Chef Alan

When I first met Mark, he made me dinner at his apartment in Fort Lauderdale. Steak on the grill, potatoes, asparagus, and a nice salad. It was pretty good, so I reciprocated a few days later. The only problem is that I hate to cook. It's how I maintained a hundred and fifty pound weight until the age of fifty years. Anyway, my idea of dinner had been to cook some meat and heat up some frozen vegetables. Every evening that was my dinner. Steak, very rare or chicken in a skillet. No breading on that chicken, only a little spice. Breakfast was usually a pork chop fried in the skillet and lunch was mostly salads. If food took longer to cook than it took for me to eat it, it wasn't worth my time. Mark hated the dinner I made for him that evening, but he kept it to himself

Mark moved in with me about twenty years ago and he insisted upon doing all the cooking. I did not argue with that. I have steadily gained weight since. Now, in our twenty first year, Mark has decided that I should cook. He has taught me how to cook breakfast, which I hate to do, and now he wants me to do more cooking for dinner. The problem is, once again, I hate to cook. Unfortunately I have proven that I can make a pretty decent pot of mashed potatoes. So I now have to make the potatoes for dinner. I have also proved that I can do a roast beef. Mark hasn't left that to me alone yet, but I do most of the work. There are a few other dishes that I have mastered, but I feel that I have been tricked. After lulling me into a food stupor for years, Mark has suddenly given me some responsibility in the kitchen. At least he has left one thing alone, I still get to clean up afterwards.

Brown Snow

It snowed here last Thursday. Not a lot of snow, only about one inch. Not enough to make it practical to use the snow blower, so I went at it with a snow shovel. That was a bad idea, I hurt my back and it took a few days to recover. In addition to not wanting to pull the snow blower out of the garage for one inch of snow, I also didn't want to go out into the yard and pick up the dog poo. Every day since it snowed I let Scout and Chandler out into the yard, and every day I told myself that I would pick their waste up soon. Yesterday all the snow melted and I took that opportunity to go collect the dog poop in the big orange, dog poop bucket. It was only three days that I let it slide, yet there had to be a hundred turds lying all around the edge of the yard. (Yes, just around the edge because my dogs are very smart and know enough not to dirty their play area.) Anyway, it was like a great treasure hunt out there. Just when I thought I had got it all, I would spy another turd hiding among the fallen leaves. Also, there was the problem from Saturday when somebody fed the dogs leftover breakfast sausages and it gave them diarrhea. Even half frozen, that was not easy to pick up. But I did get it all cleaned up, just in time for a fast moving squall that dropped another inch of snow in the back yard. More snow is predicted for Wednesday, and this being Chicago there is a very good chance that I won't see this week's turds for a few months. In fact they will probably number into the thousands by March.

From Elephants, to Beanie Babies, to Porn in One Post

I went out to visit Mom yesterday. She looked good. Her face had some color, she was alert and witty, and back to bitching about growing old. We have a live in helper for her now. A very nice lady who forces Mom to eat, which is a good thing. While I was there I scanned some more photos from my past. This must be on my fourteenth birthday. I'm on the far right and my older brother, Dave is on the left. I think that's my little brother, Paul in the middle.

I snapped a quick photo of Mom while I was there. I think it turned out pretty good, and after I showed it to her, I mentioned that I can take out the wrinkles later on my computer. Mom said, "You think I have wrinkles?" One good thing about when you put your foot in your mouth in front of Mom, her short term memory is not so good.

Wrinkle free.

While standing in Mom's bathroom taking a leak, I looked around at all the elephant themed chachkies she had in there. There is an elephant clock, elephant soap dish, elephant towels, elephant pictures on the walls, elephants everywhere. Mom has elephant chachky all over her house because she once made the mistake of telling us how much she admired elephants. That made it too easy for us to pick out Mom's Christmas presents every year. I once got her a giant elephant mobile, with soft, plush elephants dangling from little hangers. I wouldn't have put that piece of crap in my house, yet I expected Mom to cherish it. After a few years of non-stop elephant themed presents, Mom told us to stop it. She could admire elephants without filling her home full of them. That's a good thing to remember. Never tell people that you love some particular thing, or you just might be inundated with too much of that thing. Twenty years ago Mark told me he liked Beanie Babies, so I got him Beanie Babies for his birthday, Beanie Babies for Christmas, Beanie Babies for Valentine's Day, and on and on. He told me to stop. I understand. That's why I don't tell people what I like the most. Besides, porn is free on the internet.

Windy City Blues

I got up this morning and looked at the thermometer before taking the dogs out. Thirty six degrees, not bad. It's been colder than that this season, eighteen one morning. So I fed the dogs and then I hooked Scout up for her walk. I opened the door and saw things being blown down the street. Not small things, but big things like my neighbor's Christmas decorations. The giant Christmas dragon they had on the lawn, branches from another neighbor's tree, and goddamn there goes the wreath off my front door. Seriously, the winds were gusting over fifty miles per hour. I have to give credit to Chicagoans. If this were Florida, the schools would have been closed, airports closed, and at the supermarket the bread and canned tuna shelves would have been stripped bare. The only difference between the wind in Chicago this morning and a storm in Florida is that it isn't called a "Tropical Storm" here. You pin that name on a storm and people go goofy. They all run to the Home Depot to buy batteries and wood. Lines form at gas stations. The Publix market turns into a riot zone. Not here in Chicago. Branches are blowing down the street, small children are being lifted off the ground, and my dog's poop gets caught in the wind and shoots out sideways as she squats. Yet Chicagoans go to work, go to school, do their business like nothing is happening. So much braver than Floridians. Of course, if you added some snow to that wind in Chicago they would look and act just like Florida, stripping the stores of tuna, bread, milk, and batteries. Traffic would grind to a halt, airports would close, and kids would get one of those coveted 'snow days'.

Hello, My Name is Darryl

I took the CTA down to see my sister Lisa on Saturday. Lisa moved into the city and has a nice little apartment downtown. So I hopped on a bus that took me to the 'L' train that goes to the Loop. I kind of get a kick out of riding public transportation. It's just like driving your own car but with a lot more stopping, and it moves a lot slower than a car, and you have to put up with a lot of other people riding with you. Oh, and sometimes it smells like piss. Other than that, it's just the same.

I was sitting in one of the 'L' cars, one of the new ones with the seats along the sides, near the door. At the Addison stop the doors opened and a large blind man came tap, tap, tapping his way onto the train. He felt his way in with his white cane and stopped directly in front of another man. Plenty of room on the train, but he stopped and stood directly in front of that man, only inches from his face. I could tell the man was uncomfortable. The blind man was holding an empty McDonald's cup, shaking it up and down, making the coins inside rattle. As the doors closed and the train started moving, the blind man started his spiel in a monotone voice.

"My name is Darryl and I am blind. I would appreciate any help you could give me. I need some money to pay my bills... suck my balls... so if you could help even just a little bit... fuck you people... I would be very appreciative."

Darryl turned away from the man, I don't even know if he knew he was there, and started tap, tap, tapping his way down the aisle.

"Hello, my name is Darryl and I am blind." He shook the McDonald's cup a few times. "Please give if you can... suck my balls... I will remember you in my prayers... eat shit... and god will bless you."

Darryl continued, his red tipped, white cane tapping just an inch from the toe of my shoe. I looked around the train to see if anybody else was hearing what I heard. Absolutely every other person on that train had their heads down, staring into the screen of their smart phones, totally ignoring Darryl. I was the only rube paying attention to blind guy with tourette syndrome.

"...any amount is welcome... shit... any help appreciated. God bless and thank you. My name is Darryl and I am blind... fuck shit crap... suck my balls... please help if you can... "

Nobody looked up. Nobody acknowledged his presence. I sat there in stunned silence and did nothing, too scared to move a muscle for fear that Darryl would stop to talk with me.