Scene: Minuteman breakroom. Day.
Redd: Hey Nenie, you got a minute?
Nenie: Yeah.
Montage of Redd explaining a long and complicated situation involving jobs.
Nenie: Wow, that sucks. But, well. Like, for better or for worse we live in David Mamet's universe, yknow?
Redd: True, like not as misogynistic...
Nenie: Clearly. But the people whose loyalty you're agonizing over have no actual loyalty to you.
Redd: But if I had the right leads...
Nenie: Listen, it's times like this that I ask myself two questions. "What would David Mamet do" and "What would Maria Callas do?" Then after a while I stop and ask myself the real big question. "What would David Mamet have Maria Callas do?"
Redd: Yeah, and David Mamet would have Maria Callas stab the protagonist in the back, so where does that leave me?
Nenie: Whatever diva.
Redd: Hey Nenie, you got a minute?
Nenie: Yeah.
Montage of Redd explaining a long and complicated situation involving jobs.
Nenie: Wow, that sucks. But, well. Like, for better or for worse we live in David Mamet's universe, yknow?
Redd: True, like not as misogynistic...
Nenie: Clearly. But the people whose loyalty you're agonizing over have no actual loyalty to you.
Redd: But if I had the right leads...
Nenie: Listen, it's times like this that I ask myself two questions. "What would David Mamet do" and "What would Maria Callas do?" Then after a while I stop and ask myself the real big question. "What would David Mamet have Maria Callas do?"
Redd: Yeah, and David Mamet would have Maria Callas stab the protagonist in the back, so where does that leave me?
Nenie: Whatever diva.
In some cultures, they bury your umbilical cord underneath a tree so you'll always be able to find your way home.
In Chicago, depending on what side of town you're from, they give you a baseball cap.
Being born in Elgin to a guy who came to this country and lived on Addison and Harlem, my hat was blue rather than black.
Home is a concept that's become increasingly difficult to define as our world grows older. One of the signature concepts of modernity in general and the current brand in particular is an anchorlessness that beckons us away from our homes and into the misty plains of diaspora. There's no use, it's hegemony and its siren pull is too strong, too enticing to resist. Move away, leave it all behind, rack up your frequent flier miles trying to recapture what it is you've forsaken.
It's true.
You really can't go back.
It's a little too much like the second act of The Fantasticks. You've seen too much, the context that home now lives within has altered its meaning, and all that remains is the sickly sweet aftertaste of something you can never have again.
That's the beauty of being a Cubs fan.
A real Cubs fan, not a Bandwagoneer V1.0, a fratboy who's looking for the biggest open air party north of Grant Park, one who knows enough not to boo Sox fans, for they're our brothers in arms.
A real fan, one who learned at a young age that being a Cubs fan was a lifelong calling, a double-edged blade of suffering and redemption akin only to Catholicism in its demands of faith.
Watching this season has been heart-wrenching for me. We're how many games up? How many above .500? This is a math that most Cubs fans are unable, due to the articles of the faith to even begin to comprehend. I cannot believe, my faith falters as we come in for the approach.
But I know that somewhere Steve Goodman is singing.
I know, because I believe that down in the Billy Goat of the hereafter Mike Royko is ordering a round for the house while Harry Caray is saying "I told you so."
I know that my Uncle Sal is smiling.
Because this one is for Santo and my Mom. This one is for those of us who are still here to watch one more season in the sun, the rain, the gloaming and yes, even the lights.
For this is our time.
This is our year.
I know this because of prophecy. I know this because of faith.
I proposed to my wife and hours later Sammy Sosa hit his 500th home run.
I married my wife and hours later Greg Maddux won his 300th game.
It then, only goes to follow that my child will come into this world with their Cubs as World Series Champs.
So they'd better get cracking, because Toaster's gonna be here in February.
In Chicago, depending on what side of town you're from, they give you a baseball cap.
Being born in Elgin to a guy who came to this country and lived on Addison and Harlem, my hat was blue rather than black.
Home is a concept that's become increasingly difficult to define as our world grows older. One of the signature concepts of modernity in general and the current brand in particular is an anchorlessness that beckons us away from our homes and into the misty plains of diaspora. There's no use, it's hegemony and its siren pull is too strong, too enticing to resist. Move away, leave it all behind, rack up your frequent flier miles trying to recapture what it is you've forsaken.
It's true.
You really can't go back.
It's a little too much like the second act of The Fantasticks. You've seen too much, the context that home now lives within has altered its meaning, and all that remains is the sickly sweet aftertaste of something you can never have again.
That's the beauty of being a Cubs fan.
A real Cubs fan, not a Bandwagoneer V1.0, a fratboy who's looking for the biggest open air party north of Grant Park, one who knows enough not to boo Sox fans, for they're our brothers in arms.
A real fan, one who learned at a young age that being a Cubs fan was a lifelong calling, a double-edged blade of suffering and redemption akin only to Catholicism in its demands of faith.
Watching this season has been heart-wrenching for me. We're how many games up? How many above .500? This is a math that most Cubs fans are unable, due to the articles of the faith to even begin to comprehend. I cannot believe, my faith falters as we come in for the approach.
But I know that somewhere Steve Goodman is singing.
I know, because I believe that down in the Billy Goat of the hereafter Mike Royko is ordering a round for the house while Harry Caray is saying "I told you so."
I know that my Uncle Sal is smiling.
Because this one is for Santo and my Mom. This one is for those of us who are still here to watch one more season in the sun, the rain, the gloaming and yes, even the lights.
For this is our time.
This is our year.
I know this because of prophecy. I know this because of faith.
I proposed to my wife and hours later Sammy Sosa hit his 500th home run.
I married my wife and hours later Greg Maddux won his 300th game.
It then, only goes to follow that my child will come into this world with their Cubs as World Series Champs.
So they'd better get cracking, because Toaster's gonna be here in February.
I quit my job this week.
Sticklers for precision will say that I didn't quit since I didn't walk out of the place never too return. That, instead, I gave my notice and will be out of there in two weeks.
To me, it feels like I quit.
My last day will be on August 21, which is funny, because I started working at the Minuteman on August 21, 2006. At the time, I thought I'd be there a few weeks before I was swept away into some other, more fabulous life.
I'd be sad about my time at The Minuteman, were it not for the fact that it paid the bills, took care of my family and introduced me to a lot of really great people. Not the least of which was myself.
I learned that I was capable of biting my tongue and working retail, a profession that Drieg had long since told me I was incapable of doing because I thought it was beneath me. And it's true, the last of that particular brand of elitism died in me these past two years, but sadly, I still never quite shook the shame I felt at having to work retail. I'd always been told that I was destined to do great things, and working at the Minuteman as Food and Beverage supervisor just didn't feel like a great thing. Even when I received my promotion this January and was out of food service and into group sales...just didn't feel right, even though a large chunk of my job was to make sure that kids got books.
Now, all of that is being jettisoned.
I'm leaving to go back to teaching.
I can't tell you how relieved and excited I am to be going back to the classroom. It's been two years and I'm more than ready to get back to it...so here's to the next adventure.
Sticklers for precision will say that I didn't quit since I didn't walk out of the place never too return. That, instead, I gave my notice and will be out of there in two weeks.
To me, it feels like I quit.
My last day will be on August 21, which is funny, because I started working at the Minuteman on August 21, 2006. At the time, I thought I'd be there a few weeks before I was swept away into some other, more fabulous life.
I'd be sad about my time at The Minuteman, were it not for the fact that it paid the bills, took care of my family and introduced me to a lot of really great people. Not the least of which was myself.
I learned that I was capable of biting my tongue and working retail, a profession that Drieg had long since told me I was incapable of doing because I thought it was beneath me. And it's true, the last of that particular brand of elitism died in me these past two years, but sadly, I still never quite shook the shame I felt at having to work retail. I'd always been told that I was destined to do great things, and working at the Minuteman as Food and Beverage supervisor just didn't feel like a great thing. Even when I received my promotion this January and was out of food service and into group sales...just didn't feel right, even though a large chunk of my job was to make sure that kids got books.
Now, all of that is being jettisoned.
I'm leaving to go back to teaching.
I can't tell you how relieved and excited I am to be going back to the classroom. It's been two years and I'm more than ready to get back to it...so here's to the next adventure.
Four years ago today, a bunch of y'all gathered in the desert for Nena and my wedding.
Where did all the time go?
My father's told me that trying to figure that one out will occupy a lot more than the next four years, so I might as well suck it up and let it slide.
I honestly don't know where my life would be if it weren't for Nena. Nor, did I ever think the past four years would have gone down the way they did.
That's kind of the point of getting married. It's about having someone else there with you when the shit that's going to go down, goes down. Not so you can blame them, not so you can comfort each other, but so there's a witness that will vouch for you and say "Yeah, that totally just happened."
That's the whole point.
I don't know that I have any advice to share, other than to say. Everyone is crazy. The trick is finding someone whose crazy is compatible with yours....
Where did all the time go?
My father's told me that trying to figure that one out will occupy a lot more than the next four years, so I might as well suck it up and let it slide.
I honestly don't know where my life would be if it weren't for Nena. Nor, did I ever think the past four years would have gone down the way they did.
That's kind of the point of getting married. It's about having someone else there with you when the shit that's going to go down, goes down. Not so you can blame them, not so you can comfort each other, but so there's a witness that will vouch for you and say "Yeah, that totally just happened."
That's the whole point.
I don't know that I have any advice to share, other than to say. Everyone is crazy. The trick is finding someone whose crazy is compatible with yours....
Man, talk about a rough few hours.
Sadly, he'll always be remembered as Harry's kid the same way that Harry will always be remembered as "Cubs announcer, Harry Caray."
Skip was a great talent in his own right, and though I'm loathe to say anything nice about the Atlanta Professional Baseball Club, Skip was a class act and a helluva mentor, having raised a great successor in Chip, who will never be a letdown to the Caray legacy the way one of Harry's partner's kids is to his family.
Take care buddy.
An interesting and complicated giant has left us.
Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn has left the building.
I'll never forget seeing Gulag Archipeligo sitting on my father's shelf as a kid and thinking that someday I'd be big enough to read that and A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich.
I hope future generations will have the foresight to read them and look into a world that we're always a heartbeat away from revisiting.
Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn has left the building.
I'll never forget seeing Gulag Archipeligo sitting on my father's shelf as a kid and thinking that someday I'd be big enough to read that and A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich.
I hope future generations will have the foresight to read them and look into a world that we're always a heartbeat away from revisiting.
Vampire Prom was last night and a good time was had by most…
OK, I had a good time and my cousins Romeo and Rigby had a good time. See…
The turnout was pretty good and way better than expected. Afterward, I took the girls to the local IHOP only to discover that the bastards were closed. So we settled and went to Denny’s before heading back to the house…
But you don’t want the recap. I know what you want.
Ladies and Gentlemen…Vampire Prom Playlist
Continue reading Slim Mochaccino Returns.
Nena was talking to her mother the other day...
Nana: I killed Thumper today.
Nena: Huh?
Nana: Thumper, I killed him.
Nena: Who's Thumper?
Nana: The rabbit out back.
Nena: Ah.
Nana: Yeah, I had this squash, a yellow squash in my garden. It was going to be ready any day now. I got up this morning and went to go check on it and it was gone. So I went back into the house, got my .22 and shot him, right in the middle. He jumped up, flipped over, kicked once and fell dead. Right to the heart.
Nena: Well then.
Nana: I buried him out back, poor thing. I'm going out for his friend Bullwinkle tomorrow.
Nana: I killed Thumper today.
Nena: Huh?
Nana: Thumper, I killed him.
Nena: Who's Thumper?
Nana: The rabbit out back.
Nena: Ah.
Nana: Yeah, I had this squash, a yellow squash in my garden. It was going to be ready any day now. I got up this morning and went to go check on it and it was gone. So I went back into the house, got my .22 and shot him, right in the middle. He jumped up, flipped over, kicked once and fell dead. Right to the heart.
Nena: Well then.
Nana: I buried him out back, poor thing. I'm going out for his friend Bullwinkle tomorrow.
The Minuteman is hosting Vampire Prom this weekend.
Seriously, they are. Your local Minuteman will be open until midnight Friday night for Vampire Prom.
We were joking around at work when I told Cmdr. Yellowstoner that I'd totally be up for DJing Vampire Prom.
"Yeah, play some Death Cab, a little Promise Ring and a bunch of Joy Division, New Order and Cure."
"That's a great idea Nenie. You're on."
So I'm DJing Vampire Prom this weekend. I've been having WAY to much fun prepping for this.
Seriously, they are. Your local Minuteman will be open until midnight Friday night for Vampire Prom.
We were joking around at work when I told Cmdr. Yellowstoner that I'd totally be up for DJing Vampire Prom.
"Yeah, play some Death Cab, a little Promise Ring and a bunch of Joy Division, New Order and Cure."
"That's a great idea Nenie. You're on."
So I'm DJing Vampire Prom this weekend. I've been having WAY to much fun prepping for this.
Nenie: I love you so much.
Nena: HOW MUCH?!? QUANTIFY IT!!!!
Nena: HOW MUCH?!? QUANTIFY IT!!!!
