Monday night

Phhheeewww … The high tide of work stress has receded. Tonight I'm going to format-check my new play, drink beer and watch the "Gossip Girl" finale with the ladies. Hold my calls.

Rebels are we, born to be free

Back in Chicago, the sun is shining, and though it's a bit busy at work, a great deal is now behind me and I'm breathing easy. The residency at the college last week went really well, and I was very happy with the staged reading they did. I'd like to bring some of those people to Chicago if anyone ever doubles down on this play. We'll see.

Erika has the week off, so she's enjoying it at home and out and about with Ella. Tomorrow, the two of them are flying down to Ft. Lauderdale with Suzie, whose mom has a time share there. Dad will be left home alone. … Sniff … I've got a great picture of Ella by my desk at the New Cracker Factory, and it really captures who she is. When I look at it now, I wish she were here. It's going to be tough to be apart for nearly five days. I expect they'll find me in my underwear covered in Thai takeout boxes and the hard ends of pierogies, the TV on, Okocim empties all about. It's not going to be pretty.

Well, if I rent "Bananas," I'll probably make it thru the week. Yes, that sounds like a plan. Let's make it happen.

Rent-a-fan

It turned into a bit of a beery weekend, on my part at least. After the reading Friday evening and last night's Super Bowl, I'm ready for a brew break. I was compelled at the Super Bowl gathering, naturally after drinking, to make my opinions on football loudly known to all in attendance, none of whom were football fans. I snarled, grimaced and frequently flipped off the TV screen. I hope it was at least entertaining. I promise to behave better next year.

Now what? A new week, a new month. More of the same and some things never before seen.

Siberian League dispatches

I think it probably was two years ago I was sitting somewhere, at home or maybe at a restaurant, sipping a 10% alcohol brew and lamenting a little that such cold weather warmers were wasted on Chicagoans because of the recent string of wimpy winters. I probably was wishing it were five below zero so I could get the "correct" experience. Well, folks, sometimes the universe listens. This cutting, brutal cold has me crying out for one of those 2006 45-degree Decembers, when people used to say "It was so much colder when I was a kid." Screw that noise.

A good furnace and plastic on the front windows can only do so much in this situation, and living in a hundred-year-old house doesn't help. At least I've got some quality NFL action to occupy me. Nice. Tarvaris Jackson just lost the snap and scrambled backwards 15 yards before three Falcons fell on him. The Bears might have a shot at the playoffs after all.

In other sports news … Well, really this is old news because I was eliminated from my fantasy playoffs two weeks ago. I thought the triple-barreled attack of Peterson, Jones and Cutler would carry me to glory. Ah, well. My brother, who is leading big in the title game today, warned me about fantasy first rounds. Sure enough, that's where I got bounced. Terry is en route to his second straight championship. His acumen frightens me. (He benched Peyton Manning this week in favor of Matt Cassel and was right.) He's a cold, calculating manager, kind of like the Bill Belichick to my, hmm, Jim Mora Jr.? … Yes, I think it's time to end this post. Stay warm.

Blurf

Forgive me if I forsake my Northern and Eastern European ancestry, but this is a definite work-from-home day. Of course, I had to go to the office, and now the flurries are swirling between our building and Trump's tower like pieces of white lucite in a snowglobe. At least the management company provided a free breakfast this morning. That takes the edge off. And there's a rumor we might get out a little early to beat the snow that all meteorologists are predicting will hit the city after noon. December has already been a bitch, and it's technically not even winter yet. I fear if this cold, dark weather stretches over the next two months, we'll be reenacting the birth sequence from "Eskimo" at the hospital in February.

This weather really makes me want to drink, and I think I had a touch too much red wine last night, which Erika permitted me after I started whining. Well, tonight it's going to be NA beer and probably a shovel session at some point. Man, sometimes I wish it were 2004 again, if just for the global warming.

The insider

I didn't lose my job yesterday, thankfully, but I do seem to have picked up some kind of bug — my other fear from two days ago. I'm not sure if it's flu or a cold, but I'm feeling crappy. Rats. Well, I'm not missing much outside. Right now it looks like a textbook example of winter. Instead, I'm sitting in comfort in my house shoes, with central heat and the Alabama/Florida game. I'm thankful for all of these things.

I think Erika's sleeping right now. She had to do some grueling extracurricular work that involved carting kids yesterday from the South Side to Evanston, coming home around 1 this morning, getting up at 7 and doing it all over again today.

Does it get much more interesting than this? Wait, I almost forgot to say that I'm going to reorganize our filing cabinet system. This is why I don't usually write weekend dispatches. … Well, pleasant evening to you.

Luck, karma, randomness?

Wouldn't you know it? I caught some of sort of flu-like bug, and I'm laid up at home. Felt worse yesterday. Hopefully, with continued hydration and rest, I can stave this off just in time to return to work on Tuesday. Dammit.

Until then, I think I'll fire up this amp Erika bought me for my birthday. Looks like a winner. I just had my guitar fixed at that place off the corner of Augusta and Western. The guy, Fred, did a nice job. Check him out if your axe needs some care.

Blurf

I think that subject line says it all. I haven't slept well the last couple of nights. I suppose I'm getting used to the work schedule again after being off for a week and a half. I suppose there could be some stress thrown in there, expecting the baby, etc.

Speaking of which: Erika heard the baby's heartbeat for the first time at the doctor's today. (I was stuck at work.) The doc said it sounded particularly healthy and that the baby had started to move around, which is unusual at this point. I told Erika the baby must take after her.

There's nothing I'd like more than to go to sleep right now. Or, barring that, go home after work and coast right into bed. However, I have to run to Oak Park tonight, with writing after that. Then, THEN, I can cease my tasks — I'd say I can shut down activity in about ... eight hours. I'm already looking forward to it.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Well, a preliminary test has shown that Erika is amused by "Jeeves and Wooster." We finished up the "Pearls" episode last night before bed. I enjoyed it as well, but that's only natural. I don't know if we'll watch any more together any time soon, but it's nice to know they're there. We were really getting into "The Tudors" a couple weeks ago and should have more on the way from Netflix.

We've certainly had our homebody nights, as habits of the long winter and Erika's stressful second semester (where she often had hours of work to bring home) have carried over into the warm months. Sometimes you just want to plop in front of the tube, zone out and relax. Don't worry, though, we have been more active lately, going out to dinner and such. And we're getting our bikes fixed as I write this. Should have them late today or tomorrow.

In truth, there are some big changes coming up for us. Most of you who read this already know, but if you don't: Erika is pregnant. We found out in early June. We couldn't be happier; it was something we were thinking about for awhile. Naturally, your narrator is a Nervous Norvous, and must work to keep his irrational anxieties in check during this experience and just enjoy it. But that's not the story by a long shot. The story is that we saw the baby's heartbeat for the first time this past Friday. What an amazing, unexpected surprise. Erika is nine weeks along, and I wasn't sure we'd be able to spot it.

So, you can look forward to more reports in the family way vein. I'll spare you the gory details, but I'm very happy to relate the many joys it will bring us in the coming months/years. It's going to be a change, but one I think will pay off in ways I can't begin to imagine. Wish us luck!

It's 80 degrees and he's wearing the jacket

Hawk without DJ? That sounds a little like ... Farmer without Rooney. But sure enough, just as future Ford Frick Hall of Famer John Rooney can be bounced by the Sox, so too can Darrin Jackson. Yes, I'm referencing a recent story in the Trib that said DJ might be replaced in the Sox TV booth by future Ford Frick Hall of Famer Steve Stone (would he be the first analyst?). Now, Steve Stone is the greatest color man of all time, but I've grown to love Hawk and DJ's easy-going, Texas League vibe that's as summertime as city sticker renewal. Sure they have their detractors, but I think they ultimately enhance the game and provide some variation from cookie-cutter broadcast teams such as (gulp) future Ford Frick Hall of Famer Joe Buck and his buddy Tim McCarver. Hawk and DJ are baseball like it used to be: played in gigantic, empty American League parks in the middle of July.

Speaking of Ed Farmer ... I was relating to Erika, while walking through the Home Depot parking lot, that Farmer might be feeling a bit blue now that his favorite uniform infringement target, C.C. Sabathia, has left the AL. Farmer is constantly irked by players and coaches who wear their uniforms, hats and sunglasses incorrectly, according to his standard, which he has never fully articulated. Sabathia, a large man, wears an extra baggy uniform with, most offensive to Farmer, his straight-brimmed Indians cap slightly askew. You can't really top that for aggravating the old-timers. So who will Farmer set his sights on next? I guess there's always Manny Ramirez.

Scenes from the bunker

The armies of noise are gathering for tonight's offensive. For some reason, last year saw a particularly loud Fourth of July in the Ukrainian Village. I anticipate something similar, if not worse, tonight in our new 'hood near Kedzie and Armitage. Ah, but it's only one evening, right? I can climb into bed at 11, turn on the fan to block out the explosions and go to sleep.

The real challenge, dear reader, is what I will make for dinner. I'm determined not to order out or drive somewhere for food. I want to make something myself from what we have here -- something that isn't a veggie burger. I'm not much of a cook, though I can at least whip up some pasta. Yes, maybe I'll do that.

The Cubs will battle their natural enemies, the Cardinals, in about half an hour, so you know where I'll be. I doubt, however, that the outcome will affect the intensity of tonight's festivities. Would you want to blow up things more or less after a key Cubs win or loss? My thinking is that if you went through the trouble to drive up to Wisconsin, buy the illegal fireworks and mow a staging area into your back lawn, you're going to blow off all the damn things no matter what.

Now where's that marinara?

Telegram for you, sir

Your intrepid narrator is now home alone for the weekend. Why am I alone, you ask? Well, Erika advised me to stay here and not accompany her to Las Vegas for a friend's wedding. She believed it would be too boring and irritating for me, and we'd be better off saving the money. Nice of her, don't you think?

Now some of you may already be taking the "under" on me starving to death by Sunday, but I assure you, I'm eating a Trader Joe's frozen pizza, freshly cooked, and enjoying a cold O'Doul's as I write this. And if I need more provisions, I have the car.

Indeed, if anything will be my foe this weekend, it will be idleness and solitude. In anticipation of that, I've created a to-do list for the next three days that mixes house chores, exercise and outside errands to keep things interesting. And when I inevitably end up on the couch, I'll have books, comics, sports radio, Netflix selections, PBS, WCIU and MeTV to keep me company. Oh, I almost forgot. Before he moved to NYC last weekend, Jonathan lent me a full complement of "Jeeves and Wooster." I've watched one now, and I'm hooked.

So don't worry about me, dear reader. If things get really desperate, I might -- hey -- call some real human beings. What a novel idea.

SickBlogging 2.0

Our Memorial Day party is winding down. I forced myself to be active today: went to the South Side to visit Grandma, carried some big bags of dirt to the garden, ran around with the little kids for a bit. Now I'm feeling sweaty and a little cruddy, but I think I've gone over the hump with this cold.

But enough about that ... Lately I feel as though there are forces conspiring to make Erika and I get cable. Really those forces are called the NBA. Once the regular season ended, 85% of the playoffs went to cable. Thank you ABC for the Saturday game, but I've had to endure two straight days of hoops on the radio.

Well, it's not really that bad. You can't front on the combined basketball knowledge of Hall of Famers Hubie Brown and Dr. Jack Ramsay, who are doing radio color for the East and West finals, respectively. The more I listen, the more I want Dr. Jack to interview me every morning before I go to work.

And what about Will Perdue with the pre/post analysis? Do you remember hearing that Phil Jackson made Perdue read "On the Road" to improve his game/life? I do. That's the kind of thing Woundup is not likely to forget.

Dreemlund

I was talking with Jonathan last night about dreams, and as I predicted, I ended up having a vivid one after earlier claiming I had no vivid dream life. But that still is almost completely true. (I think I delved into it in at least one post on Old Woundup.) I've always been more of a day-dreamer (and a layabout), and I've long figured this activity uses up fuel in some way from the Dream Gas Tank.

So, you probably want to hear about the dream. Well, I can't remember much of it now, though I know it concerned some old friends from Florida: running around at night, a dinner. I should've written it down.

But I do recall that post. Here it is. And it is your reason to start reading Old Woundup, which, though not as technically sophisticated as this current incarnation, more than makes up for any shortcomings in heart.

Don't Forget Your Intermittens

"I am disgusted by the pathetic trickle of content on this site the past month."

Just another angry letter from a Woundup reader--well, really the only Woundup reader. But he lives alone, is unemployed and has a powerful modem. Mr. Calabrese, your points are well-taken, but we ask for your patience during this transition time. We recently found the 240-foot mainframe unit we paid for was partially constructed of mint-flavored toothpicks--completely useless.

Things are still in boxes. I haven't even touched my dishes, yet. And I take my clothes straight from the plastic tubs. I just have a lot going on right now, and I'm always super-tired when I get home. The weather's so bad, too. I just want to watch TV and go to sleep. The lightbulb burned out in the front entranceway. I'm afraid I'm going to get mugged, but my landlord doesn't care. I just want spring to get here so I can refocus and open the windows. I totally missed the deadline to register for classes. I don't think I was really ready... I mean, I don't know what I want to do. I shouldn't spend all that money on grad school. But maybe I should just say "fuck it" and dive in--totally buckle down and do a lot of work. I don't know. I just want to go out tonight and forget everything.

King Catch-up

They let us out early today due to the weather. That would've never happened at the old Cracker Factory. I hopped a cab, avoided a nasty snarl near the Ontario on-ramp and found myself at home by 2:15. I lit a cigar, poured a glass of sherry and put my feet up on the ottoman. Well, those last three were fictitious, but I felt that way inside.

It's fun to get a little snowed in. I keep reminding myself how much more intense the Upstate New York snow of my younger years was. A foot was nothing to Buffalo or Syracuse. It really takes a knockout, like the recent one near Watertown, to upset the locals.

A little wine, a little "Sanford and Son"... I hope you're in a warm place tonight, Woundup reader. Talk to you soon.

Christmas World

Fumbles Lost

I was bounced out of the fantasy football playoffs on Sunday. It hurts a little bit. I really wanted the bi-fecta of fantasy baseball and football titles in the same year. I'll just have to watch the final week's action from the couch while polishing my other trophy. In all truth, though I consider fantasy baseball the harder of the two disciplines -- and ultimate victory a testament to one's perseverance and acumen -- nothing would be more fun than to shame my high school buddies on the virtual gridiron. I've won football championships in other leagues, but never over the Buffalo boys. At least now I'm free to watch football without stress or consequences... which is kind of what I did anyway. So, I s'pose nothing's really changed. Yes.

Beside the Electric Hearth

That's our little xmas tree with all the presents beneath it. We made an effort to shop early, and now we're more than 80% finished. I love our tree.

WeBLoRGGiNG from the Couch

I've had a very good fantasy football day today. I don't want to jinx myself, so I can only relate that I have a chance to do something very special this year... in fantasy sports terms.

That said, I've grown to really like NBC's "Football Night in America" Sunday night broadcast. No dog games is a big selling point. I enjoy the detailed highlights before kickoff, and find Costas, Collinsworth and even King less irritating as the weeks progress. It'll never supplant "Hockey Night in Canada" as a near religious sports experience, but at least it's a good game. Hear, hear.