like to share a few of my favorite responses from day 1. keep in mind these are the responses i got when i asked people if they were registered to vote. i thought this was a fairly simple and innocent question. apparently not.

1. “fuck america. i hope somebody burns that bitch to the ground.”

2. “fuck voting. they didn’t count my vote last election when nixon ran.” ummm what?? i hope that was the meth talking.

3. “no. i’m a cook.” again, what??

4. “i’m cool.” from a guy who had eyes far more bloodshot than mine have ever been.

5. “what party is bush?” while trying to decide which box to check for party affiliation. meanwhile, her daughter was asking both me and the other guy working, “are you my daddy?” all i really wanted to say was, “no, sweetheart, i’m not your daddy. i don’t fuck skanks in nascar shirts with half of their teeth missing.”

6. a handful of conspiracy theories about which party i was working for despite my explanation of what nonpartisan means.

7. “you ain’t working for that fucking, cocksucking, motherfucking faggot bush, are you?” that’s my personal favorite. from a kid that couldn’t have been over ten that was just curious as to what we are doing.

god bless america cuz if there’s not a god, we are all fucked,

mc

So that was Mike’s little dedication to the ignorant people of the world. Sure, the job sucks, but it would have been a good resumé builder and stuff, right? Problem is, Mike got fired. That’s right, VP of the class of 98, University of Iowa Law School tool, that Mike Cummings got fired from a job that only required on thing of him, asking people if they were registered to vote.

When I heard he got fired, I figured he blew a gasket and told someone to choke on his man chowder, or maybe that he was spending more time with a Marlboro Light dangling from his lips than a pen. Turns out, he didn’t make quota. That’s right, a job that is essentially an overglorified community service canned his ass because he couldn’t get enough people to register.

The organization he was working for is called New Voters Project ( http://www.newvotersproject.org/ ) and I believe it’s a nationwide non-partisan campaign. I’m quite sure that Mike is going to dedicate some time to bringing them down now, despite their good intent, and I can’t say I blame him. He’s trying to register voters in probably the most enlightened city in Iowa, one of the most in the midwest, and he didn’t make quota. Make me think of all the shit I’ve done over the years and never been fired.

Detasseling: Tassel fights, cornfield wrestling, and molestation of coworkers in the field.

Arbys: Beginning what would be a trend in my working life, I ate as much as I actually sold. One time I ate a Big Montana (That’s half a pound of beef on a big ass bun) in less than a minute. Also, molestation of a couple coworkers.

Lone Star: I used to just go sit in the cooler when I didn’t want to work. I also hung out with co-workers behind the dumpster who were taking a break from reality. And molested coworkers.

Kayser Const: My boss’ son smoked pot every day I worked with him. He hid it in my cooler because his dad would search his own. I also fucked up a house we were building permanently and never told my boss.

Bertch Cabinet Factory: Broke countless pieces of valuable furniture and shipped them anyway, took naps in the trucks when I was supposed to be loading them and once told my supervisor that he was “a worthless piece of shit, everyone you work with hates your fucking guts and if you say another word to me as long as I work here I will cold cock you and piss on your faggoty little face.” That was a hard summer.

The Courier: Spent most of my time there on the internet. Was also drunk several times and when it was cold I just took smoke breaks in the janitor’s closet. Never actually quit that job either, just stopped going. Showed up a couple more times and no one said anything about it. then I stopped altogether.

The NI: Obviously the molestation carried over to this one. I’m still at it with Sara. Took smoke breaks inside when there was construction, sent out various really mean e-mails to readers that complained, went off on the office manager a few times, was drunk…and maybe a little high for a few meetings, had parties in the office, slept in the office, never had sex…with another person…in the office, also, I hired the likes of Kevin Koppes.

APAC: Told my trainer she was s stupid bitch.

Wal-Mart: I ate a shitload of imitation crab meat when I worked the seafood counter, said naughty things to the Bosnian cleaning woman cause I knew she didn’t understand me, ate doughnuts off the rack in the bakery, and I loved to take really criminal dumps in the little restaurant, don’t know why…

Peppers: Took the eating thing to a new level, we would cook weird shit just to try it. So much spinach dip. Was both drunk and high on several occasions, including one or two where we started drinking a couple hours before our shifts were over while we were cooking. And I didn’t get to touch, but man, I ogled those waitresses.

GEICO: Didn’t really do anything too bad here, asked a lot of pretty smartass questions, but that’s to be expected. I did make one trainer cry, but she fucking deserved it.

Tipton Conservative: Well, there’s some online surfing going on every day, but not to EXCESS, I don’t think, although I do spend a lot of time blogging.

And I’ve never been fired. Clinton’s entire speech can be read by clicking the title of this blog, you should read it, though it doesn’t have half the impact when it’s not coming out of his mouth with his cute little crooked blue tie in that sweet ass suit. I’m thinking of amending the list of men I’d put out for…John Cusack, Joe Montana, and maybe Bill. You know he’d be a good lay.

Alright, I don’t know who the punk ass bitch Cardinal fans are, but you’re stirring up more trouble than you know how to deal with, so watch your step or I’ll bust a blog in your ass. Speaking of things in asses, that’s a good place to start in our epic journey to the Windy City. Sara set the tone for the weekend when we all crammed into my parents’ Buick and started cruising. Settling in for the long drive, my dad took his wallet out of his back pocket and said, “I’ll just get thing out of my ass right now.” Sara promptly retorted, “You keep your wallet in your ass?” You likely had to be there, but it was a good way to start.

A little further down the road, my mom’s cell phone rang and someone with a Latino accent asked for Antonio. There being two Tonys in the car at that juncture, this confused my mom to no end. It was, without question, the longest wrong number phone call in history. “Who? Anotonio who? who is this? Which Tony? What? I can’t understand you.” After she finally hung up, they called again, and I swear, she would have answered had we not stopped her.

It was at that point that I stopped taking notes for the blog. I could tell it would influence the wild and crazy weekend to come if every time someone did something noteworthy, I was there with pen and paper. So I’ll have to wing it from here.

When we pulled into town, dad wasted little time in driving straight to a little ghetto Chicago dog place called Al’s. Might as well start the indigestion with the proverbial ‘bang,’ right? It was a good way to start. I think we ordered 5 dogs and my dad ate three, and these things were pretty fucking good. There’s all kinds of stuff on a Chicago dog that I would never think of using any other time, but when in Rome…

Sara likely got the most special of ingredients as she ordered her Chicago dog without onions. I know if I worked in a place like Al’s and got an order for a Chicago dog sans onion, I would lay a hefty dose of lung chowder in the bottom of the bun, but that probably didn’t cross Sara’s mind. As we climbed back in the car, dad looked at the clock and said, I shit you not, “That’s pretty damn good, 1:30 on Friday and I already got a couple wieners in me.” That is pretty good dad, pretty good indeed.

Mom had us booked at the Congress Hotel on South Michigan, the hotel they had stayed in for the their honeymoon and also the one we put them up in for their 30th anniversary last year. Funny thing is, when they had been there last October, the staff was on strike in front of main entrance. Funnier thing is, they were either still on strike when we were there, or on strike again. Not that it mattered to us, Dad and I just pushed our way through their flimsy little picket line and Sara said, “This is Chicago, why don’t they just get different jobs.” Aww, my little humanitarian.

My mom was worried the hotel wouldn’t be up to our standards, which I thought was funny because I don’t remember ever staying anywhere that I wasn’t positive someone had vomited on the floor the night before. The place wasn’t ritzy or anything, but if you’re ever going to Chi-town, stay there, request a lake view, it’s so completely worth it. You’re looking straight out over the huge fountain in Grant Park, onto Lake Michigan and the marina where all the rich tools keep their sailboats. It’s pretty damn cool. And it’s a big step up from my usual Best Western about 10 blocks down in the scary-to-me part of downtown.

We had a bit of layover in the hotel as a little squall came off the lake and took a dump on the city. It wasn’t long, though, and we were strolling up Michigan Ave., stopping to look at the new Millennium Park, walking through Tiffany’s and taking a leak at the John Hancock Building. Chicago stuff, good stuff. And about the new park, it had actually opened just hours before we arrived, and it’s cool. You can read more about it here http://news.ft.com/servlet/ContentServer?pagename=FT.com/StoryFT/FullStory&c=StoryFT&cid=1087373834699

It’s full of all kinds of artsy shit, the coolest thing being the 110 ton stainless steel sculpture called Cloud Gate, that has already been nicknamed “The Bean” by Chicagoans. It reflects the city’s skyline and I guarantee that park will become almost as familiar to everyone as the Sears Tower, you’ll see it in the movies soon, no doubt about it.

We weren’t sure the Cubs were playing because of the rain, but walked by a TV and saw them winning in the third, so decided to hitch a cab and head to Wrigleyville for some ambiance. That was all I really cared about, being around Wrigley while a game was going on, and we got there at the perfect time. Took a couple pics, had a couple beers and listened to the crowd serenade us during the seventh inning stretch. I ran through a lot of this stuff in the column below, and I don’t want to rehash it all, but I’m still reveling in it, so you’ll have to forgive me. After getting a phone number from a ticket broker for the next day, we swung into the Cubby Bear for some more drinks and called a friend of mom’s, Katie, to join us.

I’m completely jealous of this girl for a few reasons. One, she’s my age and writing Op-Eds for the Trib, though she says he editors have been pretty stingy since they actually convinced her to move out there and take the trial job. And two, she lives three block from Wrigley and pays 400 a month in rent, including utilities. On top of it all, she was cool, fun, and jumped right into our family outing with enthusiasm and showed us a good time. That bitch. Really, though, we all owe her because we were pretty aimless and she took us to a bar a few blocks away where we downed about 14 pitchers and had a really great time.

The Cubby Bear was interesting, but the best part of being in a city like Chicago is you can walk 10 blocks in any direction, find a local type place and enjoy the hell out of it, rather than just hanging in the tourist joints. The other strange part about this part of our trip was we were sitting there in Chicago, my parents, and four UNI grads (Sara, myself, Katie and her roommate). I dunno, we all thought it was weird, anyway.

It should be noted that I had the following text message conversations with Breano during this stretch.

ME: Im at da cubby bear fuck u

BREANO: lick madick

We headed back in the direction of our hotel and before turning in, walked out to the fountain, caught the end of the inaugural show in the new park amphitheater, and bought some ice cream and kick ass brownies at a little shop. It was a good end to a good first day.

Morning came a touch too early for all of us, and the hangovers were mild, but plentiful. Dad had this restaurant that he was all excited about for breakfast, and while one of my pet peeves is going to the same place over and over when you are in a place with so many options, I figured we could give it a try. Glad I did. This place kicked ass, and I’m telling you, if they served beer I might eat every meal there. I had crab cakes, for breakfast, mind you, Sara had a monstrosity of an omelet with tomatoes and zucchini, mom had a triple berry waffle and the orange juice was like, crack infused or something. I think the name of the place is Nookies, on Halstead Ave., in the gay district, look it up.

During breakfast we called the broker and locked in our tickets. Dad had to shell out some serious dough, so I’d just like to thank him again, cause that game turned into a highlight not only of our trip, but my year, and a memory I won’t soon burn away. I’m telling you, when you first walk in there, look down on that perfect field, see shit that you could never see on TV, it’s just wonderful. It was at this point that most of the people who read my blog probably got phone calls begging them to record the game. I still haven’t talked to anyone who actually did it…I hope to jesus that somebody did cause I want that tape.

Some of the stuff I loved that I didn’t mention in the column: I saw Sara and Mom actually get pretty excited a couple times, even though I know they aren’t baseball fans. Dad doesn’t exactly keep up with the Cubs either, he knows when they win and lose, but as different guys came up to bat I got to give him the rundown on who they are and how worthless they are to the Cubs. In that respect, I will long cherish the moment when they announced shitbag Rey Ordoñez as batting second. Of course the entirety of the crowd flipped out, but the guys a few seats down and I shared a disgust filled conversation throughout the rest of the pregame.

Aside from that, the Cubs crowd is so upbeat. I suppose you could look at it as a little sad, and you would be right, but it makes the experience different from any other game, professional or college, that I have ever been a part of. Usually people are jockeying for position in their seats, pushing, shoving, glaring at you when you get up 14 times to piss and bringing back 8 beers with you each time, but in Wrigley everyone is cordial. It’s unique, and it makes the game a lot more enjoyable.

Oh yeah, you can SMOKE at Wrigley! Not in the seats, but on the concourse and stuff. And as usual, smoking turned into a couple of highlights for me. I ran into a guy from Waterloo who was there for his first time too. I talked to a guy about my age that was a North Side original and knew where I was from because the railroad company he worked for has tracks right by our house. He said he went to about 8 or 10 Cubs games a year, and talking to me gave his some perspective on what a thrill it is. That was cool, and again, the people are so united in Chicago. I know Dad feels at home there because it is his home, and he tells everyone who gives him a chance. But I feel like it’s my city too. I can’t say that enough. Final smoking highlight: After the seats cleared out, Dad and I climbed up to the top row, looked out over Chicago and had a smoke while running down the highlights. One of the best parts of the day, I think.

The game was probably one of the fastest of the season, and probably one of the best from the Cubs fan perspective. After the game we went back to the Congress, rested a bit and headed out for some Chicago-style pizza. We had to resort to second option as the place that Dad knew of was closed for renovations, and the pizza was great, but not real Chicago-style. Dinner was good, though, and we had some Chicago Goose Island beer to wash it down.

We were all pretty exhausted, but trying to squeeze the most out of our time, took a cab out to Navy Pier for their Saturday night fireworks show. We wanted to ride the big Ferris Wheel, but the line was honestly like a mile long, so we just parked on some steps and watched the fireworks that they launch from a barge out on the Lake. It was awesome, but we were all too tired to really appreciate it. And as a subplot, trying to catch a cab when roughly 20,000 people are leaving the same mile of pier, it a bit a hard spot.

We crashed hard when we finally got back. Morning brought Sports Center highlights of a game I had been to, which is a first for me, I think, a great Tribune sports section and another kick ass breakfast at Nookies. This time it was Dixie Benedict for me, which substitutes biscuits for the English muffins and gravy for the hollandaise, it was pretty damn tasty.

The ride home was pretty quiet, understandably. Even if something good happened, I probably don’t remember it as I was just longing to get to a bed. So I don’t have a lot more to add, it was just a great weekend and one that I owe my parents for, big time. If any of you actually made it to the end of this post, you should leave a comment. Tell me your fave Windy City memory, your thoughts on the Cubs, and please, tell me you have a tape of that fucking ballgame.

For those itching to read about the Chicago trip, this will have too suffice for now. It is an early draft of my column for this week’s Conservative. I have my fill of work in front of me for today and tomorrow, so I figured I’s just blog this to whet your appetite for the good stuff to come. It was a full weekend, and a very good one highlighted byt the 5-0 Cubs win over the Brew Crew on Saturday. There’s more to come, I just don’t have the time I need to write it today. Click the title of this post for the game box score and cubs.com report, it’s worth taking a look.

A month or so ago I got fed up with reading and hearing second-hand about the madness of Wrigleyville this season. I called my parents, told them I could free myself up for a weekend, and it didn’t matter if we got tickets, I just needed to be around Wrigley for a game this summer.

I’d never been to a major league game before Saturday; in fact, there was a time when I believed it would never be a priority. Baseball is too slow, I used to say, it’s more about the food and beverage in the stands than about the game.

I have since seen the light. It came in the form a bullet off the bat of Sammy Sosa with two outs in the first inning, through a perfectly blue Chicago skyline.

That was part of it, anyway. We actually found our way to Wrigley on Friday afternoon, just in time to stand at the corner of Waveland Ave. and be serenaded by the fans in a rousing rendition of “Take Me out to the Ballgame.” I had goosebumps and a smile broader than the Wrigley marquee.

We slipped into the Cubby Bear, one of the more popular watering holes around Wrigley to catch the end of the game. It was great, a memory I’ll not soon forget, but it paled in comparison to what was on the horizon.

I told them I didn’t need to actually go to a game, I knew picking up tickets at that point would be a strain on anyone’s budget. I think they saw the look on my face on Friday, though, and wanted to carry it a step further.

A ticket broker across from the field gave us his card and recommended that we call him the next morning. He came through with 4 tickets together in the upper deck above third base.

We meandered around the park in the early afternoon, taking in insanity that is Wrigleyville this year. My parents, fiancée Sara and I all picked up hats to ensure our Cub loyalty and made our way through the hallowed gates of baseball’s greatest park.

Not surprisingly, as we entered we found it was hat day at the park, so with eight hats and just four heads, we made the trek to the top of Wrigley, anxiously awaiting our first glimpse at the field.

I’d be downright lying if I didn’t tell you my eyes got a little damp when I looked down upon that gorgeous green field in all of it’s glory. Every time I walk into Kinnick Stadium, I am awed by it, but this was my first look at one of history’s most renowned ballparks and there was something magical about it.

Of course, the fear when you shell out money to go to a game like this is that your team won’t pull through and win. I didn’t want to set my expectations too high, but had to agree with my dad when he said he just wanted to see someone hit one over the ivy. With the wind blowing in at a pretty stiff clip, I knew the chances weren’t great, but we didn’t have to hold out hope long.

When Sammy charged out to right pumping up the fans, I realized I was about to watch at least two future Hall of Famers, he and Greg Maddux. A 1-6-3 double play got the Cubbies out of the top of the first and I was in heaven already.

Sosa took a herculean cut at a first-pitch fastball but missed, prompting the guy behind me to say, “He can’t hit anything.” I don’t remember what the count was, but Sammy eventually blasted one through the wind to centerfield, giving the Cubs a lead they would never lose and me the opportunity to laugh and point at the guy behind me.

Had I looked at the results of the entire season, I’m not sure I could have picked out a better game to attend. Maddux throws a complete game 6-hit shutout; Sammy, Moises and Patterson all go deep; and every Cub but Derek Lee and Rey Ordoñez had a hit. To top it all off, it was beautiful day and I was there with my family. We sat there and savored it until they were forced to usher us out.

I hope I’ve inspired some of you to make the trip. It’s worth it, no matter the price of the tickets. This season make Chicago your Mecca if you are a baseball fan. And if you aren’t, well, my mom and Sara aren’t exactly baseball enthusiasts, but I don’t think either would turn down another chance to be a part of the Wrigley excitement.

For the record, that game was so fast-paced and exciting I didn’t get a chance to have a hot dog. Hopefully the Cubs will have a home game in October when I’m back in town. Sara is running the marathon and I have to find something to occupy my time. A Championship Series game sounds like a good option.

Today we depart for Chicago, so the blog won’t be doing much until next week…maybe Sunday, but in the meantime, I wanted to leave you with three strage ass things I witnessed yesterday.

Not too hard to guess that the sheep show would make another appearance here. What makes parents think this a good idea? Having their kids raise and dominate animals that are renowned for their…well, sexiness…and perfect height, I might add. You know how these 8-18 year-olds get the animal to move where they want it, they wrap one hand around it’s larynx and go deep with the other. Get it? They shove a finger right up it’s ass! Or whatever orifice that is, thankfully I couldn’t really tell. And the other thing is, they reward the kids who have really obedient sheep, you know, the kind of obedience only derived from threat of being cooked or anally raped. You know these are the kids that are spending a little TOO much time out in the barn with fluffy, and they get a trophy for it.

The other two happenings from yesterday were brief, but fuct up enough that I thought they deserved a brief mention. I hit a dove while going down I-80 to a baseball game. Fucker flew right into my windshield, making me duck and sending a plume of tiny feathers through my open driver’s side window. I get a big kick out of killing stuff, but I always feel a little guilty when I hit something in my car. Especially when parts of it get stuck in my beard.

On the way home I was listening to the Cubs game, which is perhaps one of my favorite things to do in the world right now. But this isn’t baseball oriented. As the 7th inning stretch arrived, I crossed under an overpass and couldn’t quite make out who it was that Steve Stone introduced to sing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.” I thought I heard, but said to myself, No , fatty, that can’t be right. But there it was, those sweet melodic voices… “Don’t Stop Believin’, Hold on to that feeiiiin…” No shit, Journey. It was awesome. And in the crowd, 40 thousand odd fans sang along thinking, “who the fuck are these guys?”

Journey is back and better than ever!