lack of brillance?!

I've been horribly sick and received little to no comfort from either spouse or friends during these travails. Do I blame them? Of course. They are all bastards.

But don't get me wrong, I've got stuff to talk about though. Do I ever. For example: As we all know, Chicago has always kicked An Doof Ass in the bum; be it through being robbery, car smashing, bike pillferage, etc... Well, thanks to his shenanigan during his recent 18 hours in "The Chi", we can now add "almost arrested" to the list. Question: What are they teaching him out there on the East Coast? That is besides how to knot a sweater around one's neck and smart squash volleys.

And How CAn it BE?!!

For reasons uninteresting, An Doof Ass will find himself in the icy grip of the Chicagoland spring this week upcoming. As you know, his visits are a kind of hell for me because I am required to spend hours drinking with him as he talks about his most recent probing project which sounds vaguely like all of his previous ones. These conversation also usually involve him spending much of the time spewing Latin and then translating it the sake of the unwashed masses of which I now belong. My only recourse when such pandering occurs is to turn to a near by stranger and begin discussing the finer point of not being a douche like An Doof. While this usually saves me the brunt of his social assault, it’s never enough to make the experience pleasant. Yet, I have reason to believe he has shoved off from the shores of debauchery and is not trying out a new found dignity and respect for deceny. For example, during a recent conversation An Doof Ass declared that I am to entertain him with a dinner party during his stay.

Working Boy: You mean like a bag of potato chips before the Schapps shots?
An Doof Ass: I was thinking red snapper.
W.B: I’m not familiar. Does it involve Apple Pucker? Because I got some Apple Pucker.

This conversation carried on for some time befure it became clear I had watered down my liquor and bought a case of Red Dog for nothing, for, you see, An Doof Ass fancies himself quite the urban sophisticate.

An Doof Ass: Tell you what, I’ll bring the scotch and cigars if you’ll work on the risotto and confits.
Working Boy: Um, I thought we were talking about the time the one guy smashed up the roof of my car with a horseshoe.
A.D.A: Oh my no. Aren’t we a bit old for such talk.
W.B: Are we?
A.D.A: Oh heavens yes.

When the conversation finally concluded I shrugged it off as the drunken rambling of a delusion ass who deserves nothing but perfunctory nod of the head during the pauses of his diatribes. So I went to sleep confident that no such dinner party was to be necessary.

A week after this conversation --for reasons outside of my control-- I drank a great sum of peach Vodka, listened to jazz records and made various mid-evening calls to whomever I thought would pick up their phone and discuss memories of days gone by.
With ancient friends from the motherland the discussion would involve memories of hot high school volleyball players and the crazy of adventures of those fifth period study halls (remember the time we went to the rival high school with all that baloney?) If however I called college chums, the stories of creative activities and clear fond memories would be replaced by the disheartening meanderings of foggy and conflated "memories" involving sitting poisoning ourselves before bouts of ill-advised rampages against various inanimate and, on a good night, animate objects. Shockingly, the old compatriots from my days as a North High Spartan were busy either watching cable t.v. at their parents house or working the overnight shift at the group home. So I was forced into an unfortunate fit of dialings to fellow Thunder-ians.

An Doof Ass picked up his phone after a couple of rings and I began with the customary greeting.

Working Boy: I demand you talk to me as I am drunk and lonely.
An Doof Ass: Oh hi Working Boy, actually this isn’t a good time for me.
W.B: What’s all that noise in the background. Are you listening to Stars bootlegs on your computer? Haha, good ol’ An Doof Ass you’re such a loser, I-
A.D.A: Actually I’m having a bit of a party here in my New York City apartment.
W.B: Since when is a Swisher Sweet and a glass of Jim Beam a party?
A.D.A: If you must know I’m hosting a Belgium themed party with an attendance well into the teens.
W.B: Horse shit! Who do you think you are?!
A.D.A: I’m sorry what were you saying, I was busy eating an oyster braised in a rather smart dubbel.
W.B: I don’t’ have time for your lies.

As it turns out however he was having a classy party and it did involve all those things and he does still expect me to throw him a dinner party during his stay. Little does he know that dinner party will be grilled cheese and bacon sandwiches with a side of frozen peas and enlightening conversation about how terrible my job is. Let’s see him class up that affair!

Just a note!!!

This weekend holds great potential. Although tonight I was planning on getting drunk and watching baseball and eating the spicyfied wings of the great prairie cow, the Twins game was cancelled on account of the below freezing temperatures. This blows and I may end up spending tonight in the bathtub in protest. Tomorrow however I will be going to the game at the Joan and will be sitting high up in the upper deck and will probably be very cold and will also probably sneak in some bourbon and will probably eat lots of sunflower seeds and drink lots of bourbon and probably have fun in spite of the 34 degree high and snow showers. We’ll see. Then that night I have many options some of which might actually be fun. Then on Sunday I’m going to the Twins Sox game and sitting in very fancy seats thanks to my myriad and vast connection and then retire to the Northwest side to eat Easter dinner with my adopted Irish Catholic family. It has all the makings of a weekend where I feel no need to commit domestic violence or call people at two in the morning crying. Yeah!

1-0

Yesterday I found myself involved in my usual Monday night activity of trying to figure out how to leave my current life behind while risking nothing should things not work out according to plan (the plan: live in Costa Rica with many, many women.) As usual this caused much consternation and I decided to bake a batch of cookies to calm my racing intellect. In the fridge I found an unopened tub of country crock, some pre-shredded Monterey Jack cheese and a tupperware full of bacon grease I had been saving. I brought these ingredients together in a robust corn meal batter and was presently surprised by both the dough’s consistency and its avant-garde texture. Things were going great and I had almost forgotten my dilemma, that is until I reach for the rolling pin.

In most homes you find a certain number of basic tools and goods: sugar, spoons, pots, pans, microplanes, etc. For whatever reason my life lacks many standards of domestic decency. So when I grasped the wine bottle with which to ply the dough all my unfulfilled dreams came rushing back with each gooey pass of the Charles Shaw. Something had to be done.

Luckily something could be done. Because I live with someone who works for rich people, the give her and her fellow employees tokens of appreciation all the time, such as gift cards. I decided then to see if one of those gift cards could buy the rolling pin I deserved. So I grabbed a handful of cards, put the dough out on the porch to get some air and proceeded to the great bustling thoroughfare of North Michigan Avenue in hopes of matching the names on the card to reputable establishments.

Things did not start off well as the first 5 cards where to various coffee depots and, after 5 raspberry infused chocolattefrapumochas, I was beginning to loose hope that any of the cards would get me anything but scones and double vision. As luck would have it my last card turned out to be for a fancy kitchen store (reasons I knew it was fancy 1.) The displays had actual food in them. 2.) They had knives behind glass. 3.) There was no bargain bin).

Working Boy: I want to buy a rolling pin.

Cookery: We have many to choose from.

W.B: I want your cheapest one. I have a gift card.

C: For how much?

W.B: Fifty dollars.

C: That’s it? I don’t know if we have anything under 50.

W.B: What the hell are you talking about.

C: Well, we have this wooden spoon, it’s only 25 dollars.

W.B: Why is it varnished?

C: It’s for displaying in your sunroom or lake place.

W.B: how much does a actual functioning wooden spoon cost?

C: Sixty five dollars.

W.B: That’s ridiculous. How much for a rolling pin?

C: 75 dollars.

W.B: I am not made for this world.

C: Security!

take me ouT!!

I haven't seen much in my life. But I have seen John Olerud lace a single to leftcenter and John Smoltz jog out to the mound in the top of the ninth. And, Lord willing, I will see the greatest pitcher in baseball freeze a bunch of bums on the southside this saturday. go twins! screw your guys!