The author in his natural habitat
You don’t know how many times I’ve been sitting in Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville on the Navy Pier and heard tourists grousing “Oh man, they’ve only got a three man shotski!” or “Oh wait, they have a five man one too, but not two or four!” This is an epidemic of colossally drunk proportions that Jimmy Buffett is totally uninterested in remedying. So that’s where I jump in.
“Oy! You need a third on that shotski?” And next thing you know, I’ve got free booze and new friends! I usually travel with pals too, who also like that liquor, so if the tourists need a few assistants on their quest to get smashed, we’re good to go!
But this is just regular Saturday night behavior here. What I want to talk about is that sorrier instance – when it is required to bookend a tourist on a three-man shotski. Continue reading
Ladies and gentlemen, the plan is in place. Cetta/Rusakiewicz, long thought to be an elaborate ruse meant to drum up interest in a potential presidential campaign, has transitioned into a bona fide lovetastic relationshipathon. And after seven and a half years of contemplation and debate, we’re locking this thing down for good and all. Cetta/Rusakiewicz 2011! The wedding that will put all others to ignominious shame!
Excitement is at an all time high here in the relationship!
Okay, that might be taking it a bit far. I mean, what sort of plan could we come up with that will trump all other nuptials in the long history of nuptials? Are we getting married on the moon? Will the attire be entirely made of cake? Is Richard Dawson performing the ceremony? Continue reading
“Let me tell you, Alex Rodriguez needs to make a sincere apo-“
“I’m trying to go with that, ‘Do I think, do I not think’ and –“
“ – since the beginning of the season that UConn is the most tal-“
“Save big money at Menard’s –“
“I think Illinois could end up as high as a three or even a two seed come Selection Sun-“
6:47. Shit. I’ve got to be at work by 8. Dammit. It’s an hour and a half from stepping out of bed to punching in. I know that. It’s always the same, depending on the train, but it’s always pretty much the same. Okay, okay, yesterday I did the whole thing in an hour twelve, but I got lucky with the train. Can’t rely on that.
Wow, check out the lint in here? How does that happen? Whether I wear a shirt to bed or not, lint! Ridiculous! And I wasn’t wearing a shirt that color. How is that the color of the lint in there? I wonder if I shaved the hair around my belly button if I’d get less lint. But then maybe I’d get more, as the prickly regrowing hairs might…wow, I can’t get a temperature worth a damn happening here. Doesn’t matter, gotta keep going, gotta get there by 8. Continue reading
The race for the 2016 Presidency is now well underway, and honestly, things could have started off better in Camp Cetta, that’s for damn sure. Thus far we’ve raised approximately squat to fund the campaign, making it hard to hire staff, and harder to afford bribes, plus we are yet to be approached by civic organizations, lobbyists, special interest groups, the mafia and/or a political party willing to endorse or even recognize our efforts. Our headquarters, currently located in the laundry room of our building, is still without so much as a banner, and our offer to appear on Hardball to discuss the issues of the future with Chris Matthews has gone unaccepted. Things are looking kinda bleak here on day five.
Nonetheless we press on. Despite our fiscal and masculine shortcomings, some events this past week showed promise for the long haul. The candidate (me) pressed the flesh while strolling past the Sheffield Garden Walk, but accidentally, as I didn’t negotiate the sidewalk well and went hands first into a group of DePaul students, who were not appreciative of my mauling. I then chose to pass up actually entering the event, as I felt the cover charge for such a thing was, in so many words, “egregious.” (The actual word used was more colorful and related to feces) Continue reading
Here is a variation on the cover letter I sent around when I first arrived, in search of employment:
Joe, the Future Veep of Your Co.
Chicago, IL 60614
June 1, 2008
Re: Open bank Vice-President position
Dear Ladies, Gentlemen, or otherwise,
I am writing in regards to the available bank Vice-President position you have posted on Craigslist. I feel with no little exaggeration that I can step in tomorrow and execute the demands of the role to within an inch of perfection. So confident am I in fact that I suggest the current President best start scouting condos in Rehoboth Beach, because retirement is nigh. Continue reading
Probably the best thing about living in Chicago I’ve got to say is not having a car. In Scranton, there was no having a job or going out or being seen as a respectable member of society if I didn’t have a car. It was just a given, it was a necessity. But here, a car? What the hell would I do with a car?
Besides having the highest gas prices in the country (allegedly), there is also nowhere to park. Were I to drive to work, between garages and filling up I’d be blowing nearly the whole paycheck on the lousy car. The girlfriend drives to the suburbs every day for work and even though her car gets roughly a thousand miles to the gallon (I have no idea) she’s still filling up twice a week or more. So no car is awesome. Continue reading
There are two subversive forces at work in the apartment complex I live in (three, if you count the mailman). The first of these is a cat I cannot curse at enough. Sarah has claimed that one of these days, Chester (as she has christened him) will be living with us, and I have said in no uncertain terms that we will have had to have death-matched and I’ll have to have lost for that to have come to be.
(Please note in the most previous sentence to this, I used “had,” “has” twice, and “have” a ridiculous six times. I’m not proud, but point it out and I’d like to invite you to come stare at my high-falutin’ writing degree sometime. So just shut yer yap!) Continue reading