It's high time we clear the air.

Saints be praised, the day is finally here! Er, kind of. My home state of IL has defied all odds and is set to make marijuana legal in my state. I feel like a kid at Christmas with one of those daily calendars. You know the ones, where you open up a new door every day to reveal a piece of candy. Except when you open the doors on MY calendar, you get little buds of pot. And there was much rejoicing.

But amid the jubilation comes sobering realities as marijuana giveth, and marijuana taketh away.


It’s two steps forward one step back as long as pot remains illegal at the federal level. On one hand, states are racking up new revenue, medical patients are finding affordable relief from pharmaceuticals, monetarily as well as physically, and low level pot offenders caught in the criminal justice system will soon walk free. Potentially with a job in the industry that put them there in the first place, according to an recent article. That’s a win, win, win.

But on the other, it is still a dangerous cash only business, employers can/will still fire you for failing a drug test, and anyone on any kind of federal assistance can fuggetaboutit. Say, CHA residents who can be kicked out on the street because as a federal entity, CHA follows federal law. And local villages are opting out by voting pot sales out of their towns. Like pot hasn't already been sold in your town by a local dealer since the 60's. That’s not winning.

But I'm really not ending 1 year, 8 months, and 3 days of non-blogging to tell you what you already know. I'm here to tell you what you don't.

Never forget my first hit of pot. REO Speedwagon, July 27, 1980, Alpine Valley. My buddy and I were inhaling all of the second hand pot smoke we could, when alas, we found it was insufficient. So we asked the group to our left if we could take our first ever hit. The guy sitting next to me was like, "WHAAAAT? You guys have never gotten high?" So they gave us their roach, which I learned did NOT have six legs and a thorax. I will always remember smelling the tips of my fingers all the way home.

Fast forward nearly 40 years. Yes I have smoked pot most of my life. Yes some of you are recoiling in horror right now. Yes I have been high thousands of times. But today? Yes I smoke all the time. But getting high? Hardly ever at all. Let me do some 'splainin'.

I don't like being high anymore. Used to be you bought a bag of pot. That was it. Maybe you knew it was Maui Wowwie or Thai Sticks, but to most is was just marijuana. I had no idea there were 2 very different strands. Sativa, the most popular, is a serious mind buzz, for those that want to get really stoned. Indica, is a mellower sleepy time body buzz, for those that want to relax. Not knowing what I was smoking all of these years was fine, when I wanted to get high. But these days I don't.

There is a reason that medical marijuana got its foot in the door before recreational sales started sweeping the nation. People are learning all of the magical wonders this plant has to offer. We don't know what it is capable of because the government still lists it as a Schedule 1 drug. Meaning we can't study it legally. That doesn't so much matter to me, as I know what it does for MY body.

So why the history lesson? There is still a stigma today. Would you think twice about telling someone that you had wine with your Alsakan Sea Bass last night? Or a couple of beers at Hooters with your college buddies? Or dressed up as Pirate and lifted your right leg while downing shots of Captain Morgan at your local dive? I have done all of the above. Except dressing up as a pirate, sorry to disappoint. And I have smoked pot. Actually I don't even "smoke" pot anymore. Vaping has taken over the industry, and surprise surprise, the black market has figured out a way to dilute the product, dangerously I might add. Buy your vape off the street, roll the dice. Buy from a legal, licensed dealer, you know what you are getting.

The airwaves are flooded with commercials for booze. How about the ads for pharmaceuticals with disclaimers that literally take up half of the commercial? I seriously can't wait for the first marijuana commercial on TV. The disclaimers will be hilarious. May cause feeling of euphoria, and sudden trips to the refrigerator. Maybe that day the stigmatism will be over.

Happy wife, happy life.

It's on. We've all heard the saying, "Happy wife, happy life." As a rule I generally tend to agree with the sentiment of that statement, I just find compliance to be the part where I suffer. Maybe obedience is the word. But here in our Garden of Eden, er, newish home we hope to die in one day, and I do mean one day waaaaay down the road, the time has come to dig my heels into the sand. Time to stand up for what I believe in, what I was RAISED to believe. Time for the war of the worlds. It's one of the oldest marital arguments that dates back to the invention of the toliet. As of this moment, I refuse to be cowered into submission over mans basic human right: to hang the roll of toilet paper with the sheet coming off the back.

Yes I have seen that little picture from like 300 B.C. If that is the sole basis for your argument, then you have no argument. That was 1891. Things were different then. Life was different. We started out on horses, but eventually all learned to pilot four wheeled petroleum powered vehicles. Would you go back to taking the horse to the saloon just because that's the way your great-great-great grand-dad did? We lit our homes with candles and lanterns in 1891. Would you eschew electricity, and your laptop, and your cell phone, and your refrigerator, garbage disposal, television, roomba, ferbie, vibrator (how'd that get in there), and you get my point in favor of wax drippings everywhere to relive the glory years? In the late 19th century, a single round, bolt action rifle was the weapon of choice when hunting for dinner was the norm. Would you give up your Remington R-15 VTR Predator with laser scope for a glorified slingshot? OK I lost you on that one. But here is my point: just because some simpleton scribbled a crude drawing on a rag of hemp cloth 127 years ago and held it up to the heavens for blessed approval does not mean I am going to kowtow into submission.

Why? I hear you asking. It's like this. We are about to celebrate a blessed event. And we're not having another child. Medically impossible at this point. But this year we will reach the 25 year mark for our marriage. I feel that is long enough. 25 years. If we are blessed to make it to 50, then this is the half way point. It should be my turn. It's time to pass the torch.

Here is my challenge to all you deniers. Hang it the other way for a week. If after seven days of wiping your bum you do not feel that tearing it off the back is just a little bit easier, then go back. It won't cost you anything save for a few new blisters while your callouses build up. Well, it might cost you a little sanity around the house, and it might cost you the price of a lovely dinner to make nice with your better half after the screaming match is over, but it is worth the effort. Consider this: what if the inventor was drunk when he made the drawing? What if good ole Seth Wheeler was having this same argument with his wife, and she did the old switcheroo with the documents (vis-a-vis Winthorpe and Valentine trying to fool Clarence Beeks) before he sent them out? The list of possibilities is endless. But I do know this, the fight will not be easy. It will not be swift. It may take internal fortitude the likes of which modern man has never seen. But half my marriage has been spent giving the happy wife her way. The next 25 years look to be rosy indeed, let's just hope it doesn't take that long to settle the the argument. When it comes to the cleanliness of my poop shoot, I will stop at nothing until I reach eternal bliss.

My way or the highway.

The human brain. Centuries of innovation, inspiration, and invention, and we don't know shit about our own brains. But I know this: no two are alike. How else to explain the phenomenon that the same brain in two different bodies can come up with two vastly different conclusions given the same circumstances. And no I am not talking about Abbey Normal and Igor (pronounced Eye-gore) from Young Frankenstein. Recent events, both large and small, have got my own brain thinking, and this can be very dangerous.

Scenario #1: frustrated drivers enduring unbearable traffic in rush our. Two lanes merging, marked signs clearly visible. One driver decides that because he is not in the fastest lane it is acceptable to block both lanes with his car. This creates more frustration, which leads to road rage, which leads to involuntary manslaughter, which in turn leads to a lengthy prison sentence and a new friendship with a 300 pound man names Wolf. Luckily for the rest of us, a miracle happens and a cop witnesses the event. The result: cop gives a heated verbal tongue lashing to entitled driver who clearly can't tell what lane he wants to be in. But the brain. Why does his say it's ok to break the law to see his own version of justice served, while other drivers (possibly including yours truly) see the faster moving lane and choose to follow it to the end where sane minds blend their cars seamlessly like a zipper? (Excluding, of course, those who feel that taking turns at a merge is akin to worshiping the devil and will spit their last breath trying to keep the rest of us out).

Scenario #2: frustrated voters reject a career liar for a career narcissist as our next president. Some of us vote for her. Some of us vote for him. Some of us vote for the next best option, neither one. Some brains feel it is ok to ignore decades of warning signs that indicate there is something brewing under the surface, so cold, so calculating, so inherently self serving, that an elevation to the highest post would mean the end of all life as we know it. While some brains feel it is ok to ignore decades of warning signs that the scum on the surface of the pond isn't just a transparent layer of filth, but an indication of a deep seeded inadequacy to hold higher office. While some brains still see the third option as an excuse to say "I didn't vote for either one." Group number one wakes up in the morning and seeks new ways to insult group number two. Group number two wakes up in the morning and ponders how to keep justifying their vote while thumbing their nose at group number one. And all the while group number three gets a good night sleep and buys tickets to the circus again that day, sitting back and laughing at the carnage created by groups one and two.

Yes I know the answer. It's how we were raised. Whether by our families, or by the streets, or by a culture. Some of our minds are molded from day one to conform to a reality that our way is the only way. While others are taught that it is ok to belong to one group, as long as you respected the ideals of others. And there is the word I was looking for. Respect. This is the bedrock of an inclusive and diverse society. But where is the respect these days? Certainly not from raging mobs of partisan citizens who see their side as the only one. And not from angry drivers who feel that their lane is the correct one to be in. Voters, politicians, and yes even drivers, there is no respect for an opinion that doesn't mirror our own. THAT will be the downfall of society. Not global warming. Not healthcare. Not even the devil himself Donald Trump.

A Chicken in Every Pot!

There once was a time in this country when people were extremely naive. They believed what people told them, or sold them, because they had no way of discerning whether or not it was true. The day of the traveling salesman selling snake oil was nothing more than a few entrepreneurial men who saw an opportunity to make money on peoples suffering.

By the time the buyers realized that is was nothing more than a colored liquid placebo, the salesman was gone, on the the next batch of suckers. Word traveled very slowly back then, and a guy with cases of fake ointment or balm or vitalizer or cream or what have you could canvass the entire country without the rubes coming around to see the light. Generations have passed, the internet now connects the world in nanoseconds, yet the salesmen remain, spewing their bullshit to an audience lapping it up. We have learned nothing from the past.

A headline today says Hillary Clinton is in Florida to woo the millenials. Ah, the millenials, that group of young men and women that are the future of this country. They don't understand things that us old folk learned and grew up with. Like how to say thank you. Or hold the door open for someone. Or walk a little old lady across the street. Or look you in the eye. Or pay attention to history when it maters most. Yes, our presidential candidates are those very same salesmen, canvassing the country, peddling their snake oil to whole generation of voters who are eating it up like candy. (To those millenials who shun the "it's all about me" mantra and actually contribute to society, I apologize. To both of you.)

I have lived more than a half a century in this world, and I know a few invariable truths about elections. One of which is the fact that candidates will say and do and promise anything to get elected. To listen to someone in today's race and take them at their word is nothing more than buying a bottle of Dr. McGillicutty's Magic Elixer Tonic. But today's suckers are far more dangerous than those of the late 1800's. Because if you are buying what they are selling today, you have absolutely no excuse. A few clicks on a mouse should tell you everything you need to know about anyone.

So if Hillary is successful in wooing enough suckers to vote for someone that by all rights should not be running for president, then the days of the snake oil salesman is alive and well in the 21'st century. If you believe anything that comes out of a candidate's mouth during an election year, then you are truly stuck in the past. Live and learn. A simple motto lost on today's me generation of headphone wearing, Netflix binging, MTV watching, society shunning, self centered suckers. There is more at stake than here than simple self preservation. The future of our country is at stake. And the stakes have never been higher.

The Least I Can Do

The Guitarman's first political statement. Almost.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JmHo6D34b3g

In a galaxy, far, far away...

The universe. It's big, right? So big that it boggles the mind. What do you think of when you hear "the universe?" Planets far, far away? Black holes? Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock? Or maybe Captain Picard is your choice of Trekiness. All of the above for me. Almost, never got into the Star Trek Next Generation thingy. That is, actually, what I used to think. Now when I hear "the universe," it means something entirely different to me.

A couple of years ago, if you would have struck me up in conversation and said something along the lines of, oh I dunno, "...the universe made it happen," I would have been all like, "Umm, yea. And how many THC edible's did you consume today?" The concept of the universe being a living force (not EXACTLY like "The Force Be With You" kinda force) was fools folly. It was for the nut jobs and cranks. True believers of the notion that something other than what you can touch and see is real. More than likely I would have steered the conversation to something like, "How 'bout them Bears!" Today, as I live and breathe in our new dream house, I have a very different perspective indeed.

I have come to accept as reality a part of life that is hidden from 99% of the world. Most people believe in heaven and hell, God and Satan, good and evil. But most don't buy into the theory that some people are born with a gift to man. That they have an empathic ability to sense and differentiate between negative and positive energy, truth from fiction, living from dead. People that can speak with other people with their mind, living or dead. Medium, empath, clairvoyant, all names we assign to people with the gift, whether we believe or not. Well I am here to tell you that it is real, that there is no coincidence, only the universe, and what it has laid out for us. I am this/close to a person in my life who has opened up my eyes.

Whew! You kept reading, which means you are convinced I am a crank and want to see how nutty I really am, or that you, like me, know that all we say and do is linked by an unseen force of nature. The universe.

So where is that leading me? The story I want you to hear. The wife and I were looking for a new house. It was a long process, and we saw our share of dumps, rehabs, cottages, lake houses, ghost-ridden spaces, and outright tear-downs. So much so that we were beginning to think that we would never find the right place. Until we did. We had just sold our house, listed on a Friday, had a verbal agreement on Monday. And now we were under the gun to find a new home asap that wasn't horrible. With a tip from our agent we drove down a street that was like 5 miles from our old house, in a tiny community I had driven past a thousand times but never ventured into.

Had we just been transported to a fantasy island? We couldn't believe the quaintness of the neighborhood. Everything we wanted. Close to the wife's job, a lake, a forest preserve, seclusion, a place to ride bikes. As we pulled into the driveway I might have mentioned something like, "..as long as this place isn't about to collapse, this is it." One 5 minute tour of the house and we KNEW that this was where we wanted to spend the rest of our lives. I didn't even look in all the rooms. We left, called him back, and gave him an offer. 30 seconds later we had a deal, and the rest is history.

But, that is not the part of the story I want you to pay attention to. It was that night that I put out a post on FB, asking all to send positive vibes so that we could consummate the whole thing. Not in a "I need some luck so it can't hurt" kinda way, but more in a "I believe that if enough positive energy is thrown my way this will happen" kinda way. The response was overwhelming. So many friends shared their positive vibes I felt blessed to have such support. There were so many obstacles to overcome between a handshake and contract, it seemed like it wouldn't happen. But in the end, everything, and I mean EVERYTHING went our way. When we sold our house, we were afraid it wouldn't appraise. It did. The inspection did not go so well, but in the end we gave up nothing. The new house was at the high end of what we wanted to borrow, but we qualified. We were afraid the closing on the new place would force us to rent for a couple of weeks, but in the most stunning development, we found out at 9am the morning of the day we had to be out of the old house, that yes indeed miracles happened, and we would close that afternoon on the new place. Now I don't know how many of you have gone through this, but you usually know your closing day a month in advance. We found out 6 hours in advance.

Other stupid little details like getting the last truck at the Uhaul place, the sun shining on the day of the move though it had been dreary for days, helped fuel the notion that stars had aligned and someone was looking over us. You may not believe as I do, you may chalk it all up to coincidence, you may say the story is no story at all, but I believe. I believe that the power of positive intervention is real, and that all you need to do is believe yourself, and ask for help. And if you do, you may be surprised to find that help is on the way.

God give me the strength to get through today.

Today is the dreaded day. You look on the calendar, and think to yourself at the time, "Just what in THE hell am I supposed to do then?" It seems so unfair, that we have to endure this week from hell. Yea, I should do some yard work. Or clean the garage. Or paint the downstairs. Or go grocery shopping. Or go fly a kite. All tantalizing options no doubt, and I will probably try and do some combination of all that, get that last round of golf in with Mrs. Guitarman, and still go to bed knowing the awful, awful truth: it's the Bears bye week.

If you feel my pain, then you are a die-hard like me. Blue and orange to the core. I still can't fathom that people are actually planning their day, doing stuff, living a normal life, all without sitting in front of their TV for 3 hours on a beautiful fall day. Sure the Cubs just ended their magical run, the defending Stanley Cup Champion Blackhawks have begun their title defense, even the Bulls have a subplot, with DRose coming to the court now looking like the Phantom of the Opera. And my Bears? Stumbling out of the gate with a new coaching staff, and, well hell, new everything, they managed a couple of miraculous wins. But here I sit, with us at 2-4, and all I can think about is that I can't wait for next Sunday at noon.

It is a sickness I know, and there is no cure. It's not like I want to be cured either. There is a little man inside me at all times, screaming at me. He is the eternal optimist, not me. He is the one that rips the sanity from the front of my mind and wipes his ass with it, not me. He is the one that gulps down the grape cool-aid every spring training like it was magic water from the fountain of youth, again, not me. If I could have one conversation with him, just one little TÊTE-À-TÊTE to clear the air, it might go a long way toward an ultimate cure. And it might go something like this:

LMIM: Game today.

GM: I know, might be a tough one.

LMIM: What you say? They got this! Just who the hell is Aaron Rodgers anyway?

GM: Um, the guy that has beat us the last like 100 games in a row?

LMIM: Pshaw! We can pick him off, sack his ass, break his other collarbone, and make his life a living hell! He will be wishing that he took up cricket instead!

GM: I dunno, I just feel he is going to pass for like a thousand yards to Jordy Nelson and hang a 5-0 on us.

(Sound of slapping)

LMIM: Wake up! Do you remember back in training camp when everybody said you can't take a 30+ year old defensive end and make him a stand-up outside linebacker?

GM: Um, do you mean Jared Allen?

(Sound of slapping again)

LMIM: Yes I mean Jared fucking Allen!

GM: But they were right, weren't they? And please stop slapping me.

LMIM: No they were wrong, the team gave up on him, besides we've got Pernell McPhee wreaking pure havoc now, that's all that matters.

GM: But Shea McClellin is still my field general out there. I am worried.

(Sound of slapping yet again)

LMIM: WE'RE GOING TO THE SUPER BOWL AND ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS ONE UNDERPRODUCING FIRST ROUND DRAFT PICK BY THE GM THAT WE SHOWED THE DOOR TO!! GET A GRIP, I RAISED YOU BETTER THAN THAT!

GM: Wait, what? We're going to the Super Bowl?

Listen, I know what I got. I got Bears-itis. I don't have NFL-itis, or FanDuel-itis, I couldn't give two craps about all of the fantasy league stuff. I don't care if Tom Brady and Mr. Rodgers go head to head on MNF while wearing woman’s lingerie. I like my home teams. I follow them all. Well, not the White Sox. Never really sure why, but a lot of it has to do with Hawk Harrelson. But I love my Bears. On any given Sunday they say. So why can’t we have like 16 "On any given Sunday's", run the table, maim half of the Packers roster, and make it to the big dance? This could be the year. If I don't believe it, who will?

Are you a Hatfield or a McCoy? Or neither, like me?

Why is it that every time I say to a liberal that Obama is a joke or Hillary is a harpy from hell do they immediately assume I am a right wing conspiricist that wants to outlaw abortion while bringing my assault rifle to service at the Westboro church? And why is it that when I say to a conservative that being gay is not a choice they tell me I am going to hell and assume I want to harvest the organs of unborn infants? To quote, and yes from some movie I have seen a dozen times, "Gray! The world is Gray Jack!" But if you pay attention during the election season, which is basically all the fricking time, that's not what the major candidates want you to believe.

Uttered by the Robert Ritter character in Clear and Present Danger, those words have fallen on deaf ears lately. It's the Hatfields and the McCoys out there kiddies, and neither side is willing to budge. I have found that for someone who tries to weigh the issues of both sides, who tries to not vote Republican or Democratic but vote for the best candidate, who has his own ideas that aren't represented by anyone, actually has no voice. I vote not for a candidate, but against one, picking the lesser of 2 evils. In my lifetime I have not rallied behind a candidate once for what he is for, but rather against what his opponent is for. Why is that? In a word politics. Politics is destroying our country.

No serious 3rd party candidate has had any chance at the White House since, hmm let me think here, Mr. Peabody get me in the WABAC machine, Ross Perot? One would have thought that in the early 90's a barrier had been broken, and the tide was turning on the monopoly of the two big parties. Little did we know that those mega fundraising machines would double down and make it impossible for anyone without a major party backing to have even a slim chance of getting elected. Is that doing our country any good? How has that worked out so far? The rich are getting richer, the poor are getting poorer, our jobs are disappearing, are youth are disengaged, and we can't even come to an agreement on how to stop lunatics from mass shootings at schools across the nation.

When Republicans scream "Benghazi!" at the Hillary backers are they fanning the flames and embellishing the facts? Of course they are! When Liberals cry about Republicans lining the pockets of and protecting millionaires are they being hypocritical? Of course they are! It's what they do. It's what they all do. Except maybe one, and time will tell. But one candidate has a message out there, one that is anti-establishment, and one that scares every other politician in Washington. The Devil has a name, and it is Bernie Sanders.

Bernie scares everyone in Washington because he dares to challenge the livelihood of every politician in the country, ie: their donors. Listen people, our government has us afraid of them. They use scare tactics to buy your vote, wasting millions, ahem excuse me, billions of dollars in an attempt to get into office so they they can spend the next 4 years paying those donors back and worrying about re-election. Pop quiz, who said, “People shouldn't be afraid of their government. Governments should be afraid of their people.” Well of course it's from a movie. I'll leave it to you to research if you care. But this government scares us into compliance by forcing us to vote for whatever candidate they force feed us. Barely half the country votes in our presidential elections. People don't care.

Look at this: 58 countries have higher turnout than the US. The list includes many countries whose governments are considered corrupt. Take Chad for instance. Human Rights Watch, has criticized the election process in Chad, arguing that they have problems such as electoral fraud, multiple voting, underage voting, and low voter turnout. In 2011, they had 57.9% of the people vote. They consider that low voter turnout, while we rejoiced when Obama was elected that we got 57.1% of the people to the polls. The bastion of free society can't muster enough of its citizens to overcome a third world nation dominated by one corrupt party? Why is that? Hmmm, maybe because they think that their vote won't matter? Or maybe because they are sick of the whole process? Maybe both? But back to Bernie.

Has anyone looked at his platform? How can anyone disagree with what he is fighting for? It's a laundry list of everything that makes sense to the average American:

INCOME AND WEALTH INEQUALITY
IT’S TIME TO MAKE COLLEGE TUITION FREE AND DEBT FREE
GETTING BIG MONEY OUT OF POLITICS
CREATING DECENT PAYING JOBS
A LIVING WAGE
CLIMATE CHANGE & ENVIRONMENT
RACIAL JUSTICE
A FAIR AND HUMANE IMMIGRATION POLICY
FIGHTING FOR WOMEN’S RIGHTS
FIGHTING FOR LGBT EQUALITY
CARING FOR OUR VETERANS
STRENGTHEN AND EXPAND SOCIAL SECURITY
FIGHTING TO LOWER PRESCRIPTION DRUG PRICES
REFORMING WALL STREET

I dare anyone to come up with a good reason why he shouldn't be our next president. Anyone, that is, that isn't already on the payroll. So go ahead and vote for Trump. Or Hillary. Or Jeb or Ted or Carly or Ben. See where it gets us. Nowhere, that's where. And if you think a Jew can't be president, than you are in the governments pocket and playing their game, just like they want you to.

Did I oversleep or something?

Rip Van Winkle has awoken from his long sleep. One year ago I decided that I could no longer rehash all of the days anger on the expressways into a tidy little column. I reached an Obama saturation point and had no ammo in my holster. I was fresh out of memories from my childhood. Our sports teams all sucked (the Blackhawks did come to the rescue there). There was a little upheaval in the GM's personal life which sapped a lot of juice out of him, and inspiration was fleeting. But today I stand (sit) here with a dose of fresh perspective, and a little chutzpah, though I am not Jewish. So where to point my sarcasm? Everywhere and nowhere. Yes the Guitarman returns to the blogosphere with a 5 in 5. (You expected any less?)

Republicans: Where else to start but the political arena? "And in this corner, wearing the red, white, and blue trunks, the man who puts the "I" in insult, Donald "The Intimidator" Trump!" And Jeb Bush. And Carly Fiorina. And like 2 dozen more career bullshitters politicians all with the same message. But Trumps message is different. He is the anti candidate. Instead of going by the Clinton handbook and telling everyone what they want to hear, he seeks out not just individuals but entire countries to insult. Are his ideas any good? Who knows? We can't get past his blustery, ego-inflating rants enough to find out. A president can't just piss people off on purpose. But what is the Republican field offering we independent voters as a choice? A black man that swears homosexuality is a choice and just insulted Islam, a woman who just got caught in a campaign lie, a bully Energizer Bunny, and about a dozen carbon copy rubber stampers that don't inspire anyone not sipping from the tea cup. And they won the Senate and House how?

Democrats: Obama was, is, and will be to me, the king bullshitter in all of American history. He made promise after promise that he never fulfilled. How he still won the Latino vote the second time around after he failed in his first 4 years to give them amnesty was a master con artist at his best. Oh, and I liked my insurance plan, didn't get to keep it. And how about that Nobel prize that was awarded to him for what he said he was going to do? Hasn't done it. But onto the current candidates. I am 90% sure I want Bernie Sanders as my next President. A Jewish friend told me a Jew can't win. Bullshit. If this country is stupid enough to fall for Obama's lies twice, is bigoted enough to put Trump in the lead of his party, all while half the country believes that some lying, flip-flopping, pandering, cheating, cover-up queen harpy from hell is a good choice to lead our nation, anyone can win.

Gay Marriage: Saints be praised, the good old U S of A has taken the final step in recognizing that love and equal rights shouldn't be exclusive to a select group of people. I still can't believe that the Supreme Court actually had the balls to take up the argument. But just as the LGBT community rejoices across the nation, some woman (who shall remain nameless as the mere sight of her sour puss or utterance of her name makes me regurgitate that sound that Montgomery Burns from the Simpsons made famous, hu-hu-hu-hu-hu) has to put her foot in the cake and declared that because of her faith she can't do it. I can't decide what makes me angrier. Jumping for joy like a Sweepstakes Clearinghouse winner after her lengthy 5 day stint in jail? Then going back to work and still holding up marriage licenses? Suing the state? Meeting the pope and lying about it? Her 15 minutes are up, somebody please put a muzzle on that dog before I puke. If she can't do her job, then quit. Just. Quit. Already.

Baseball: Being a lifelong Cubs fan has had it's ups and downs. Not like a swing with equal ups and downs, but more like the Giant Drop at Six Flags. Creeping up to the top every once in a millennium, and then crashing down in spectacular fashion while everyone goes "WHEEE!" But this is could be the year. And not just because it was predicted in Back to the Future 2. It has been quite a fun thing to see. BUT. The one game playoff is the stupidest thing Bud Selig has ever done. Dumber than the infamous shrug at the All-Star game that resulted in the first ever tie. More ridiculous than having the winner of said game dictate home field advantage for the World Series. Two teams that failed to win their division have a record that bests all other division winners in baseball. Its time to expand the playoffs to give deserving teams a real chance to move on. After 162 games, the Cubs and Pirates deserve a real chance to succeed. Not a winner take all game where the team with the best ace wins. Lets scrub the stain of the Selig years, and while we're at it, let Pete Rose into the Hall of Fame.

Life and Passing: I have lost two friends very recently. Life came to an early demise for both. I shed a few tears, and wondered if my time would be next. One died at 52, from colon cancer. He and I graduated high school together. I have yet to schedule a colonoscopy, and fear doing so. Not because I fear the results, but because you have to go all day without eating. My God I can't go 3 hours without eating! It might be better to die than to starve for a day. Not to mention having to sit on a toilet for 5 hours. But what I am really reflecting on is what they left this world. Both were wonderful, wonderful human beings, and great fathers. Not a disparaging word was uttered by a soul. How will people react to my death? What kind of legacy will I leave? What will people say about me at my funeral? Questions that haunt most human beings with a soul. But a little perspective has got me thinking. What can I do between now and then that will leave the world a better place than I found it? I intend to seek the answer to that question. But that doesn't necessarily mean I can't still poke fun at cheesehead drivers once in a while. I don't think many of them will be at my funeral anyway.

On the road again....

Well I was drivin' down the road trying to loosen my load I got a world of trouble on my mind. Actually, to be blunt, a world of trouble on the road in front of me. My main goal every day as I get behind the wheel is to get from point A to point B, (with a quick layover at point C, where I discuss the possibility of Point D with person of interest A) as quickly as possible. Got that? Where was I. Driving. Yes, it is the bane of the Guitarman's existence. I have had enough. I want to sit in the back seat having a martini while my chauffeur drives me around like a peacock on parade. I want to wave my Grey Poupon at some unsuspecting soul on the sidewalk eating a hot dog. And it has nothing to do with me somehow being rich. I just don't want to drive anymore.

It all starts with one inevitable truth: something will piss me off today. And more times than not, it is someone in the left lane. Not just some clueless cell phone yacker, but some who suffers form SISRFAS. Yes, yes, I know, you see it too right? I mean one minute, you try and overtake them, and the next, they suddenly decide that they want to speed up and deny you your God Given Right to pass a slower vehicle. They can't be doing it on purpose, so it must be SISRFAS. (That's pronounced, as if I had to tell you, SISSER-FASS) Still confused? Sudden Involuntary Spasmodic Right Foot Acceleration Syndrome is nothing to laugh about. It afflicts a good 25% of the general population, which means about 75% of our friendly cheese curd loving, Packer backing friends to the north.

Think I am exaggerating? Think I am picking on a certain group? Quite possibly. But I will tell you this: be it the 8 lanes of the tollway, or a simple 2 lane back road, if I am overtaking a slower moving vehicle, and I see the license plate says WI, I punch it. It's like some innate sense of insecurity or pride or stubbornness or infallibility or hell I don't, maybe they just hate us, or me, that causes them to speed up just enough to force me to get behind their slow moving carcass. Is there something in the WI rules of the road that obliges them to hold off IL drivers at bay? Is there something that young mothers slip into their formula when they are babies? Were they abducted by IL hating aliens and forced to undergo cranial re-configuration? All of the above? No, no, it's SISRFAS. They don't know why they do it. Some don't even know they are doing it at all.

True story. Coming back from a Dells weekend long ago, in which a complete stranger on the street turned around and screamed "Bears suck!!!" at me for the vile offense of wearing a Bears t-shirt in the holiest of WI shrines, I had an encounter with a WI driver. 2 lane road. Late at night. 55mph speed limit being strictly adhered to by the driver in front of me. I, unwilling and unable to do the same, waited for a safe spot in which to pass. And as I did, we went from 55, to 65 to 75, and I to finally well over 80mph to finally overtake him. And of course, he immediately got right on my tail, stayed with me at my accelerated pace, long enough to pull up next to me at a light and scream vulgarities at me like I had just run over his mother. All for the hellish crime of not wanting to drive behind him at his pace.

Look, I am no angel. I am not the devil either. I refuse to be taken hostage by the current wave of clueless drivers that cannot follow simple unwritten rules. Driving for me now has become a daily struggle. Avoiding the idiots and assholes has become a futile endeavor. It's like driving through a forest of redwoods. They are everywhere. I should probably feel sorry for those afflicted by SISRFAS, as they have a disease and don't even know it. But I don't. I want to trade in my car for a tank, and squash them into road kill. Love your fellow man, yada, yada, yada. But what if your fellow man has some little insecurity that won't allow this fellow man to drive his car faster than them? Where is that in the bible? I am sure that if I got to ask God one question, it would be this: why won't drivers from WI let me pass them? And I am sure his answer would be something like, "Because the Bears suck!" Maybe the little image of Calvin urinating on a Packers helmet on the back of my van has a little to do with it. But they don't see that until they are sucking up my exhaust fumes. Where is that jar of Grey Poupon?

Say it ain't so Melo.

I think I am going to puke.

Now before you assume I have launched into a new expose on bodily functions that involve smelly piles of goo, let me assure that is not my intention. But after reading what I did in the paper today, and then seeing it as Yahoo's number one story at that moment, I was sick. Rampaging murderous thugs and terrorists aside, it was the sports section that got me today. And I can sum it up in one word, Melo.

Who wasn't sick when the big 3 decided to amass together one of the finest teams ever bought? It didn't seem fair. When the Bulls had their run, they did it the old fashioned way: they drafted their team. Oh sure, there were the notable Bill Cartright and Dennis Rodman signings, but they were just pieces to the whole puzzle. No, we grew our own Big Three that won the first 3 Championships. Jordan, Grant, and Pippen were all true Bulls. But in today's market, it's all about the cheddar, and guys jump teams like rats jump a burning ship. And their sits the King, Lebron. The leagues best player that jilted his home team to form an All-Star team in Miami, and he isn't satisfied.

Just as I was beginning to believe that the Bulls now have a chance to compete by pursuing free agent Carmelo Anthony to play along with our home grown duo of Rose and Noah, it is being rumored that the Heat's stars are considering re-organizing their contracts to allow them to pursue Anthony. In the middle of the Championship, with back to back titles under their belt and a third on the way, they want more. And so, I think I am going to puke. If Anthony joins the 3 brats in Miami, he is a bigger sellout than they are. Where is the challenge in that? It will be like playing a college team every night. It will be a joke to the rest of the league.

I miss the days when you drafted your best players and they were good enough to win it all. It made it special. Walter Payton, Michael Jordan, Patrick Kane, Dan Hampton, Scottie Pippen, Jonathon Toews, Mike Singletary, Horace Grant, the list is long and proud. But will we ever get to see the names of Joakim Noah and Derek Rose reach that championship status? Are they good enough on their own? Maybe in a league where 4 rich assholes weren't allowed to decide the outcome of nearly 400 players.

Let's clear the air.

You ever hear, or utter for that matter, the phrase, "...he walks around like his shit don't stink?" Not to be taken literally, it does not assume the offender parades around with poop stained undies, but rather possesses an air of indifference that exudes, "I am better then you." But we all know that everyone's poop does stink. Some more than others, and at times, an adventurous dinner choice can leave one with enough gas and foul smelling detritus to make his or her presence felt in ways that it shouldn't. It might be even glamorous now to have stinky crap. Ever see the commercial for Poo-Pouri, with the hot Brit gal telling us about the motherlode she just dropped? Cracked me up. But dear readers I am here to inform you that yes, my shit stinks.

It's not that I go around crop dusting everyone in my general vicinity with built up noxious fumes all the time. I do on occasion, but that is not the point today. And it's not like I am some un-trained puppy leaving piles around the house because someone won't open the door in time. I use the lavatory for it's intended purpose: to dispose of my bodily excrement. Oh sure, there are plenty of other fine uses for the bathroom. To take a bath for instance, hence the name "bath" room. Or brushing ones teeth. Or combing one's hair. Or using makeup, hair gel, athletes foot spray, toe nail fungus remover, band-aids, nail polish remover, under arm deodorant, shaving cream, cake frosting, or whip cream. Hey, to each his own. But each of those uses CAN be done in the loo whereas the former HAS to be done there. It's not like I have some other option, wooded lot behind me with a pile of leaves not withstanding.

No, a mans home is his castle they say, and every castle has it's throne. And any good king sits on his throne once a day at his given time, dispensing his kingly duties. My time is every morning after a cup of coffee, somewhere in the business section of the paper. I am predictable, as much for the timing of the event as the odor that accompanies it. So it is with a dose of sincerity that I offer my humblest apology to anyone who has been offended my being human in the area of bodily waste. I will make every effort to quash the offending aromas with whatever means are available. Be it a ceiling fan, air freshener, a bottle of Poo-Pouri, a candle, or even an industrial sized laboratory chemical fume hood should I ever feel the need to relieve myself in a chem lab. But it's just me being human. Here's hoping the shit doesn't hit the fan.

Legal or not, this storm is a brewin'.

Fear. It's what drives society. It's the reason we bubble wrap our kids as they hop on a bike, or strap on a pair of rolllerblades. It's why homosexuals have stayed in the closet for so long, and why homophobes are crying foul now that the nation is coming around to acceptance and equality. It's also why bomb toting lunatics are hell bent on destroying the world around them. And for sure, it's why the war on drugs, a failed war if there ever was one, was ever launched in the first place. But there is another battle looming in that war, and nobody has done a damn thing about it.

True story, happened last week. A local delivery driver had a terrible accident and struck and killed an 81 year old pedestrian as she crossed the street. As horrible as it is for both family's involved, it's about to get a whole lot worse for one. The victims family is dealing with the sudden loss of their elderly matriarch, and while the driver will undoubtedly feel the pain for the rest of his life for accidentally taking the life of another, he will probably spend a good chunk of that life behind bars. As is normal in an accidental death related to driving a vehicle, his blood was checked. And knowing what they would find, he admitted to the police that yes he had smoked marijuana the night before. And of course, his life is over.

Lets change a couple of words there and imagine the outcome. "...he admitted to the police that yes he had smoked marijuana a couple of beers the night before." As we all know, you can drink and drink and drink, and drink some more, sleep it off, wake up the next morning, and legally drive anywhere you want. Hangover aside, one's judgement is unimpaired in the eyes of the law. But those same eyes, due to the nations war on all drugs, look at the guy that smoked pot the night before, and will charge him with felony aggravated DUI. For all of you who do not know, THC, the part of marijuana that gives you a high, stays in the body for a long time. The high will wear off in a few hours, just as alcohol will do, but the damning residue remains. There is no way of actually testing a person to see if they are high at any one given moment.

Now I know what most of you are thinking: But pot is illegal! Well you are kinda right. Here in Illinois, we are set to legalize it for medical reasons. Just like 19 other states, we are slowing winding the drug war down. But therein lies the rub. If we are legally saying that it is ok to ingest it, what are we gonna do when that person gets behind the wheel of a car? The poor schlep mentioned above actually drives for a living. Would you be any more/less sympathetic if this was next year, and he was prescribed marijuana by a doctor? More importantly, would the law? Approximately 2.5 million people legally smoke marijuana right now in this country. My guess is that they all drive. What are we going to do about that?

This isn't the first time this has happened, and for sure it won't be the last. Maybe we can find a way to test for it. Maybe put a tray of brownies in front of a person and see how many they eat. Maybe tell them a bad joke and see how long they laugh. "Yes your honor, the defendant endlessly giggled like a school girl when told the joke about the chicken crossing the road, all the while stuffing his face full of brownies. He only stopped when we took the plate away." But seriously, someday, somewhere out there, an elderly grandma with Glaucoma will take her doctors advise and smoke some pot to alleviate her symptoms, get in the car to go to church the next morning, have an accident, and get thrown in jail with the dregs of society. Won't that make a snappy headline. POTHEAD GRANNY MOWS DOWN INNOCENT BYSTANDER WHILE HIGH ON DRUGS. I'm sure some politician will use that to get elected.

A wink is as good as a nod to a blind man.

"Period." It means end of discussion. No point in carrying on. When someone tells you that "it's gonna be this way, period," you get the impression that he means it. But I am one of the five per cent-ers that got screwed by the presidents declaration that if "you like your current health plan, you can keep it." And don't forget the "Period." So I am mad. Hopping mad that my premiums will almost double. But my anger, where is it really aimed?

I have listened to plenty of friends, PLENTY, call Obama the "worst president ever." I think you are forgetting a few faces to boldly make that claim, but it is a predictable Republican reaction to having listened to eight years of Bush bashing by the liberals and how badly he failed us. I used to share an office space with a guy that would run to the trading floor at the CBOT to do a live interview with CNBC every week. Financial genius. He HATED Obama. Every day I would sit rapt as he countlessly listed one reason after another that he would be the ruin of us. But for me, my anger does not stem from financial or even social reasons.

The man that ran for the presidency in 2008 was a salesman. Still is. And he sold us his bullshit and we bought it. Twice. He took the Clinton handbook on how to win an election and did it better than the Clintons. We elected this guy because he figured out how to win the presidency based on his charm and oration skills. He didn't have a damn clue on what to do once he got in there. It is the system that gave us this failure, and it is broken so that no person can win without the money and support of one of the major parties. I fully believe that corruption in campaign finance is the biggest threat to democracy this country has ever faced.

Here's an idea. Take the top 20 people in America with a vision for the presidency, that are NOT chained to either major party, and stick them on a television show, and let them debate each other, voted off one by one until you had a candidate that America could get behind. He would have such name recognition, he wouldn't need the untold millions wasted on elections to compete.



But back to me being angry. I'm angry that Obama lied to my face. But then again, they all do it. "I did not have relations with that woman, Ms. Lewinsky," and "I am not a crook," jump to mind. Reagan lied about arms for hostages, Bush said "Read my lips: no new taxes, " then taxed us. But generally in the history of presidential liars, most did not have the intention of directly lying to the American public for political gain to win an election. Bwaa haa haa! Riiight. Ok maybe they all stretch the truth to a certain degree while itching to get into office, but this one directly and personally affects me. So I am mad. They all say they are gonna do this or that once in office, and no one can ever live up to all that. But this time, it was the salesman at his finest. We are the emperor, and we have no clothes. Got this one from a Monty Python skit, "A wink is as good as a nod to a blind man." We thought we saw the nod, but we were too blind to see he was just winking at us.

Sign, sign, everywhere a sign.

"Sign, sign, everywhere a sign
Blockin' out the scenery, breakin' my mind
Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?"

-Five Man Electrical Band

Never really got into that song so much as some of my older brethren, as I was a mere 7 when the song was released. I was neither a protester nor a rebel-rouser, so the lyrics did not resonate within my soul enough to get me to march naked on the steps of the nations capital in response to the overbearing rules the government was forcing upon us. It does have a killer intro though. But every time I see some ridiculous sign on the road, I do mockingly sing along to the chorus. As was the case in the pristine city of Lake Forest, IL.

LF is unique in the world. At least it likes to think itself is. In my recollection, every since that infamous day back in 1987 when respected Lake Forest resident Laurence Tureaud decided that his property was actually his and he could landscape it the way he wanted, the city decided that it knew what was better for it's citizens than the actual citizens did. Hmmm, not ringing a bell? Perhaps if I mentioned that Mr. Tureaud is more famously known as Mr. T would that shake loose the cobwebs? So LF passed an ordinance that forbid city residents from chopping down trees on their own property without approval from the city. Now I actually thought at the time that was a good thing, saving trees and all. But unfortunately it opened it a Pandoras box that would pave the way for the city to declare war on it's own citizens.

Wow, that's harsh. OK, maybe I have gone a little too far off of the deep end. But growing up next to LF and in turn driving through it's city limits, I have made a few recent observations. And yes, it's all about the signs. And yes, they are everywhere, telling you what you can and can't do if you want the pleasure of passing through this pleasant little burough. So, here are a few of my favorites:

No Parking: Oh sure, seems innocent enough. Most towns have them here and there to prevent a build up of parked cars that might hinder traffic flow. But when you consider that once you go east of McKinley, the main N/S hub that cuts through downtown, you can't park anywhere. Now is it because they want to keep the streets clear of overcrowding? No. They are there for one reason: LF has no parking at the lakefront, and if you are not a resident, they do NOT want you using their pristine shoreline. Go ahead and park anywhere you want west of McKinley, and hike .92 the miles to the beach with all your crap. Sounds so inviting.

No Parking Anywhere between 3am and 5am: It's bad enough we can't go to the beach. But God forbid you go to a party, park on the street, have one to many shots of Petron, lose your clothes, and have to crash naked on your friends couch. (This may or may not have happened at one point in the GM's past) I guess the city would rather have you drive home drunk. Or just maybe they don't want you here at all. Nahhh.

Hand Held Cell Phone Use Prohibited Here I go again. Forget all of the people who eat, put on makeup, read the newspaper, fluff their hair, shave, reach into the back to give Jr. a bag of Goldfish, or whatever crazy antic takes a hand off of the wheel and diverts their attention to something other than diving which includes texting and surfing all of those apps. But alas, it appears that as much as I want to take a flame thrower to all of those signs, it is soon to become Illinois law. I guess they were ahead of the curve on this one. But jeez, I get the hint. At every single point of entry to the town you are greeted with one of these. Every time you turn onto a new road, whoop there it is. Overkill? Nahhh.

Ride Bicycles on the Sidewalk: Or some variation of that on Green Bay Road. But isn't a side-walk just that? For walking? Wouldn't they be called side-rides if they were meant for bikes? What about the "Share the Road" program? Only in your town but not ours? But I'll bet the first time some lunatic on 2 wheels knocks over some nanny pushing her Stokke Crusi Stroller, retailing at $1249.99, heads will roll.

No engine idling. Children are breathing: I had to save this one for last. I actually laughed out loud when I saw this one. This is an actual sign seen on the premises of Lake Forest Country Day School. As if letting your car run in idle while picking up the pups is going to cause them to develop emphysema. As if the lungs of the precious elite that have enough $ to go to the ritzy school are more precious than those who are forced into the public school system. If there is a more ridiculous sign, I want to see it.

With all due apologies to the city council of Lake Forest, sometimes you gotta just blow off a little steam. And if I missed one, please tell me about it. As a matter of fact, I want to hear about the most ridiculous sign you have ever seen. And if it was in Lake Forest, I really want to hear about it.

To ban or not to ban.

There is a looming crisis building in this country. No and I am not talking about the fact that the dollar is on it's last legs as the worlds currency, meaning if you thought the 2008 recession was bad, hold on for the ride of your life when that happens. And I am not talking about the fire and brimstone that will fall from the sky when gay marriage becomes a federal law. Nor am I referring to the fact that 1 in 7 Americans are on food stamps, or that the national employment rate of around 8% is probably closer to 14% when you throw in the people the government doesn't count when it spits out it's numbers every month, (ie only the ones no longer receiving unemployment because their 18 months of checks have run out). Although those are all crises in their own right, I am talking about another bit of government intrusion into our lives: the hand held cell phone ban while driving.

Of course, 69% of you just either closed the browser window or scoffed perturbedly at my blasphemy. That is the percentage of a recent poll that favored the ban. Well I guess you can put me solidly in the other 31%. I cringe when I see one of these signs. I believe the attack on my right to not be a distracted idiot while I drive is fueled by political motives rather than concern for driver safety. Let me throw a stat at you from a study of all "distracted driver" accidents. A mere 1.5% was from using a cell phone. And to clear the air, talking on a phone with one hand on the wheel while staring at the road in front of you has nothing in common with texting while driving, which takes one's eyes off the road for periods of up to 5 seconds.

But what of those "distracted driver" accidents? If only 1.5% was using on a cell phone, what about the other 98.5%? Well guess what I did this week. I looked at other drivers and what they were doing on the expressway. Taking my eyes off of the road, shame on me, but it was the only way to gather first hand evidence. Throwing in some personal past experiences, this is what I observed.

A guy picking his teeth. Eyes on the road, but, gasp, only one hand on the wheel. I give him 1%.

Some dude flipping through his apps. Ok, this falls into the "cell phone" category, but he wasn't talking nor texting. His was surfing with his eyes on his device. He gets 4%.

A dude scratching his head and rubbing his face. Tired? Probably trying to wake up/stay awake, BUT, that dreaded one hand on the wheel, and at least one eye on the road. 3% for driving tired.

A woman putting on makeup. Or women. This is the all time leader for observations in driving to Chicago every day for 20 years. Eyes, lips, cheeks, hair, eyebrows, the list is endless. All while staring into the mirror on the visor, which is further blocking their vision. They get a generous 11%.

The executive reading the paper. No, not in the back seat while the chauffeur drives him. I saw a guy off and on with the paper draped over the wheel, and reading glasses pinched on his nose. A solid 5% go to the readers.

Everybody eating. And I mean everybody eating everything. Generally, not too horrible of an offense, eyes are only for a second staring into the sauerkraut on the dog as you take a bite, one hand firmly on the wheel, at least before you grab the wheel with your knees so your free hand can pick up the sport pepper that just fell onto the floor mat. But eaters are guilty non the less, they get 4%.

Watching television. As scary as it is to imagine someone watching a movie while they drive, which alone would give them a good 15%, this is a true story. One day downtown, I asked a dude, whom we will call Carlo, if he could give me a ride home. We both live in the same town, 40 miles north. He agreed, and picked me up in front of the building. He darted out into traffic and headed to the expressway all while doing the following simultaneously: driving, hooking up a DVD player to his car stereo, and eating his late lunch. Not a sandwich or a dog, but a plate of lemon chicken from a Chinese place. I did offer to drive, but he politely told me he does this every day. All by his little lonesome, he gets 25%.

Well I am not going to add all that up, but I can tell you it's not 100%. Which brings me to my point. We can't possibly know or control all of the stupid things people will do while driving. Unless one of them has potential voter influence, then its full speed ahead, ramming yet another regulation up the rear ends of the rest of us who feel we are intelligent enough to make our own decisions. Politicians blow with the wind, and will back whatever gives them the best chance for re-election.

"Just get a Bluetooth!" you must be screaming from the boonies. Well I don't want to stick that thing in my ear. I can drive just fine with one hand. And therein lies the rub. If the argument is that you are distracted by talking on the phone, then the law should include a ban on lipstick, newspapers and Chinese food as well. But by saying "hands free" then the argument becomes that you need two hands on the wheel. And if that is the case, then I want a new driving test where I get a special designation proving I can drive with one hand better than some can drive with two. It's not the hands, it's not the distraction, it's the person.

A lost cause.

Laaazzzyyy. That pretty much sums up my lack of ambition to pen, er, type anything meaningful. Oh sure, the world hasn't stopped turning, the ozone layer hasn't been completely destroyed, and President Obama is still the worst president in history. (OK I stole that line) Somethings just won't, or can't change. Like in Chicago. Kids are still dying, the mayor is still spending the city's money like he's on vacation in Disney World, and the weather is as unpredictable as what Sarah Palin will say next. What can we do about it? The weather, nothing. The mayor, don't vote for him next time, which basically means, nothing. And the kids getting killed? Apparently nothing either.

"That's a defeatist attitude!" I hear you shrieking. Maybe so, but what can be done about that? Take all of the guns away and melt them down into a statue of former Mayor Daley signing away Chicago’s parking meters for a bag of beans? Close all of the schools, lock all the kids in the homes and demand every Chicago parent home school their kids? Send in the National Guard to shoot first and ask questions at the next funeral? Well let me ask you this: what chance do these kids have when the parents at best are failing their kids through un-involvement, and at worst actually leading them to a life of crime? Take these two recent examples. Two stories on the same day, printed side by side in the newspaper.

In the first, a Chicago woman has a traffic altercation with a Chicago cop, which results in the woman attacking the female officer and dragging her with her own car. Worse yet, the woman’s two children were in the back. Worse even still, the older child, all of 8 years, joined in and beat the officer over the head. An eight year old beating up a cop. Can you make this shit up? And where did she get that idea? On TV? Or just maybe, kids emulate their parents. If mommy says cops are bad than it must be true.

The second, two neighbors in the city get into an argument. Woman #1 decides she’s had enough, and walks away. Inside her apartment, she hears woman #2 continue the verbal tirade when a brick comes through her window. She phones her 28 year old son who comes to her rescue. But woman #1 has her own son, 26, at the scene. So an argument over a traffic altercation turns into a deadly encounter when the son of woman #2 runs his car into the son of woman #1. She lost her offspring because another person could not live with the fact that she lost an argument. At what point did the killer think, “It is acceptable to kill another human being because my mom was disrespected?” Gee, where did he ever get that idea.

Look, I get it. I get it that I don’t get it. I am a suburban boy who has not walked a mile in their shoes. I do not know what life is like dodging bullets on a playground. I do not know what life is like when parents don’t care about the child there are raising. I do not know what it is like to be homeless. What I do know, is that kids are like parrots. They emulate what is around them. They look to their moms and dads for guidance through life. And when that guidance is leading them down a path of self-destruction, what chance do they have in life? None. But the worst part? What today's kids learn from their parents will be passed down to the next generation. How do you stop that?

The rite of spring.

Ahhh, it's finally springtime. Is that one word or two? And is it really spring? Let's look out the window shall we? Rain? Check. Winds knocking over trees? Double check. Teperature hovering in the 40's? Triple check. Cubs already mathematically eliminated from the playoffs? Eternal check. Welcome to April in the Chicago metropolitan area. No sunshine, no warmth, no winning north side baseball. It's a tradition as old as I can remember. The other day when it was mildly pleasent, meaning I wasn't getting soaked and actually was in the back yard without my parka, I put out the bird seed. I hung my hummingbird feeder with extra sweet nectar for the spring. I even put out a cob of feed corn for the encroaching squirrel army. Ahh the sqirrels. As with any rite of spring, so goes my ongoing backyard fued with the twitching tailed vermin.

I thought I had him this time. Even though a scant few hours had passed since the corn was put up as a deterrent to keep the bird niblets safe, it was depleted none-the-less. And atop my pole feeder he sat, munching away, oblivious to my evil stares. So I stalked out there, waving and shouting, and watched him scurry away to the safety of his tree branch. "I've got to do something," I thought to myself. I knew that there were semi-expensive anti-squirrel devices available at the hardware store, but that wasn't going to happen. So I did the next best thing: I made one.

My first efforts at protecting the hanging feeder last year were actually successful. Even though weather had forced the one time flat piece of veneer that was my vermin deterrent into a bendy shape, it still did the job. He couldn't leap from a close branch, he couldn't jump that high off of the ground, and I would watch in glee as he slid off of the thing time and time again. But, the garage was now empty of all pieces of veneer, and a substitute was in order for the pole feeder. So I settled on a piece of cardboard. Yes I knew that the Chicago "spring" would turn my ingenious invention into a mushy pile of corregated fibers withing hours, but I wanted to see the bastard just try and get to the top.

I retreated to the safety of the dining room, poured a cup of coffe, and waited for him to come back. And waited. And waited. 2 crossword puzzles later, there was still no squirrel. I peeked out at the corners of my yard, only to see that he was perched atop the fence, in the far corners of the yard, staring back at me. It was go time.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" I pleaded. His reply? "Mother nature."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" I pondered. I myself knew what he meant, but he was a dumb fucking squirrel.

"You see," he explained, "this is spring. It will rain. I am content to sit here and let the last remainder of my stored winter fat fuel my body while I wait for the weather to turn that piece of flimsy cardboard into pulp. When that finally happens, I will resume my dining at the buffet table that you refer to as the bird feeder."

I was taken aback. His english had become very good. His manners had improved, and he was actually showing remarkable restraint, poise, and awareness. Now I am not one to take to violence to solve my problems, and probably should have just taken the damn thing down. But my inner caveman took over as I picked up a rock and threw it at him. I missed of course, not before wildly shrieking "COMMUNIST BLOOD SUCKING BUCK-TOOTHED HELLHOUND!!" or something vaguely along those lines. As he scrurried away, I could hear his maniacal laughter mocking me. "What are you gonna do now, big brain?" he taunted.

"What now? Let me tell you what now. I'ma call a coupla hard, pipe-hittin' n_____s friends, who'll go to work on the homes here with a pair of pliers and a blow torch. You hear me talkin', hillbilly boy? I ain't through with you by a damn sight. I'ma get medieval on your ass." I let out a deep sigh, because deep down I knew that in reality, I was not going to do a bloody thing. Squirrel 1, GM 0. But the year has just begun.

Have a coke and a smile.

Being unemployed again, is not without it's moments. A little deja vu for me as I write this, (wasn't I just here like yesterday?) but with something old, there is always something new. Last time around, I sat at a tiny little desk with an IDES worker (Illinois Decides Everyone's Stupid Illinois Department of Employment Security) and tried to explain how I got fired from my last job. You see, I wasn't very good at the whole money making thing in the frenetic world of futures trading, and when I rashly pissed away the chunk of money my new employers had bestowed upon me, they decided what I already knew: that I sucked as a trader. But this time around is a whole new ball of wax: how to convince them that I deserve money after I quit.

Well I am not going to re-bore you with all of that. It is winding its way through the process, but I wanted to point out a more serious observation I noticed yesterday while in the land of the unemployed. Apparently, "unemployment office" and "smiling" are not in the same sentence. Not in the same dictionary. Hell, not even in the same galaxy. I was there for little over an hour, (yes Fridays are the best days to go, if there is a best day to actually be unemployed) and the entire time I was looking at everyones faces. From the downtrodden citizens in line with me, to the frenetic security guard that jetted around the place like his pants were on fire, to the robotic man behind the counter sending us all in this direction or that to wait out our fate, nobody ever so much as cracked a hint of a smile.

Now this phenomenon is what I like to call Flatlining Corner of the Mouth Syndrome, or FCMS for short. One would expect that standing in line to prove you aren't working, so you can have the privilege of taking home less than 1/3 of what you used to make isn't on the top ten list of things that make you smile, and I wholly anticipated that my fellow disenfranchised would not be in the smiling mood. But the workers there were like monotonal robots, unable or unwilling to make the slightest of gestures to lighten the surely despondant mood of those throwing their humility to the wind and waiting for a handout from the state. I mean, they have a job. And we don't. You would thing that fact alone might entice them do voluntarily ditch FCMS, but maybe the unrelenting stream of the same thing day in and day out has sucked the joy out of their faces.

Or maybe working for a government agency just does that to a person. Ever see anyone at the DMV smiling? Or any other government agency for that matter? I mean, aren't government jobs supposed to be coveted? And if they are so coveted, why does everyone walk around with a surly expression on their face that says, "I hate my job, I hate my life, and most of all I ain't smiling for you!" Maybe when one goes to work for the government, they catch FCMS like a cold that never goes away. Maybe it's a pre-requisite for being a government employee. Check this box if you don't smile. EVER.

Well, it's apparently working. Despite my attempts to seem not entirely unhappy but actaully pleasant by smiling at whoever came my way, no one smiled back. I can just hear Dean Wormer screaming at the top of his lungs, "No more fun of any kind!" But would it kill someone looking into the eyes of a despondant unemployed citizen and offering up the slimmest of hope by cracking a little smile? Apparently so. I know now there are three undeniable truths in this world: there is no crying in baseball, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, and there is no smiling at the IDES. Maybe they just need a coke.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CD6j_7bgrtA

(DISCLAIMER: Bandzoogle in it's infinite wisdom has stripped me of the spell check, and I had to do it the old fashioned way, by re-reading this 7 times. Let's hope it didn't need an 8th.)

Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall.

At last post, dear faithful readers, I had walked on my job. If any of you still have any memory comprehension, and can pull out some fleeting flash from over 2 years ago, you might recall that I once stated that I loved my job. And I did. I once stated that I respected my boss as well, and you see how well that went. So with no job, and no prospects, why aren't you posting every day you might ask? Surely there must be endless amounts of unfiltered boredom around my house, no doubt filled with tales of crossword puzzles, job search engines, pastry recipes, rabid squirrels, and cans of paint. Yea I did paint brooding young teen #2's bedroom, but that's it so far. But the only excuse I can come up with is ennui. Lack of ambition. And the move.

Yes the move. It seems brooding young teen #1, soon to become adventurous and wise twenty-something #1, has had enough of life in his 12 x 14 cell that we called his bedroom. He wanted to move out. So we obliged. The young fledgling was ready to spread his wings, and take that first deep plunge out of the nest. Er, sort of. Yes he moved out as I have stated. Of his bedroom. And into the basement. Our all in one workout room, computer room, spare TV room, band room, and whatever else we can cram down there room is gone. I type this vast expose from my new perch on the second floor, next to the wife's spin bike and yoga mat, TV balanced next to my head. It is a little cramped, but we will make it work.

But the move? It all started with the bed. If that went, then all would be right in the world. The mattress made it down the 2 flights of stairs easy enough. And when we got to "the bend" at the bottom of the basement staircase, we were able to cajole it into it's new resting place. But an eerie uneasiness was start to creep into my brain, one that went something like, "but what about the box spring dumb-ass?" Yes the comfy, bendy part of the bed was one thing, but if I know any thing about box springs, I know the "box" part is made of wood, and if I know anything about wood, I know it does not willingly bend.

So there we were, on our holy grail of a Friday night, sitting in frustration at "the bend", me on one side, the wife on the other, and a very unrelenting box spring effectively wedged in the middle apparently for all eternity. It would not make it 'round "the bend". And worse yet, it did not want to go back upstairs. We sweated. We cursed. We laughed and we cried. But the damn thing wasn't going anywhere. So just as frustration was setting in at the possibility of this box spring becoming a permanent part of the staircase, the handy man in me took over. If the bed wouldn't go around the wall, then there was only one logical choice: the wall had to go.

And go it did. Thanks to a bit of chicanery and a little help from the Rockmaster borrowed from my neighbor, the wall came down. Not the whole thing, but just enough to squeeze the bed around it. Only it wasn't enough. So more wall came down. We tried again. It appeared for a millenia minute that removing the wall was a monumental waste of time, and the thing wouldn't go. Once again we sweated and we cursed. We laughed and we cried. We pushed and we twisted. And we almost gave up. But then I took a step back, looked at the impending Jenga puzzle in my basement staircase, and had a moment of inspired vision. It was like suddenly finding the solution to one of those metal bar puzzle thingy's. One little shift to the left and it was down. The wife and I high fived each other and laughed. And breathed a heavy sigh of relief. We may have even chest bumped.

So now the young lad has his crib, sort of. He has a couch and a TV, his bed, a little nook in the corner to set up the drum kit. But more importantly, a little space to call his own. Until that fateful day when he actually does move out of the house. And we do it all over again with the other young-un. I just know I am going to have to buy a sawzall one of these days.