The Monthly Stew

20) Barbaro Coming Back to Churchill
The undefeated 2006 Kentucky Derby champion who was euthanized after a losing battle with laminitis is coming back to Churchill Downs. Barbaro’s ashes will be placed next to a bronze statue near the entrance gate at Churchill Downs sometime in 2009, making him the first Derby winner to be buried on the track’s grounds.

In 133 years, only six horses have left Churchill still undefeated after the Derby. That is prime-time company.

19) Earth to Gary Busey, Come in Please
Rather than spend hundred of millions of dollars funding NASA to investigate life on other planets, maybe we should send astronomers and researchers to Hollywood and have them take a long, hard look at Gary Busey’s family tree.

Busey’s Oscar night run-in with Jennifer Garner has to be one of the most “extraterrestrial-like” moments in the history of the red carpet. Priceless, if for no other reason than seeing Ryan Seacrest’s deer-in-headlight effort to cover with, “(Gary) I’ll see you at the party later…you know the one.”

Maybe a studio exec will have the foresight to realize that Busey is tailor-made for the next installment of The Coneheads.

18) The FBR Phoenix Open
I’ve been to four PGA Tour events prior to ‘08; none prepared me for the FBR. Here’s a quick run-down of protocol.

Wearing an outfit to the TPC at Scottsdale (the course) that could be worn to a club at 3:00 A.M.: encouraged. Drinking excessively: strongly encouraged. Booing when a player misses the 16th green: mandatory. Going to the Bird’s Nest after the round: absolutely (positively!) required. Making the trip again next year: gare-own-teed.

Congrats to Indiana Alum and PGA Tour Player Jeff Overton for a 27th place finish (and thanks for the V.I.P. passes to the Nest).

17) Extreme DUI
Speaking of Phoenix, for nearly ten years Arizona has recognized two levels of drunk driving - DUI "per se", in which a blood alcohol content (BAC) level of .08 percent will support a conviction, and then an extreme DUI, for those with a BAC of .15 or above. Not surprisingly, extreme DUI comes with extreme penalties.

A first-time (extreme) conviction will land you in Sheriff Joe’s “tent city” for ten days. If you chop a lot of vegetables, you might be out on the streets again in seven. But once you leave your vehicle is impounded for 30 days; your car is installed with a GPS monitoring system; and your driver's license is revoked for one year. All for a first offense.

That's what I would call serious law enforcement.

16) Vicks Vapor Rub
I get an allergic bronchitis virtually every winter. It’s a six-week processional that is tough to shake, and trust me, I’ve tried more than a handful of prescriptions. But this year I finally broke down and tried rubbing smelly ointment onto my chest. And you know what, Vicks came through with some temporary relief.

Now if we could only make a good hangover ointment.

15) Small Town Alert: Ochopee, FL.
Nestled in the western portion of the Everglades with an elevation of three feet, Ochopee is home to the nation's smallest post office. Once a tool shed, the "building" was converted into the post office after a fire in 1953 destroyed the original Ochopee Post Office, which was located in the Gaunt Company Store.



And I thought the Post Office in the Knobs was small.

14) Sprechen Sie Deutsch?
On the train last week I noticed a sign for a company advertising German speaking lessons, prompting me to ask myself the following question: can there really be a market for German?

It’s an ugly language from a country whose population is decreasing. Plus, said country is coming off a public relations century which can only be classified as “infinitely abysmal.” For the life of me I can’t imagine more than eight people in all of Chicago wanting to make German their newest tongue.

And yes, I do have German blood.

13) Big League Chew
Do kids still buy Big League Chew (bubble gum)? Or if not, maybe Bubbalicious? Regardless, the real question here is this: how in the world did our parents let us get away with Big League’s astronomical sugar tally. Or maybe my memory is failing me and I purchased BLC alongside Garbage Pail Kids (i.e. on the sly). Either way, the Chew was some seriously high-octane sucrose.

12) One Heck of a Protractor
Apparently a good navigator on the open seas can locate their whereabouts to within a 500-foot radius using a sextant and a chronometer. That represents an accuracy of one part in seven billion: the ratio of the area of a 500-ft circle in comparison to the surface area of the earth, 197 million square miles.

Dare I say it: redonkulous.

11) The Sea, The Sea
In the U.S. people go to the ocean to sunbathe, drink Bud Heavies, and play mindless games of sport. Meanwhile, I feel like the British go to “the sea” -- regardless of which coast they’re visiting -- where they read Blake, carve dry wood into chess pieces, and attempt to solve the space-time continuum. Personally, I think we got the better end of the deal.

This numeral also refers to Iris Murdoch’s Booker Prize Winning novel, currently residing fifth in my queue.

10) The Grape of the Month: Barbera
In the late 1980s Angelo Gaja, the Maestro of Piedmont, began touring the globe and touting his region’s nebbiolo grapes as the finest in the world. Two decades later, the wines of Barolo and Barbaresco, both made from nebbiolo, are two of the most exquisite, expensive wines on earth.

But there’s a third “B” in Piedmont and that’s barbera. It’ll be easy to remember at the wine store because it’ll be the only "B" from Piedmont for close to $20. But don’t let the lesser price fool you: it can hang with its elder Italian brothers. When made well barbera is an intense, smoky, fruitful wine. Like mixing a Zinfandel and a Cabernet. Great for winter.

The best known appellations for barbera are Asti and Alba. Vietti ($16), Massolino ($15), and Fontanafredda ($10) all make terrific examples.

9) And Then There Were Three
After the longest election primary in the history of the university, we are left with the oldest candidate in history, a woman who is despised by 40% of the country, and a skinny black guy from the south side of the Chicago. Who'd have thunk it.

My lingering question: does Obamarama have enough strategery left in his bag of tricks for November? I'm inclined to think yes.

8) I Am a Walking Disaster
I don’t know how you morning people do it. I can’t walk or talk, much less operate equipment, pre-caffeine in the morning. Leaving with my five necessities -- keys, CTA card, cash, phone, & bldg ID -- is a gargantuan undertaking each day. Last week, on two separate occasions, I forgot at least one of my fab five.

I wonder how much it would cost me to pay someone at Einstein’s to bring me coffee. Of course I could make my own, but that would require operating equipment. Simply not feasible.

7) Valentine's Day Reservations Now Being Accepted
For 2009. Reserve your booth before they're all gone.


Picture compliment of B. Bulger (aka, “Pipes”)

6) Questioning the Gene Pool
Mikhail Gorbachev is rightly credited with helping to end the Cold War, but let’s face it, the man wasn’t exactly Pierce Brosnon in the looks department. And yet, these are Gorby’s granddaughters (scroll down).

Somebody call Mendel and let him know that we need to reopen the whole inheritance discussion. I’ve got no answer for this one.

5) Words of Wisdom w/It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Charlie: “Why don't I strap on my job helmet and squeeze down into a job cannon and fire off into Jobland where jobs grow on little jobbies.”

4) Light Emitting Diodes (LEDs)
About seven years ago a friend who was an investor in a local company called iLight Technologies started to educate me about Light Emitting Diode (LED) technologies. Now I’m wondering if old school neon even exists: LEDs are everywhere.

It’s fun to watch technologies develop, especially when you’re not doing the heavy lifting. Kudos to the folks at iLight -- their LEDs can be found up and down the Vegas strip, 365 days a year.

3) Night and the City
If there's a perfect accompaniment to a mid-week glass of red wine on a cold night, this album might be it. This live recording from New York City features bassist Charlie Haden and pianist Kenny Barron at the top of their craft. It feel likes Haden and Barron were given a mandate: "take your time, let every note resonate, assume the other will know your every thought and (next) chord."

A hauntingly beautiful result and a "must have" if you like jazz (or even think you might). Currently the staple in my CD player.

2) March 9, 2008.
I know that farmers and electric companies put up a fuss, but man oh man did the last Congress do me right when they extended daylight savings time by a month, which means next Sunday we'll have an hour of additional light in the P.M. And with it, the bleakness of winter becomes a little more bearable.

I never thought I'd say it: "thank you Congress."

1) The New York Football Giants
The Chowder is having a stellar year in the prognostication department. Nailed the trifecta in the Derby last May and then jumped on board the New York Football Giants at 65-1.

Oddly, the one thing I’ll always remember from the Super Bowl is that the Giants won the coin toss and took the ball. Nobody (!) takes the ball; everyone defers so that they can make adjustments at half time and allow their defense to rest more in the second half. The only way you take the ball is if you’re a huge underdog with gargantuan cajones, and you’re out to conquer the world.

Enter the Giants.

Speaking of cajones, kudos to my buddy Burns for holding onto our Giants' shares. A decision, and a Superbowl, for the ages.

OldTownFunGirlLovesToTravel (Part II)

"Fuegoed." Traditionally a past tense verb used to describe an occasion when someone gets fired in a vehement and memorable fashion. A shoe-in to become a first-ballot selection for the Chowder’s vocab hall-of fame.

In special circumstances, fuegoed can also be used as a present tense continuous verb. As in, “that Match.com profile is so impossible, it is getting fuegoed immediately.”

Let’s get into some examples.

1. Your Match profile is getting fuegoed immediately if it mentions, in any way, shape, or form: “I can’t believe I’m doing this online dating thing.”

Comments: exactly no one grew up thinking, “I can’t wait until I’m old enough to find my soul mate online.” So get it over it already. You’re as desperate as the rest of us.

2. Your profile is also getting fuegoed if it refers to the type of man you’re looking for in all caps, as in you want a REAL MAN who DOESN'T PLAY GAMES.

Comments: you brought on those game playing losers. And despite your ALL CAPS proclamation, you’ll be dating another loser by noon on Friday. In the interim, without being provoked, you've managed to announce to the world that you have a track record for dating scum bags. Nooooo soup for you.

3. You are absolutely, positively, ultra fuegoed if you ever refer to yourself as “attractive” “sexy” or “hot” in your profile.

Comments: if this one isn’t self-explanatory, you’re beyond help.

On the other hand, if you avoided those three doozies, allow me to offer up a hearty thanks for not wasting our time. Also know this: at least 30% of your chromosome cohorts are guilty of the tomfoolery above (not an overestimation).

Beyond that infamous trio, a handful of personal annoyances regularly cause me to leapfrog a profile. But because this group speaks to my preferences, as opposed to Generally Accepted Match Principles (GAMP), “fuegoed” needs to be replaced with a more subtle verb. Something more like: “adiosed.”

So please, don’t take offense if these are applicable to you, but your profile is probably getting adiosed with my dirty dishes if:

1. Your Match tag line is a quote that belongs on an inspirational poster (i.e. Carpe Diem, Life is Beautiful, Just Do It, etc.).

2. Your profile has more than two “LOL” references.

3. Youre profile is fulla spelling errorrrss.

4. The last thing you read was the back of a cereal box.

5. You refer to your pet as your best friend.

In relation to this last numeral, I’m all for man’s best friend. But a good chunk of the profiles are taking that relationship a little too literally for my taste buds.

By now I’m sure it feels like I have only red ink for the ladies of Match, but I will begrudgingly admit that’s not entirely the case. As mentioned in Part I, occasionally I stumble onto profiles I like.

There are a handful of engaging, intelligent, attractive women in Match's Thunderdome. And there are still more who have set up shop in the “literate” or “intriguing” categories -- two of my personal favorites. Unfortunately, the unwritten rule of thumb is that when a profile really piques my interest (rare but fathomable), said woman is more/less guaranteed to hate my guts (i.e. I fire off a seemingly witty email; she never emails me back).

Because that’s the way Cupid's cookie crumbles.

Regardless, I know this: I've made a terrific friend through Match. A priceless development. So even if Cupid is currently roaming around the South Pacific aiming his arrow at plankton, negating my path at all costs, I should probably bark a little less.

Only, that’s not my calling card. I’m a barker. And I’ve got a hanger full of bombers waiting to take part in the Armageddon.

So I close with a sample Match profile, akin to numerous (!) on the site at present. My somewhat serious perception of a Match.comer's real persona and motivations -- waiting to be unveiled on date numero uno -- are in parens.

Age: 28 (31 or 32).

Want kids: definitely, 3 or 4 (you will impregnate me within four months of our first date).

Smokes: occasionally (I hit the snooze button once in the morning and then I smoke three Marlboro Reds).

Drinks: socially, maybe one or two (last Friday my stomach doubled as the “ice block” for body shots during happy hour).

Turn-Ons: Thunderstorms, Candlelight, Brainiacs, Assertiveness, Sarcasm (the vibrations from my toaster are my main source of erotica).

Turn-Offs: Body Piercings and P.D.A. (no one has kissed me in public since the Jimmy Carter presidency).

My job: I manage a small law office. I wouldn’t trade it for anything!!!! My responsibilities include overseeing all client activity and managing our customized call inventory system (I answer phones and have mastered incoming faxes).

For Fun: I love to Travel!!!!!! Every year I go to Vegas with my girlfriends. I also love to snuggle with my Chihuahua, Tinkerbell (I hang out with my dog 362 days a year. Once a year I max my credit card and pack dental floss g-strings for a “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” weekend).

Favorite Things: Grey’s Anatomy, running along the lakeshore, autumn, the color “red,” my niece and nephew, Japonais, and summer street festivals (I am a human clone to LoveToLaughLincolnPark79).

Last Read: The Kite Runner & Devil in the White City (everyone on the train is reading The Kite Runner. My roommate is reading Devil in the White City. I read US Weekly).

About me: I’m a sweet, affectionate, outgoing city girl who loves Chicago (I’m from Chicago and couldn’t get a job anywhere else). I’m tired of meeting the wrong guys at the bars (No one talks to me at the bar, and I gave up on my “skinny” jeans four years ago).

I’d really love to find someone else who loves to travel (so that my edible g-strings would finally get some mileage outside of Vegas). My family is REALLY important to me and they didn’t get along with my last boyfriend (he had “me amo Isabel” tattooed on his forearm. My name isn’t Isabel. You’re bound to be an improvement). I hope you consider family life important too (a second reminder: you will impregnate me within four months).

About my date: I just want a normal guy who can make me laugh (at this point, I’ll take anyone with more than seven toes). I guess I’m old fashioned because I like guys who show up on time for dates (in March of ’06 some guy opened the door for me at La Bamba’s, and I would have married him on the spot).

My date absolutely, positively must love dogs (my last boyfriend drop-kicked Tinkerbell onto the Dan Ryan because she was barking during a Bears game, and I almost, kind of, thought about breaking up with him because of it). I love guys who cook, and it would be great if he was a terrific kisser too (nobody has kissed me in awhile; I should probably practice with my roommate).

Finally, if we ever get married, we have to tell everyone we met at the airport!!! :) (Not to worry: marriage isn't on the horizon. You, me, and SassyInChicago76 will still be on Match next year. But on a sunnier note, the blogging possibilities are endless).

OldTownFunGirlLovesToTravel (Part I)

Go ahead. Do what you need to do. Throw some popcorn in the microwave. Grab a blanket. Get comfortable. The feature presentation is about to begin.

First things first: yes, I am a subscriber on Match.com. My intentions in joining were pure. Hoping for romance. Not planning to demand a refund if there’s any tonsil hockey out of the deal.

Nine months and (probably) ten dates later, I haven’t found love or its proximity. Might as well rationalize why not.

But before I send in my B-2 bombers to flatten Venus’ countryside, I’d like to make a series of admissions. Admissions are imperative when your bombing squadron is getting ready to make Dresden look like the love parade.

Accordingly, I willingly and openly admit that I’m not for everyone. Nor am I an easy dating prospect. I’m unpredictable, always late, without culinary inclination, nocturnal, and normally inclined to say whatever is top of mind (often to my detriment).

Beyond that, my interests are all over the board.

My preferred musical genres are classical, jazz, blues, house, and trance. My favorite TV shows are Friday Night Lights, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Charlie Rose, and The West Wing (translation: I don't want to watch CSI or the train wreck that is Grey's Anatomy with you).

My first cousin is named "frozen pizza." My second cousin is "wine." And my immediate family cherishes the second weekend in April for the Masters, with church on Easter Sunday being an acceptable warm-up for Augusta.

In summary: I probably don’t jump off the page as “grand-prize” material for most women. And truthfully, that’s fine with me. I’m not interested in most women. More to the point: I hardly ever get really excited about a woman (“Tower: this is the Memphis Belle, requesting permission for lift-off.”).

It’s not that I’m incapable. Nor am I afraid of lifelong proximity (i.e. commitment). On the contrary. I believe in the heart, and its four valves, and love's ability to define the human condition.

Unfortunately, believing doesn’t make one an active participant.

In thirty years I’ve been in love twice, one of whom might have represented a chariot ride off into the sunset. Unfortunately, ella no esta aqui. She’s with another hombre. Meanwhile, I’m writing about the travails of Match.com with you good people.

I liggity-love this readership, but sometimes in life, you lose.

Which leads me back to the business at hand, dissecting the fruitless smorgasbord that is Match.com. Of some solace, I know the “fruitless” designation is not mine alone: most men who try Match.com come away from the experience with an empty fruit basket. Though perhaps not for the reason you’d expect.

In actuality, it’s a numbers problem. It’s mathematically impossible for most Chicago men to find a woman on Match. That’s because every male subscriber is vying for the same four women. Four women who: 1) love to travel 2) LOVE to laugh 3) think Chicago is the best city in the world 4) Secretly crave US Weekly and 5) spend their entire summer running along the lake.

That’s right OldTownFunGirl: your cover is blown.

The number of women who “secretly” or "guiltily" covet US Weekly could fill a ballroom the size of Texas. Meanwhile, I am absolutely convinced that Match.com could triple their annual revenues if they would charter flights to Australia/New Zealand for members because a solid 80% of the subscriber base has taken an “amazing” trip there in the last six months.

And as much as everyone loves to travel, I’m sure they’d go back.

However, the lack of differentiation amongst the candidates isn’t my only critique. If that were the case we’d be out of here by recess. Instead, we’re just getting started on a two-part entry.

Buckle in.

For those of you lucky enough to avoid the world of online dating, here’s a quick point of relevance: 98% of subscribers post a main picture. Then, subscribers have the option of posting as many (or few) additional pictures as they want.

In this realm, you’d think most people capable of posting a few uncontroversial, inoffensive pictures taken in a visible light. You’d think that would be true, but you would be wrong.

Rather than expand on this last point in narrative form, I’m going to list out a series of “do’s and don’ts” in relation to posting pictures – awarding points for the former and taking them away for the latter.

And ladies, I hope you’ve been practicing subtraction.

Accordingly, if you’re a woman on Match.com (fill in your favorite online dating site) you should:

Give yourself 15 points for posting between four and seven pictures, and subtract 30 points if you posted more than ten (I’m exhausted and we haven’t even met).

Give yourself 20 points if you are in all your pictures, and subtract 40 points if you posted a picture from your Ansel Adams phase (get over it already, everyone on Match has seen a mountain).

Give yourself 10 points if your grandma is in a picture with you, and subtract 30 points if grandma is in more than two (everyone loves grandma, but nobody wants to visualize her during sex).

Give yourself 20 points for every full-body picture you posted, and subtract 60 points if all your pictures are from the shoulders up (we’re going to see the other 80% of you sometime, and trust me, by posting headshots and referencing your body type as “about average” – we’ve already envisioned the worst).

Give yourself 30 points if you’re smiling in all your pictures, and subtract 15 points for every picture that makes you look “fun” (sucking green liquid from an eight-person straw on St. Patty’s Day does not make me want to buy you dinner).

You should also subtract points for the following:

5 points for any picture in which you’re wearing sunglasses.

20 points for any group picture in which all your friends are hotter than you (you’ve just prompted every man to wonder: “would it be inappropriate to ask if her friends are single?”).

50 points for any picture that is under water (seriously, I don’t want to see you kissing a blowfish).

80 points for any picture in which you’re riding a non-horse animal (you’re bringing camel back, and that ain’t no way to act).

300 points for any picture in which you are flexing a bicep (rarely will you hear a man utter: “you had at me She-Ra.”).

1000^9999999 points for posting group pictures which make me question who you are from one picture to the next (a lifetime of solitude is all but certain).

This last point plays out a mind-boggling number of times. A woman dyes her hair; or she gains 30 lbs; or the picture was taken from a tripod on Mars –- and for the life of me, I can’t figure out who I'm supposed to be evaluating.

Esssssss no good.

If by chance your total score from above is greater than zero, treat yourself to a cookie and leave me your name, number, email, or call sign: you're the statistical outlier, and I'd love to meet you.

Regardless of the futility of the effort, the reality is that we, the pathetic online dating masses, march on. We sift through thousands of profiles looking for a fifth contestant. Then we email (winks are lame). Then we talk on the phone for twelve minutes (give or take thirty seconds). Then we realize we're each "super busy" so we hold off on making plans for another two weeks.

Finally, we meet for "a drink." And one drink turns into eight. Then we decide that we like each other enough to suck face outside the bar when exiting, but not enough to ever talk again.

And that's it. The circle of life on Match.com. You can chalk love up as unlikely, but good stories are a virtual guarantee.

In closing I want to acknowledge that while this entry has targeted (blitzkrieged?) the women of Match, I know the female subscribers have their share of warranted gripes as well. For example, not once have I had to brush aside a profile de mullet.

But even if women are on equal footing in their online dating plight, I'm not planning to give that angle any air time. That’s the beauty of having a blog: my bombers cruise through the no-fly zone unscathed, and attempts at rebuttal (i.e. anti-aircraft fire) are relegated to the measly “comments” section below.

It's like aiming a SuperSoaker 3000 at a stealth bomber.

With that thought in mind, also know this: we're not through here. One bombing run and an outline of the online dating life-cycle does not qualify as a two-part entry. So next week I'll be offering up a mock profile for a woman on Match. And if this week seemed harsh, next week might feel like a nuclear winter.

Ladies, per always, you're welcome to bring your water guns.