Watermelon Communion

Summer is here.

I’m sure you know by now that summer is definitely my least favorite time of the year. I really don’t do well in hot weather and it’s one of the main reasons I’ve remained far north of my home state of Texas.

However, the “Texan” in me still adores one thing that summer brings:

Watermelon

Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve gone nuts over watermelon. To me, there are fewer things as exciting as hearing that big, heavy fruit split open. . . crraaack!. . . and seeing it’s juicy, coral-red flesh laid before you in twin ovals.

My grandmother, “Budgie”, probably had a lot to do with my love of the Southern delicacy. She would let out a squeal of delight every time a watermelon was laid open. Also, Budgie and I could polish off an amazing amount of our favorite fruit. We would hack open a 30 pound melon, laugh, and ask the rest of the family, “Now, what are y’all going to have?”

Eating a watermelon with my Budgie became a sacrament in which we’d partake for over forty years.

We shared our last earthly watermelon together in 2001 when she was 91 years old. Since then, she’s always with me whenever I crack one open.

I’ve recently discovered the most incredible way of eating watermelon and that is to make watermelon sorbet.

Last week, I bought my first melon of the season. Now, with the marvels of genetic engineering, seedless watermelons are about the best way to go. The watermelon scientists have figured out how to make them incredibly sweet now.

Every time I cut one up, I think, “If only Budgie could see this now.” I even got a little misty-eyed over it the other night.

Anyway, I know Budgie would love my watermelon sorbet (She loved sherbet and I can still remember her having a big bowl of it while we all watched Mary Tyler Moore.)

Here’s how you make watermelon sorbet:

Dice up a seedless watermelon into 1-inch chunks and freeze them.

Fill the bowl of a food processor about one-third full of frozen watermelon (any more than that and it’ll have a difficult time of it).

Squeeze in the juice of one lime

Add three packets of Equal

And let ‘er rip.

Warning: Frozen headaches are easy to come by. And this stuff is addictive.

I cannot think of a better way to beat the heat of summer.

And to commune with my Budgie.

You Just Never Know

Being a blogger, it’s a little mind-boggling to realize that everything we post becomes a permanent part of the vast cosmos of the Internet. Future employers will be able to retrieve it as well as future spouses, children, grandchildren, in-laws and outlaws.

One never knows who will be reading it someday. I really try to keep that in mind when I click that “Publish Post” button. I’m not always as prudent as I should be, but I try.

Yesterday, I posted a story about a woman and her kids who were recently booted off an airline because the airline claimed the kids were being unruly during the flight. I was making some witty and some semi-nasty remarks about the situation but ended up deleting my post.

I realized that these kids might possibly find my post and it would certainly wouldn’t have benefited them to see what I had written. So I deleted it.

Now, the kids probably wouldn't have come across my post, but you just never know.

Here’s a great illustration to make my point.

Recently, I was upset that the Crunch Fitness center was closing down the location I use which is conveniently located in the lobby of my apartment building. I blogged about how upset I was, mainly because the location was so convenient and about how I’d gone straight to the front desk and cancelled my membership.

A couple of days later, I decided to keep my membership. After all, there’s another Crunch just five blocks away. I blogged about that as well.

It turned out that those of us “dislocated” by the closure are getting all sorts of nice benefits.

Here’s the point I want to make: Last week, I received an email from the head of Crunch’s P.R. department in New York, saying that she had read my blog and was glad I had decided to keep my membership.

She said she’d like to send some Crunch attire to me along with some free guest passes.

I recalled that Miss Healthypants had wanted to attend a Kangoo class at Crunch, but those are for members only and not available to guests. So, I responded to the nice Crunch P.R. person, asking if a friend could attend a Kangoo class with me.

I received the box of Crunch goodies yesterday along with the four passes. Miss Healthypants and I will be attending a Kangoo class soon. (That should definitely make for a hilarious blog).

Isn't that nice?

See? You just never know who will be reading your blog.

You just never know.

Making Memories

Yesterday, I was walking home from work, totally exhausted from the work week.

Grrr. . . Grrrr. . . .

I was standing across the street from my apartment building, waiting for the light to change. Then, I overhead a dad enthusiastically explaining to his two kids about MY apartment building. He was pointing up to my apartment building and I overheard him explaining that it was designed in 1959, that two movies were filmed here in which a car was shot out of the parking garage and into the river, etc.

I heard the two boys say, "Wwwooowww!!""
They were about ten and twelve years old.

I piped up and said that I lived on the 49 th floor and that I witnessed the filming the Allstate Insurance commercial that Sunday morning last October.

It turned out that the dad was a science teacher from a small town in Ohio and he and his wife and kids were in town for the weekend. The dad was an architecture buff and he knew more about my building than I did.

Seeing that he was with his wife and kids, I said, "Say. I live here in this building. We've got a great observation deck on the sixty-first floor that most tourists don't get to see. Would you guys like to come up and see it?"

The dad readily took me up on my offer. The boys seemed enthusiastic about it too.

We got into the express elevator; I told the younger guy to hit the RF button in the elevator and warned them that the elevator was really fast and that their ears might pop. (they did).

We all tumbled out onto the roof deck and, of course, the kids went, "WWWoooowww!" as they circled around being surrounded by the Sears Tower, the John Hancock Tower and Navy Pier.

It was a very clear day and I was so glad to give this family a sight of Chicago that so few people see.

They didn't have a camera, but of course, the older kid knew how to work the camera on his dad's cell phone. Lots of photos were taken.

I left them on the observation deck, telling them that they could spend as much time as they wanted.

What was really nice, is that both boys gave repeated "Thank You's" for letting them up there. It's so good to hear kids actually being polite these days.

As I was leaving, the dad told me that he really appreciated my gesture and that whenever they see Chicago on TV, they'll always remember getting to go up on the roof at Marina Towers and having this special trip.

I gave him and his wife a warm handshake and showed them where the toilet was on the 61st floor. (As a tourist, I know it's awfully hard to find clean public toilets! - - especially for the women)

The boys gave me another "Thank you!" as I left. . . .

Now, isn't that a nice story?

My glum day turned out to be one of my best days in Chicago.

I've always been proud of this city and especially the goofy building in which I live. I finally got to show it off and help a small-town family have a great time.

I know that whenever this family sees Chicago on TV, (and inevitably they'll see Marina Towers), they'll holler out, "Hey! We went up there!"

I may not have a family, but it's really good to know I helped a family make some memories.

Slammin' Some Hair

I have to admit to a quirky endeavor that Miss Healthypants and Iwanski and I engage in whenever we sometimes get together - - -MHP lets me "do" her hair.

First of all, I have absolutely no background in hair styling. However, I can do pretty well as long as three things are involved.

1) The hair is straight
2) The hair is medium length
3) The hair is attached to an attractive corpse who died in the 70's.

Other than that, I'm pretty good at styling some hair and making someone look decent.

As far as "styling" some hair, I can only do one style and it's basically the way I wanted my hair in the late 70's:

The Larry Wilcox from CHPS:
And here is my sad attempt when I was 19 years old:
And if you're a female, then I can do the Farrah Fawcett which is basically the Larry Wilcox only with lots more feathers and the addition of Aqua Net:

Okay, so Miss Healthypants and I get out the vent-brushes, Suave hair spray from Wal-Mart, and I go to town, slammin' some big hair.

I have to tell you that Miss Healthypants does have some awfully gorgeous, luxurious, blonde hair on her head. She does have that going on.

Here is a recent photo of Miss Healthypants and moi, last year on my balcony.Okay, there's the hair.

Now?
Just a few semi-painful strokes of my vent-brush and she's got feathering hair down the sides for days. . . If you are over forty, wouldn't you have KILLED for hair like this??

When you see her looking like this, can you really refrain from saying "Nancy Wilson?"




...And, I'm sorry, but look at that whispy front that sweeps back on both sides? Can you sit there and NOT say four words? A-DO-RA-BLE?

Okay, maybe you wouldn't have wanted your hair to look like this, but maybe you DID have it styled the same way twenty. . . okay, thirty years ago when you were toolin' around in that blue AMC Pacer or olive green Gremlin.

At any rate, it's nice to have friends who will let you re-create the hair from our youth.

And it's really good to have friends like Iwanski who've kept us from bringing out the scissors when it wouldn't have been prudent to do so.

3rd of July

Chicago has NEVER celebrated Independence Day on the 4th day of July.

As my Southern Baptist grandmother in Texas always told me, there are way too many Catholics who need to need every extra holiday to recuperate from all their celebrating. . .

. . . So, the fireworks-and-mayhem has always been done-and-over-with on the night-of-the-last work-day, being July 3rd.

Most of the main streets into downtown have always been blocked off the night of July Third in Chicago. This is a hopeful endeavor to encourage everyone in the suburbs to use mass transit which consists of the EL, buses, commuter trains, taxis, or assaulting homeless persons for cash like God intended.

Iwanski, Miss Healthypants, and I were able to look down from my 49th floor balcony tonight at all the revelers.

I gotta admit that it was lots of fun to watch from five hundred feet up, everyone in SUVs from the suburbs be instantly snaggled and inundated with trying to have a good time in downtown Chicago.

Meanwhile, we're peering down, feeling all superior. We're thinking, "Yes, we pay a gazillion dollars a month for an apartment the size of an Ex-lax wafer, but you know what? We're home!"

Here's a photo from my balcony of the downtown traffic

Can you see all the bumper-to-bumper traffic down there on Wacker Drive trying to head into downtown?

Can you imagine how much parking attendants are making? (Hint: It's twenty dollars for the first hour and three dollars for each additional hour, just so you know)

And are not all of us downtown-dwellers just the most superior things? (Gas was $4.89 for regular at the BP yesterday)

Yes? Take a look. That traffic isn't moving. I could have taken this same photo two hours later and it would remain unchanged.

Doesn't that look like fun?

On the Way to Work

I had to be at work early this morning to prepare for a staff meeting.

I knew my pigeons would want breakfast so I brought a baggie of bird food with me.

Sure enough, they were all there waiting for me. The moment I brought out the baggie of food, they began flying at me and quite aggressively I might add. I flung the food on the sidewalk and they went nuts.
Don’t they look happy?

Yesterday, instead of a farmer’s market in the plaza, there were all these establishments selling. . . well. . . . . . crap.

It was sort of like really ugly knick-knacks; plastic dragons, tacky oriental vases, sarongs and the like - - sort of the Asian equivalent of those black velvet paintings you see in Mexican border towns.

Today, it looks like they’re just trying to give the stuff away:

Inside my workplace, which is an 80-story building that looks quite a bit like one of the World Trade Centers in New York, there are these huge gongs and gong mallets hanging from the wall. There must be about twenty of them hanging there.

Every day when I walk by them, I have this insatiable urge to take one of the mallets and give it a good bash. I bet it would sound incredible in the lobby area. It would probably alert all sorts of security personnel, who by the way, immediately told me to stop taking photos.

Wouldn't you want to give this thing a good whack or is it just me?

So, that was my walk to work this morning.

Pigeons, Asian tchotchkies, and a big gong.

Pride and Prejudice

On Sunday afternoon, I was attending an orientation class at a music trade school. I’ll be taking eight hours of private instruction on this super-cool (super expensive) music production software that I recently bought.

I have no idea how to work it and I'm tutorially-challenged, so I’m just going to pay someone to show me which buttons to press to make it work.

Anyway, I had to attend the orientation class in order to obtain the private instruction. Basically, the orientation class was a high-pressure sales job to get people to sign up for a lot of other classes. I was attending the class with about twenty 20-year olds, all of whom had aspirations of producing rap and hip-hop music.

Of course, we all had to “tell us a little something” about ourselves. I mentioned that I had once played a Moog synthesizer when they were new, mainly to illustrate that I was a dork.

But each time one of these kids mentioned that he wanted to produce rap music, I gritted my teeth and tried my best not to blurt out, “It’s not music!”

I behaved myself. I didn’t blurt anything out. However, I really came close to asking where I could buy some sheet music by Ice Cube just to prove my point that Rap is not music.

I'll admit that I'm a music snob and I'm prejudiced against rap "music".

Anyway, I left there about 5 pm and started home. I could have taken a southbound bus to the Green Line train or I could have taken an eastbound bus to the Red Line train. The eastbound bus came first, so I hopped on.

Soon, I saw empty floats go by and realized that the Pride Parade was just ending. I also realized that the Red Line train would be totally inundated with Pride revelers.

Sure enough, the train pulled up and “sardine-packed” doesn’t begin to describe it. One nice young woman with lip rings made room for me so I wedged myself in.

Then, the nice young woman with the lip rings began to throw up.

And throw up.

And throw up.

She just stayed there for the longest time with her head against the door, merrily horking away.

She must have eaten everything there was to offer, both at Taste of Chicago and at the Pride celebration, because she would NOT stop throwing up.

I think her digestive tract must have traveled into the future and was getting rid of food she hadn’t actually eaten yet.

At the next stop, the doors opened and there was no way you could have wedged another person onto our train. Besides, they were greeted with a cascading wall of puke and probably a few recently-detached lip rings.

I was grumbling to myself, thinking, “If she was going to throw up, why didn’t she get off the train and go to a trash can or something?”

Instead, she had motioned for me to get on the train and even made room for me.
Which was very nice of her.
Until she began impaling my shoes with her regurgitated repast.

It’s not like I haven’t done something similar. Yes, there were times when I was young and drank until I got sick. As far as I can recall, though, I didn’t do it ON anyone. I did it with my head against a porcelain bowl like God intended.

My mama raised me with manners, after all.

See why I don't attend the Pride Parade?

I got off at the next stop and took a secret way home:

A nice, air conditioned taxi.

Healthy Trends

I’m drinking a big mug of green tea with my lunch. I’m sure you all know about green tea and the fact that it has these wonderful things called “antioxidants” that we’re all supposed to be consuming by the truck full.

Aren’t health fads the funniest things ever? Right now, we’re in the antioxidant craze and frantically gulping down pomegranate juice, green tea and the like. Just about every infomercial raves that their product contains "healthy antioxidants" which, unless we consume them, we will surely die within the next two hours or end up looking like Cher.

The health-and-wellness industry could peddle hemorrhoid cream and we’d snatch it up if it contained antioxidants.

Remember the oat bran craze of the nineties? Oh my goodness, everything was all “Now, with OAT BRAN!!!” We couldn’t get enough oat bran to save us:

“Here honey, I got this new cereal called Gruel Oatie-Toasties.”

“But I don’t think I like gruel.”

“Yeah, but each serving contains five zillion milligrams of oat bran. You’ll die if you don’t eat enough oat bran!”

“Oat bran? Well why didn’t you say so!!!”

Then, a few years ago, carbs were the big no-no. Oh my goodness, we avoided carbs like the plague.
Everything was all “Contains Zero Carbs!”

“Honey, don’t eat that cereal! It’s loaded with carbs!!!”

“CARBS!!?? Oh my gosh! I think I ate a bite of it. I’m going to the emergency room!”

It turned out that fat didn’t contain carbs, so bacon cheese steaks were given the green light. We were all eating ten pounds of lard a day, probably to cut the levels of oat bran that had built up in our bodies from the previous decade.

But wait! Steak and lard contained trans fats. We hurled all our mayonnaise in the garbage and loaded our grocery carts with these giant tubs of Extra Low Fat Ultra Light Don’t-Tell-Me-It’s-Butter because it didn’t have any trans fats. . .

. . . . Sigh. . . .

Then Katie Couric got a colonoscopy on live television.

Apparently, if you didn’t undergo a colonoscopy by the time you were nineteen-and-a-half, you could be sure that a giant man-eating polyp would burst out of your chest during your sleep and devour you. We became crazy for colonoscopies. All of a sudden, we were lined up like cars on an assembly line, all following Katie’s example.

Well, I’d better finish my green tea now. My health-and-wellness consultant named Mace will be here soon to measure my body fat index.

I’m sure you all know by now about body fat indexes. If I don’t get mine below twenty, I might not be around to blog tomorrow.

Crunch Update

Okay, I can quit banging on my high chair about Crunch Fitness.

I'm sure all the major news networks have reported this, but Crunch will be closing down the facility that I use on July 31st. That means that I’ll have the inconvenience of actually walking five whole blocks in order to walk on a treadmill at another facility.

The mind reels.

As I began to relate to the Katrina victims, I had been thinking that the horrible, inconsiderate Crunch people should give us some sort of compensation for this colossal upheaval in our lives.

It turns out, they did.

I found out last night that we will all receive the following compensation:

1. Three free months of membership.

2. Our monthly memberships will be reduced by ten dollars, permanently.

3. All our memberships will be changed to “universal” ones at no cost. In other words, we’ll be able to use any Crunch nationwide.

Actually, this is pretty good compensation for being displaced.

My workplace actually pays us $50 per month toward a gym membership. Since my Crunch membership will now be $56 per month, I'll be out-of-pocket six whole dollars per month to have a universal Crunch membership.

A situation like that is the ultimate dream of My People.

I should put away the high chair. Really.

Since I know you all were incredibly concerned about my happiness and welfare, I’m sure you're all breathing a huge sigh of relief over this news.

Doggy Therapy

I’ve often spoken of Portia on this site and I have another heartwarming story for you here.

One of Portia’s daddies, Jack, is a counselor and often brings Portia to his office if he’s going to be there for most of the day.

Portia loves being around people and Jack always asks his clients if it’s okay for Portia to remain in the session. He assures them that she will keep everything confidential. If anyone is allergic to dogs or isn’t comfortable with her being there, she happily spends the hour in the courtyard with the other staff.

She’s also good at providing doggy-therapy. I can attest to this. No matter how bad of a day I’ve had, a few moments with Portia always remedies any psychological ailment.

Jack was at his office on Saturday with five appointments, back to back. Portia was there for the day as well.

One client was having a really difficult time over a relationship that had suddenly ended. Tears appeared as she described the feelings of loss.

Meanwhile, Portia was asleep on the carpet in what we call her “alligator pose.”
(see pic below)

Just as things were getting pretty intense during the session, Portia let out an incredibly long, drawn-out fart.

And the client went straight from tears to laughter.

See? Never underestimate the effectiveness of doggy therapy.

You never know how well it will work.

Too Good to Be True

I really like the gym where I’ve been working out. As you may recall, it’s a Crunch Fitness Center and it’s ever so conveniently located in the lobby of my apartment building at Marina City.

I’ve been noticing that another thing I like about it is that it’s never very crowded. There’s never a bunch of people looking at me in my gym attire or laughing at me when I, unknowingly, sit backwards on a particular piece of torture equipment.

I like that.

Just the other day, I was noticing that this facility was never very crowded, even in the mornings before work. And I was wondering if this facility was actually profitable to the Crunch people, especially since there’s another Crunch place just five blocks away.

It turns out that my observations were dead on. When I went to work out on Saturday, there was the following notice on the door:

“After serving you faithfully for nine years at this location, we will be closing our doors and turning off the last treadmill at 10:00 pm on Thursday, July 31.”

I knew it was all too good to be true! Having a nice Crunch Fitness in the same building that I live in which hardly anyone else used was just too much of a good thing.

What made it even more frustrating what that I was really seeing some noticeable results from faithfully torturing myself in this convenient location. My biceps and triceps and forceps finally got some muscle-action going on. I’d be typing at my keyboard and think, “Whose arms are those?”

When I saw that sign, I got into my banging-on-the-high-chair mode and went all huffy-puffy to the front desk and cancelled my membership. That notice also said, “We’ve reserved a spot for you at one of our other convenient locations.”

“The hell you have,” I thought. “Nothing is as convenient as having this place just an elevator ride away.”

Besides, I could always just go there in my dorky work-out clothes, rain or shine, heat or snow. I never had to use the dressing room or bring other clothes with me.

That was so nice. And now it’s all being taken away from me.

I felt like my neighborhood parish was closing on me. I really did.

Me. Me. Me!

I thought I’d look into joining a gym that’s next to my work place. After all, I could just go there after work on my way home.

However, it turned out that it’s a really snooty country-club type of facility that has a pro shop, valet parking, a laundry service, and they shine your shoes while you eat sushi.

Oh, and it costs $132 a month. No thanks.

Maybe I should re-consider staying with Crunch and going to the one five blocks away.

Here’s how I look at it: There were so many times that I would work out for only about fifteen minutes precisely because I knew I could come back anytime. Maybe, if I had to walk five blocks to another Crunch, I’d actually spend some time there and get my money’s worth with each visit.

The other Crunch also offers yoga classes. Mine doesn't. And I'm pretty good at yoga and actually enjoy it.

I could also stop and have Starbuck’s on the way. Oh! And there’s a Bed, Bath & Beyond nearby. That’s a big plus. Oh! And it’s really close to Trader Joe’s. I could go to Trader Joe’s every day, easily.

Also, it would get my sorry ass out of the house.

And, HELLO!, a five-block walk, round trip, is exactly one mile. I joined a gym exactly for the purpose of getting some activity, not avoiding it.

I just called Crunch back and asked them to cancel my cancellation request.

Sigh. . .

Memories of "Taste"

The “Taste of Chicago” event just began an hour ago and look at the crowds already. I just took this photo from a window at my workplace.

See? Here are some more crowds at “Taste.”

See that tall skinny building in the background? That’s where I work. Can you see me in the window taking the photo, shirking my work duties?

I know that lots of folks here just love “Taste” (like Iwanski) but I’m not one of them. Apparently, there’s a solar cycle that causes Chicago to have temperatures and humidity similar to that of Venus this time every year.

I went to “Taste” the first year that I lived in Chicago because I love all different kinds of weird food.

I found a booth selling goat curry, wriggled my way to it and waited in line. And waited, and waited. Finally, I asked for my goat curry only to be told that I could only obtain it with tickets bought at a central location.

The goat-curry lady pointed me to an incredibly long line of people waiting for tickets.

Meanwhile, the sun was blazing and most of Lake Michigan had evaporated into the atmosphere surrounding the “Taste” event.

I wedged myself through myriads of sweaty bodies and tried to find the end of the line. Finally, as I was nearing the Wisconsin border, I got in line for Taste tickets. I couldn't even see the ticket booth in the distance; just a line of sunburned people snaking off across the horizon.

I wondered how long it would take me to get the tickets, then remembered seeing Cro-Magnons near the front of that line.

Finally, just as the "Taste" event was ending a week later, I got to the front and purchased about ten dollars worth of tickets. By that time, I was about to require emergency medical services due to dehydration so I got in another line for bottled water.

“That’ll be one hundred forty-six tickets” said the bottled-water lady. I counted out the tickets, (which came to about four dollars), handed them over and headed back to the goat curry booth.

But they were sold out of the goat curry by that time.

“Okay, I’ll take the lamb-and-plantain curry,” said I.

“That’ll be one thousand, four hundred and twenty-six tickets,” said the lamb-and-plantain-curry lady.

“But I’ve only got one thousand, four hundred and twenty-five tickets left!” I exclaimed in a faltering voice.

“Sorry! There’s the ticket line over there. . . .”

So, that was my one experience with “Taste of Chicago.”

. . . Until last year when darling Lorraine and her family were here. The weather was actually very pleasant which had never happened before. We had all just finished with an outdoor concert featuring the cast of High School Musical which The Child loved, had just met City Mouse for the first time, and Taste was nearby.

We got in line for the tickets. I knew to purchase about ten thousand tickets this time and I actually got some goat curry, too.

That week while Lorraine and family were here was some of the happiest memories I’ll ever have. Really.

But I won’t be going to Taste this year. It’s already muggy outside and, well, you’ve seen the crowds.

If I want goat curry, I’ll just have it delivered, thank you.

The Dynamic Tower

This is just about THE most incredible apartment building you’ll ever see.

It’s called the Dynamic Tower and it’s being constructed in Dubai (where else?)

It’s a 80-story condo building in which each floor, comprising one condo, rotates independently. Each condo owner gets to operate the rotation of their own living space.

One can watch both a sunrise and a sunset out of the same window. In my case, I’d be avoiding sunrises and sunsets if I lived there.

Don’t worry about the speed of the turning. Your sushi won’t be flying off your table while you eat, for it takes 3 hours to make a full revolution.

I think this place would be a peeping tom’s nightmare:

“Damnit! She won’t stay still! Stop spinning around!”

The building is powered by photo cells and wind turbines that produce all the electricity.

Oh, and get this. Each condo has its own garage - - the elevator brings you and your car to your condo.

If you want to live here, the condos average $3,000 per square foot. Let me see, my apartment is 710 square feet, so that would be $ 2.13 million for my little place.

I think I’ll stay in Chicago. Dubai has an average temperature similar to Venus and there’s the issue of sand everywhere.

But still, ya gotta admit that this would be a pretty incredible place to live.

Bye Bye, Boy

Well, Boy George has done it to me again.

Apparently, his U.S. tour had to be canceled because he’s awaiting trial in England and wasn’t allowed a visa to come to the states.

Here’s the back story regarding my history with Boy George.

In 1984, Culture Club was due to play in Austin Texas where I was living at the time. I was excited. Then, at the last minute, they cancelled Austin due to low ticket sales. (Everyone was sick of Karma Chameleon by then).

Then, in 1994, he had just published his autobiography and was supposed to be at a book signing in Dallas. I was now a monk at a monastery near Dallas, but I snuck out one night in order to have my book signed by Boy.

As I was waiting in line, Boy George had a hissy-fit over something and walked out. I probably broke vows that I didn’t even know existed by sneaking out of a monastery to see Boy George.

Then, the other day as I was walking home, I noticed on the marquis at the House of Blues that Boy George was to perform there on August 6th here in Chicago. Tickets were fifty bucks.

What was even cooler, is that the House of Blues is in the plaza of the apartment building where I live. I could just take the elevator down which is so much easier than sneaking out of a monastery. Believe me.

And now he’s cancelled. Again.

His court case stems from the incident in which he tied up a prostitute in his apartment.

Even fourteen years ago as a monk, I could have told him that tying up a prostitute in his home was not a prudent thing to do.

Oh, and just for fun, here's a photo of me rollerblading in my habit at the monastery.

I got in trouble for that, too.

Amish in the City

Tonight on ABC, there will be a documentary on the Amish called The Outsiders that I’m really looking forward to seeing.

I’ve often found myself very interested in religious sects like the Amish; those that somewhat isolate themselves from the world. I suppose that was one of the appeals of joining a monastery fifteen years ago.

I was also in contact with the last remaining Shaker community for a number of years. There are only four members remaining and the elder of the community is a fellow about my age and we used to write to each other quite a bit. It was fascinating.

On Tuesdays during the summer and autumn months, there’s a farmer’s market in the plaza near my workplace. I walk through it every Tuesday morning and usually buy something.

There’s a small group of Amish women that are always there selling their homemade egg noodles. And, even though it’s not on my diet, I cannot pass up homemade egg noodles made by Christian women.

They also sell apple butter and honey. I started to buy some apple butter since buying apple butter from the Amish seemed like just the thing to do. Then I remembered that I’m not particularly fond of apple butter.

In the fall, they sell Honey-Crisp apples from their orchard which I really look forward to. Fresh Honey-Crisp apples right off the tree are THE most delicious apples you’ve ever eaten.

The women are always so friendly and ever so willing to chat about their noodles. They always ask, “How do you like to prepare them?” I usually say, “Just with a little butter and parmesan cheese.” Then they always say, “Have you tried them in chicken stock?”

It’s very apparent that the Amish serve their homemade egg noodles in chicken stock. These heavenly women are hell-bent on getting the world to eat their homemade egg noodles in chicken stock.

I think one of these days, when they ask me how I like to prepare them, I’m going to say, “Oh, I like them in chicken stock. You should try it.”

And then they will dance about with unabated mirth and glee.

I started to take a photo of them this morning, but then remembered that Amish don’t like to have their photographs taken; something having to do with graven images. I doubt that these particular Amish women come from a group that is very conservative, after all, they’re in the middle of a big city every Tuesday. But I didn’t want to take any chances.

I’ll keep you posted on the chicken stock thing.

Trump and Spire Update

Here is this morning's photo of the Trump Tower. It still has a way to go. Every time I think they've finished with the structure, they jack the cranes up and add some more. (The cranes were jacked up again just a couple of days ago.

As I was driving into Chicago from the south side the other day, one could see that the Trump Tower has really changed the skyline of the city. The building I work in (The Aon Center) is no longer the second tallest.

And here is a big round hole where the Chicago Spire will be. There are still 150 stories to be added to it.

But can you believe this? One third of the condos have already been sold.

So, you better hurry if you want to live here.

Space Exploration

Having recently watched a documentary on the Geek Channel about Mars, I decided to check out a few things on Wikipedia about the red planet.

I think someone made a typo or thought they were being really funny. Here’s what was posted:

Mars has approximately half the radius of shit and only one-tenth the mass. . .

I wonder if scientists at NASA can concur with that fact.

Will the Phoenix Polar Lander encounter this phenomenon?

I’ll keep you posted on further developments. . .

My Saturday

I can’t think of anything to write about today.

So, when that happens, I always turn to food.

This weekend, I had some time to kill and was near a Starbuck’s and a Whole Foods Market. I wandered into Whole Foods and stocked up on some spices I needed. Two of my favorites are nutmeg and tarragon and I needed both.

Although Whole Foods is terribly overpriced, buying herbs and spices there is the way to go as they’re sold in bulk.

I bought four nutmegs and a little bag of tarragon. I scritch-scritch the nutmeg into my soymilk-protein smoothies, and New England clam chowder is always a good conduit for tarragon.

There were free samples of cheese there, which I always nibble on.

Holy Mother of God, I found the holy grail of cheeses. It’s “English Seaside Cheddar”. It’s buttery, nutty, not too salty and almost sweet. Plus, it has a really unique texture; there are little crunchy bits of calcium in it. I know that sounds strange but it works.

I bought a pound of it. Then, I went to Starbuck’s for a Venti half-caf and came back across the parking lot to Whole Foods and bought another pound of it.

Then, I had a nice appointment with My Shrink who made me cry a little bit and thinks I should do stand-up comedy.

I was out to dinner with friends and they even asked, “Have you ever considered doing stand-up comedy?”

I replied, “Well, my therapist thinks I should. . . . ”

Then, I went home and ate cheese while watching The Onion Movie. I've never laughed so hard in my life.

Really, there were sounds coming out of me that I've never heard before; sort of like a pterodactyl being squeezed and shaken really hard.

And that was my Saturday.