Wednesday, February 28, 2024

Pizza Day

 


Wednesday has become my pizza day. I usually buy a good quality frozen pizza at the Jewel while doing my weekly shopping. When I get home, I bake it, and then eat the whole damn thing. I start out with good intentions. Eat half of it for lunch and then save half for breakfast the next day. (You know you've all had leftover pizza for breakfast at least once. Don't lie.) Seriously, there are a few very good frozen pizza brands out there. Nick and Vitos, Corner Pub, and the one I had today. Brew Pub pizza. All thin crust, Chicago, old school style pizza. I even cut it into squares like I did when I worked for Ray's Pizza almost sixty years ago.

I was fifteen years old when my neighbor who owned Ray's offered me a job. One dollar an hour and all the beef sandwiches and RC Cola I could consume in one shift. I was fifteen, so that was a lot. A lot of money, RC Cola, and beef. Thinking back I realize what made the pizza taste so good. Part of my job was mixing the pizza dough. Flour, eggs, yeast, oil, and water, mixed in a big dough mixer. Before turning on the big mixer, I would have to pre-mix the ingredients in by hand. When the dough was finished in the mixing machine, I had to dig it out of the giant mixing bowl by hand and plop it down in an oil soaked wooden box. There it would sit to rise for awhile before putting it in the refrigerator. Later I would have to take the dough and measure out little balls of it to a certain weight, each one a future pizza. Yes, the pizza from Ray's was very good. Only a couple of problems. Fifteen year old Alan did all the prep work with no hair net, no mask, and no latex gloves. That was my sweat, my hair, and my sneezes in that dough that made it so delicious. One more thing. I loved the well done mozzarella cheese on top of the pizzas as they came out of the oven. So I would snatch a big gob off the top of the pizzas and eat it right then and there. Sadly a few of Ray's customers got pizza with half the cheese missing. Fifteen year old Alan was a little asshole.

Wednesday, January 31, 2024

The Can

 


So three weeks ago it started snowing around here and we were buried under one and a half inches of wet snow. Oh the horrors. To add to the misery, for a whole week after that the temperatures never got warmer than ten degrees above zero. Thank the Lord, or Tom Skilling, after that the weather changed and we've had nearly two weeks of temperatures in the mid thirties to upper forties. It's like we're in Florida, but without the flying cockroaches. Of course that means all the snow has melted and piles of trash have appeared in my front yard. Yesterday I went out with my orange Home Depot bucket and my "Grabber Reacher Tool for Seniors" as it is described on Amazon, and picked up all the trash.

Let's go back to the one and a half inches of snow and sub freezing temperatures. On the first day of that terrible time I took in a friend's dog, Eddie. That means I had three dogs needing to poop and I was not going to take them out for a walk. No way was I going out in that mess with those dogs. So I would open the back door of the porch, let the little fur angels run out there, and watch them poop and pee all over the place. One good thing about Eddie, he always poops in the same spot. Bad thing about Eddie, his poops are gigantic. But never mind because all the dog poop would immediately disappear as their turds melted down through the snow. Unfortunately, snow melts and dog poop will still be there.

I have a six gallon trash can out by the alley. When I clean up the dog poo in the yard I put it in the can. Yesterday I cleaned up the yard. The six gallon can filled up fast, which meant I would have to transfer it to the big garbage bin so the City of Chicago could pick it up today. It was heavy and the bag I had lined the can with ripped open. Let's just say the shit almost hit the fan. Luckily I came prepared with a giant black trash bag that captured it and I was able to get it all in the big bin for the truck to pick up today. This is the reason we tip the garbage men around the holidays.

Sunday, January 7, 2024

Comfort

 


I was in a doctor's office waiting room last week, helping out a friend. While he was in having a procedure, I took a seat in one of the very comfortable looking chairs provided. For the first few minutes I was fine. Then I realized the seat was canted forward, maybe one degree off the level. You see I have a very sophisticated sense of comfort and I can feel such things. A grain of sand in my shoe feels like a rock. If I sleep in the same spot in my bed too many times, I can feel the divot I have created. I have a very good mattress, but I can feel it. Anyway, sitting in that waiting room became unbearable after awhile. It reminded me of going to parties when I was young. One in particular, thrown by one of my crazy friends, came to mind. I had never been to his apartment before, so how was I to know he had no furniture. He had a stereo, a cat, and a mattress on the floor. That was it. I didn't stay long. Besides, like I said he was crazy. He was known for bringing his cat to gay bars and dancing with it. Also, he spent some time in jail for threatening to kill a United States Senator. I asked him to never call me again after that.  

I find that in my older age I need comfort and won't put up with hard seats, bad shoes, and parties with no furniture. Yet for nearly one whole year I lived on a farm with a bunch of hippies. We all slept on what you might call 'roadside' mattresses in one big room, on the floor. Seriously, I have no idea where those mattresses came from. I slept like a baby back then. That was over fifty years ago. Now I avoid being on the floor for any reason. Mostly because of the intense effort it takes to get me back up on my feet. Besides, that's where the dogs hang out. Lots of hair down there.

Saturday, December 23, 2023

Merry F***king Christmas: Yogurt Edition

 


When I was a kid, my brothers, sisters, and I loved Christmas. The anticipation, the lights, the nearly two weeks off from school was special. Life seemed so wonderful in those days immediately before the big day. However, it was not so great for my dad. We didn't know he had to pay for all of the stuff that showed up under the Christmas tree. I never thought about what a bitch it was to lug that big tree home, set it up, and then drag all the decorations down from the attic crawl space. So at some point in the days before Christmas something would set him off. Dad would blow his top and in his thunderous big man voice, burst into a symphony of profanities. It could be a burned out string of lights. It could be something that happened in traffic on his way home from work. It could be me saying just the right thing in front of him. All I knew was to get the hell out of the way. I'm not much different. I've had my Christmas disasters that have turned me into a raving maniac. Disasters that send me screaming every foul, nasty curse word I can muster at the top of my lungs. One year in Florida it was an open window that allowed the tropical breezes to topple Mark's beautifully decorated Christmas Tree.

I make my own yogurt. Every eight days or so, I pour twenty four ounces of milk into the six hundred dollar Vitamix blender that Mark made me buy for him one Christmas. Then I add my live yogurt starter and blend it at the very lowest speed for a minute. It takes about eighteen hours to cook and then you have yogurt at a third the cost of buying it pre-made. Today was yogurt day. After pouring the milk and the live yogurt starter into the blender, I turned to throw away the yogurt carton. At which point some part of my body brushed against the blender and flipped the on/off switch to on. In a panic I flipped the wrong switch and turned the speed up to 500,000 rpm blasting all the milk and yogurt straight up onto the cabinets, walls, floor, and me. Immediately the dogs came running in to help clean up the mess. Just as immediately they ran as I burst into my impression of my dad.

It took about an hour to clean it all up. I think I got it all, but it's hard to tell. White milk, white yogurt, white kitchen cabinets and counters. I may have missed some. I'm sure I'll know if I did in a day or so. That's when the aroma of sour milk will make it known.

Friday, December 8, 2023

Busy Week

 


I've had an odd week that could have been overwhelming. However, if I break it down into smaller compartments I can deal with it all. I'm babysitting my sister's dog. Two of my sisters are in the hospital. I got a new housekeeper. I lost Dennis.

First off, the dogs. My older sister had surgery this week so I took her dog in while she recuperates. Nothing funnier than watching me walk three barking, snarling dogs down our street. Snarling because the two smallest dogs seem to think that every approaching human is a threat, and every cat or squirrel needs to be chased. Scout, the big girl of the group, has been an angel about the whole deal. By the way, finding tiny small dog turds among the fallen leaves of autumn is quite a challenge.

The housekeeper. As for her cleaning abilities, she's great. Very diligent, which can be a drawback since she spent four hours cleaning my bathroom and kitchen. I had to stop her at four hours because I am paying her by the hour. But that bathroom is spotless and the kitchen shines. I'll have her start in the living room next time she's scheduled.

Dennis. No, he's not dead. Literally, I lost him. On Tuesday I dropped him off at his doctor's office for an appointment. Around three in the afternoon I texted him, "Do you need me to pick you up?" Crickets, no answer. At five I tried calling him, but his phone went straight to voicemail. Then for the next three hours I kept calling every half hour or so, and every time straight to voicemail. I was getting worried about him. No doctor's office is still seeing patients at eight in the evening. After checking the bushes in front of the house to see if maybe he fell into them while coming up the stairs, I decided to call the hospital emergency room by his doctor's office. "Oh yes, Dennis is here in the waiting room. He's been here for four hours." So relief and panic all rolled into one. HIPAA rules and his phone taking me straight to voicemail meant that I had no idea why he was there. Which is where he stayed for over thirty hours. Finally the next evening, the dogs started going batshit and I looked out the window. Two men were helping Dennis up the porch stairs. A taxi driver and a stranger who helped pick Dennis up after he fell getting out of the taxi.

So, Dennis is fine, the dogs are fine, and I surely hope my two sisters are/will be fine. Meanwhile the two smallest dogs have staked out their sleeping positions on my bed, inches from my face.

Sunday, November 26, 2023

Zombie Dog

 



This morning I Googled, "How long are dreams?". I dream a lot and sometimes they seem to go on for a long time. Google says, "Five to twenty minutes." Seems about right. My craziest dreams used to come after watching episodes of The Walking Dead earlier in the evening. If you don't know, it's a show about zombies. To try and stop the bad dreams I would record The Walking Dead and then watch it during the daytime. That didn't totally clear the dreams, so I stopped watching it all together. I haven't watched it for a few of years now.

Last night I had what seemed like an extended dream involving zombies. People I knew were turning into zombies. Everybody was trying to bite me and turn me into a zombie. Worst of all, I knew it was a dream and I couldn't wake up. If you ever watched The Walking Dead, you know the growling sound the zombies make. That was what I kept hearing in my dream, until I finally woke up. Next to my bed, in the dark, was Scout. She was doing her "I have to go out and poop" growl while staring up at me. It's a very low, almost inaudible growl, that is not meant to scare. Only meant to let me know she has to poop. I can only assume she had been sitting there for quite a while before I woke up.

Monday, November 20, 2023

The Magic Chair

 


When my grandfather was in his eighties I would often stop over to visit when my delivery job took me close by. If it was during the baseball season I would find Grandpa asleep in his recliner chair with the television on very loud, and tuned to the Chicago Cubs. Not that Grandpa was a big fan of the Cubs. He had the Cubs on because he was a fan of naps in the middle of the day and the Cubs didn't play night games back then. No sleeping pill could compete with the Cubs of the 1970s and a can of Meister Brau Beer. The recliner chair helped too, I believe.

I'm not yet in my eighties, but I do understand now how all that worked. I've owned a string of recliner chairs over the last forty years. Some were cheap and some were expensive, often they were uncomfortable. Then there were those giant fluffy things that seemed to want to swallow you. Whatever, I like to recline when I watch television. When my last one broke down, I went to the La-Z-Boy store and spent a lot of money on a new recliner chair. It is like nothing I have ever experienced before. I've had it for a year and a half now and it still feels like new. I sit in that thing when my back hurts, and the hurt subsides. What I didn't expect was what it would do for my napping. I sleep better in that chair than I do in bed. The problem is that it puts me to sleep when I don't even want to sleep. I will turn on a program, see the first few minutes, and then I find myself opening my eyes to a completely different show. I won't even remember closing my eyes. It's like magic, kind of like time travel. If it weren't for DVR's I would miss a lot of shows. Also, if it weren't for the two dogs that live with me I'd  probably never wake up. They don't put up with this ignoring them shit.