Move to Chicago and kiss your pristine bumpers goodbye.

One thing you’ll notice about cars in Chicago, is that many of them have dented and/or scratched bumpers.  This is a direct result of frequently parking their car on crowded side streets.  Parking in my Lincoln Park averages $200/month.  And since I’d rather have $200 extra to blow at the bar, I drive around with ghetto looking bumpers.  I realized today just how desensitized I have become to hitting cars as I Austin-Powered myself into a tight parking spot.

I noticed a person sitting in the car as I pulled up along side to parallel park.  She must have thought my spatial perception was off since there was no way my car was going to fit in the spot, at least not without hitting both her car and the one behind me.  I slowly backed in and shook the car behind me.  I then cranked the wheel and pulled forward, hitting her car.  She wised up and pulled her car forward, a foot or so, after that.  Not wise to play parallel park chicken with someone who’s been parking on Chicago streets for 4+ years.

Just in time for Beaver Bus. Thanks Zappos!

More CHAINSAW!

3rd time’s a charm

In 2007, I had my ACL reconstructed in my right knee.  A year later, in 2008, I was still having pain so my doc went in and removed meniscus and scar tissue.  Last Tuesday, I had a third – and hopefully final – scope to remove more scar tissue and junk that had built up under my knee cap and was causing pain.  Although it looks pretty beat up, it doesn’t hurt much.  The doc said, other than the scar tissue, that my joint and ACL looked good.  Let’s hope this is the last time I see Dr. Hefferon in an operating room.

Hawaii 2k9: Day 2

After sleeping late and getting my fill of College Football, we headed to Hapuna Beach for some much needed Sun.  Apparently, I spent most of the time drinking since the only picture of me without a Corona in hand was during my attempts at a back handspring.  We watched the Sun set which was a perfect ending to a relaxing day.

What would you do with 1 million dollars?

I’d pet it.

That’s me posing next to Apple; she represents 1 million dollars worth of genetically superior dairy cow.  Apple is owned by Todd’s dad Mike and since Todd was going to be in Madison for the World Dairy Expo, Margo and I decided to make the 2.5 hour trip from Chicago.

We arrived late into Madison and most of the expo and judging was already over, which was fine with me since I was really only there to throw back a few beers with Deaver.  As farmers were tearing down displays and loading their cows back into trailers, Margo and I walked around the barns while we waited for Todd.  Margo was clearly in her element since her family has owned cows and other farm animals.  I on the other hand looked out of place as I tiptoed around piles of crap and looked for photo ops like this one.

Margo commented on how much some of these cows were probably worth.  I told her that Todd’s dad owned one worth one million.  She looked at me stunned then said, “He must be really high up in this business.”  I never gave much thought to all Todd’s cow travels during college but Margo’s assumption now had me wondering.

We met up with Todd and roamed some more as he tried to explain the intricacies of the dairy cow industry.  It seemed as though everyone knew Todd.  People then began to migrate from the barns, on the Alliant Energy Center grounds, to the nearby Sheraton banquet center for the after party.  Walking into the Sheraton was like traveling back in time to Mafia Wedding at Sigma Pi’s, minus the wedding ceremony.  It was absolute debauchery.  People grinding on each other to played out rap beats and country tunes.  Dudes taking off their shirts.  Women wearing tight cowgirl pants and dropping it like it was hot.  But the most surprising discovery of the night was Todd’s family lineage.  “This is Todd, Mike’s son,” is how I overheard Todd introduced to someone else.  Todd and his dad are like mini-celebrities in this biz. 

Who would have thought that, in the world of dairy cows, Todd is royalty?

Hawaii 2k9: Day 1

They say, “It’s not what you know but who you know.”  Well, I know Mindy and she knows someone who was willing to hand over a two bedroom condo for a week on The Big Island.  Luckily, I was on Mindy’s guest list as a +1 and I asked Margo to join me.

An 8:11am flight Friday morning necessitated rising before 6am.  The last time I was up that early, I was working in a cucumber field in Woodburn, Oregon.  Hawaii is five hours behind Chicago and I landed at about 4pm.  I refueled with a local brew and waited, at the airport, for Margo to arrive.

When all vacation participants were present, we ventured into downtown Kona (if you can call it a downtown) in search of dinner.  Even though I’m 31, I’m pretty sure if I took a “What’s Your Real Age?” test it would clock me at no more than an 11 or 12 year old, which explains my insistence on ordering the “Pu-Pu” platter for starters.

After dinner, we meandered and I spied a little piece of home.  I followed the banner like a rainbow, hoping to find my pot of gold (i.e. a Chicago dog).  No luck, just a local trinket store.

Cedar Point summary, Hawaii to come

My blog post ToDo list is quickly growing out of control.  I intended to post about Margo’s and my trip to Cedar Point but I think our most recent trip to Hawaii will take precendence.  I’ll defer to Margo’s interpretation of the Cedar Point trip but expect a proper COF summary of our adventure on The Big Island soon.

Plane reading

In preparation for our day long journey from Chicago to Kona, HI, Margo and I hit the library for some in-flight edutainment.  Can you guess which book belongs to whom?

Protection from Mexicans

When Margo was getting ready to go out, I noticed a small glass vial.  Since it was abnormally small and nondescript, I inquired about its contents.  ”It’s perfume,” she answered.  ”I’ve never seen a bottle of perfume with these characteristics,” I thought to myself.

After much thought, I concluded the vial likely contains Gypsy tears which are believed to provide protection from Mexicans.  Or it really could just be perfume.

NIN

Last weekend I saw NIN play at a small venue in Chicago. Supposedly, these few shows in NYC, Chicago, and Los Angeles are the last for Reznor for the foreseeable future. It’s hard to believe artists who claim they are done touring when they clearly have a large following willing to fork over 60 bucks a ticket, but I digress. The show was jam packed and I spent most of the time near the back of the venue but during Burn, I was unable to control the urge to get as close as possible. Forward thinking as I am, I left my phone and wallet with a friend just in case I was forced to crowd surface my way to the front of the stage. Somehow, I was able to slither my body through the sweaty penguin huddle and to within 30ft of Trent Reznor yet I was without a camera phone to document my success.  Instead, I was only able to capture a blurry shot from afar.

After the show, we stopped at a nearby convenience store.  For my fellow concert goers: cigarettes.  For me: two taquitos and a bag of chips.  Waiting in line, I noticed a nice gentleman pondering the perfect flower arrangement for his loved one.  I offered to pay for his gift if I could take a picture.  Small price to pay for this gem.  Outside the store, I bumped into an individual selling two tickets to a Marilyn Manson show in Milwaukee, WI.  After haggling, a deal was struck: 5 bucks for both tickets.  And although it’s unlikely I’ll be able to attend, you can’t beat the price.