Two Year Birthdoo-yowzuh

Yeah. Well. Wow. Dos anos. Lots of words. Stories and stuff.

Um...

I'd prefer to keep moving along now, if you don't mind.

Staying Put

Thirty stories, three elevators, only one is operating.

Waiting for 20 minutes for a ride almost makes me want to walk 22 stories down the fire exit.

That'd be a sight.

10 Little Words I Love To Hear

"Paddy, I'm gonna be a little buzzed before our date."

That Is Right...And Sorta Cute

Tim Couch II

Whichever team thinks they're going to build a team around Brady Quinn is totally going to regret it.

I'll Take The Spike

Would you rather watch Madonna and Antonio Banderas slog their way through the disastrous "Evita," or stab yourself in the eye with a rusty spike dipped in poison?

Mark My Words

Felix Pie could be scary good, but the Cubs will probably fuck him up.

I mean, today they let him switch his number from 17 (Mark Grace) to 20 (Corey Patterson).

Sigh.

Random Thought of the Day

I don't particularly like having to be an asshole, but I don't really mind it either.

Fuck it. I love it.

Doesn't Take Sherlock

Somebody probably got paid some serious mo-nay.

Patpourri

"All the president is, is a glorified public relations man who spends his time flattering, kissing, and kicking people to get them to do what they are supposed to do anyway." -- Harry S. Truman

"Basically, I'm like the U.N.: I sit around all day and listen to people with a wide range of accents bitch and moan about things I can't or won't do anything about, and no one listens to what I say anyway." -- Pat

The Point

Sometimes you have no idea where I'm coming from, yet you're still drawn in.

Am I right?

Well, welcome to the point.

The Freeze

"So let's hear some stories. We want some dirt."

I breezed though the Rolodex in my mind, searching for some pleasant reminiscence or anecdotal evidence of affection, uncovering nothing but critical emotional failures, manufactured incidents of turmoil, the bitterest accusations, childish finger-pointing, locked-door meetings while I waited upstairs. In other words, utter senselessness.

The slightest feelings of disappointment stirred inside of me, my mouth began to fill with saliva, a tiny rush of adrenaline rushed out from my stomach through my extremities -- common defensive instincts, a genetic remnant from primal times.

What, I ask myself, is the best possible endgame for this abnormal state of affairs? Dysfunction is not a ritual, but rather a condition. Therefore, there is no sense in employing a conscious effort to break its cycle. Humans are not capable of making good on lost opportunities, which causes time and experience to crumple into one another, all the different yet similar moments relating to each other in strange ways, making us think we should predicted what will come. We do our best in spite of it, having no other option but to assume the very stances that created the problem in the first place.

We must maintain appearances, and always focus on the politic. Although, outsiders' opinions have never caused me one minute of lost sleep. However, they do matter, to varying degrees, to loved ones whose opinions I am bound to consider. So, I must do my part and contribute to the effort...

...I suppose.

On several occasions I've assumed the peacemaker role, but to no avail. The youthful arbiter, hindered by strong words combined with naive convictions, the cornerstones of early adulthood.

But now I have grown older, and proved myself worthy and capable of leadership, with a keener sense of how effortlessly time slips away. I have grown tired of the many cracks in the decrepit mask of appearances, and I know that I may one day be forced to introduce some very undemocratic sense into the equation. For, in my mind, based upon my own experiences, the only way to deal with a self-perpetuating difficulty is to alter radically the terms of engagement.

My sense of this is strong, but it is a time that lies off on the horizon.

So, considering all of this, I looked away from my new acquaintance and replied, "I'll echo my Italian forefathers and say: 'I don't know nothing.'"

"Ha ha ha. Holding back, huh? I don't blame you."

Neither do I.

Thank You, Bribery

Probably Not

Paperwork schmaperwork. Cubs-Astros canceled. No good movies. Too crappy out to take a walk. Don't feel like studying. Don't feel like reading. Tired of music. Nothing on t.v.

Does God have a rain check policy?

Opening Eve

Another year.

Like every year.

Every single year.

The 132nd installment.

The long season.

Some decent.

But mostly not.

So many injuries by May.

So often finished by July.

So many empty seats by September.

Such quiet nights by October.

But enough of that.

I am through with flashes of brilliance.

Gracie and Ryno and Dunston.

Maddux and Sosa and Sut.

How did they keep going all those years?

So good in April.

So bad in June.

Every single year.

Time and again.

Over and over.

Early successes.

Total meltdowns.

The eeriest circumstances.

Yet we always come back.

Impatient.

Hoping.

Praying.

Knowing that it should not be so hard to do something once.

To unfurl an earthquake cheer across the plains.

Just once.

For the love of our game.

Because the building is not the thing.

There's a grand scheme to all things.

And professional means business.

Especially now.

And sentimentality is expensive.

Ah but a gem.

Ah but a business.

Though never before with our team.

Patriarchs.

Tower folks.

And now.

What?

They will capitalize on her.

But might be sinister in doing so.

Because won't the Olympics have new stadiums?

A place on the Lake?

Or nearer the suburbs?

No.

Never.

Haunted is fine.

But no deals with the devil.

We need another Reinsdorf.

But does Jerry prefer to have another him in his club?

He decides.

And the residents.

Who claim to hate it.

But weren't yet born when she went up.

And wouldn't have settled there if not for her.

They want to live in Rogers Park?

Let them.

Wrigleyville.

We'll get our rich guy.

With deep pockets and common sense.

Who will let us keep our cozy spot.

Our home of escapism.

And anticipation.

And hope.

Distracted from the emptiness by a Super Bowl.

And a busy off-season.

Lots of big numbers tossed about.

$300 million sounds huge.

But not on an annual average basis.

Not for a large market with top attendance.

Not for an original team that hasn't won it all since the first Roosevelt.

Teddy would have been a Cubs fan.

Churchill too.

Never give up.

Don't go down unless swinging.

Get after it.

Get ready.

Another year.

Not just like every other.

Maybe it's time.

Maybe this is the year.

This is our year.

This is it.

It's here.

Finally.

C'mon.

Do it.

Please do it.

Please.

Just once.

Please.

Do it.

Please.

Go.

Cubs.

Go.

Kings and Queens and...

Chess is not so much a game as an approach. I find it works for my two favorite academic concerns, being history and business. Consider...

Sometimes, when looking at things, figure on losses before you begin, always plotting a follow-up recovery move.

And, look for certain moves which look like losses for a finite period of time, but which will eventually turn advantageous.

And, try to lure opponents into moves that you might have tried and know to be faulty, because you know what happened and can plot how to block their getting out it.

And, take solace in knowing that until the last piece is taken, the game can continue indefinitely.

I don't really play chess, but I really love straetgy. I should have gone into the military.

Probably Both

Either I'm batting 1.000 right now in the business-decision-making category, or my dad/boss is far too preoccupied to care about what I'm up to.

Random Thought of the Day

Gatsby is not an admirable character, which I find endlessly fascinating.

A Thousand Words

"Come, the 'V For Vendetta' convention is right this way..."

Conversation of the Week in 2 Acts

Angry old man: "I want to talk to the owner!"

Me: "Sir, I keep telling you, I AM the owner! You're trying to talk to me! And I'm standing right here in front of you!"

AOM: "Listen, kid, quit screwing around! You're too young to be the owner!"

Me: "And you're too senile to be out of the home alone."




Me, answering my phone: "Yo."

Al: "Hey, what up?"

Me: "Nada."

Al: "It's snowing up here. Can you believe this shit?"

Me: "It's snowing here too. Just closed. Probably gonna head home in a bit."

Al: "So are you busy right now, or can we chit-chat a little?"

Me: "Um, available to chat, totally out of chit."

Al, laughing: "Really?"

Me: "Yeah, I ran out talking to one of my grade school buddies at Starbucks this morning. But I've got this whole backlog of chat that I'm totally trying to unload."

Al: "Well, I guess we'll just have to make do with a chat then."

Me: "Only if we want to keep talking."

Al: "Right..."