Sure, it took a clever video cut-and-paste job. But, finally — finally — Rod Blagojevich speaks the truth.
Last week, I had a friend tell me that my life is like an episode of “Seinfeld.”
To which I replied that, no, it’s not like one at all.
It IS one.
Funny things just happen to me. And anyone who knows me also knows I have a story for every occasion (probably two stories). My world isn’t quite as small as it used to be when I was a newspaper columnist, but can still probably about fit inside a thimble.
So many unexpected things have happened to me over the years that, well, I’ve come to expect them.
But, nevertheless, I still was caught off guard a few weeks ago when I decided to test out the new Google Street View option on my iPhone.
Street View — a feature of Google Maps and Google Earth that provides 360° horizontal and 290° vertical panoramic street level views of numerous cities and regions — has been around for a couple years, but before the iPhone addition, I’d never tinkered with it before.
I had, however, heard about Street View’s controversy, as privacy advocates have objected to the Google feature since it’s been found to show, among other things, men leaving strip clubs or picking up prostitutes, people sunbathing in skimpy outfits and parents smacking around their kids.
Now, Google Street View didn’t catch me doing any of those things.
I don’t even have kids.
(Kidding, I’m kidding …)
But, in Chicago, I do break the law a lot. Or, at least, that’s what city’s Department of Revenue tells me (don’t get me started).
Because, since I moved to town in July 2005, their officers have slapped a whopping 15 tickets on my poor car. So, of course, it was only natural that when I typed my address into Google Street View that it returned an image featuring my car parked directly outside my building.
With not one ticket plastered on the passenger’s side window.
Heck, even George Costanza couldn’t top that.
(To see my Street View, click on the image below. My 7 1/2-year-old car’s the black one — wearing the tickets. )
Ever wonder what happens when you spray hot water at –20°?
Well, thanks to this lady in frigid Minnesota, you’ll wonder no more.
Right now, it’s 40 degrees in Anchorage, Alaska.
And minus-5 in Chicago.
Yeah, that’s the kind of winter we’re having this year.
As I continue to get back in the swing of things with this blog, I thought I’d delve once again into the reservoir of my storytelling past and share with you a tale from my book that’s well-suited for this oh-so-frigid weather.
So, if you thought the New Year’s Day Blackhawks game at Wrigley Field was the most unique event involving an ice rink in Illinois that you’d ever heard of, well, you might want to think again. Because, six years ago when I was a newspaper columnist at The Daily Times in little Ottawa, Ill., I managed to dig up the following gem.
With a snow shovel, of course.
The Big Chill
The WISCH LIST
Feb. 18, 2003
When it came to the most jumpin’ joints around during the 1940s and ’50s, you’d have been hard-pressed to find – not just in La Salle County, but the entire state of Illinois –- any venue flashing more verve than Ottawa Township High School’s Kingman Gym.
Back in those days when the Home of Ottawa Pirates wasn’t playing host to an assortment of high school dances and functions – not to mention legendary coach Gil Love’s fabled OTHS basketball squads – it was busy serving as a showcase for a variety of national traveling acts.
The original Harlem Globetrotters, for one, once hit the Kingman hardwood during the 1946-47 school year. That same season, Ottawans also reveled in watching other black barnstorming basketball teams, such as the House of David, the Hawaiian – yes, Hawaiian – All-Stars and Kansas City All-Stars tangle at Kingman.. Quite interestingly, in December of ’46 – probably around the time that they traveled to Ottawa – the Kansas City Stars listed none other than Jesse Owens on their roster, meaning that the Olympic track and field legend might have shot hops in The River City that year.
Doing shooting of an entirely different sort in Kingman during the 1953-54 school year was the “Singing Cowboy” – old Gene Autry, himself – who galloped into the venerable gymnasium with his traveling rodeo for a live show.
As splendid as those spectacles were, though, there was not a one that left its mark quite like the time that Kingman Gym welcomed the unlikeliest guest of all.
“The Ice Capades in Kingman,” formerteacher and boys basketball coach Dean Riley recently said with a laugh. “No one has mentioned that in 30 years.”
Probably because the old gym is still trying to forget.
Sometime during the late 1950s – memories of exact dates have fuzzed in the decades since – a group of Ottawans conjured up the notion of bringing the “Greatest Show on Ice” to town. And, for many, the thought of the glamorous Ice Capades pirouetting its way into off-the-beaten path Ottawa was simply a dream come true.
“Oh, I was tickled,” 73-year-old Earl Fribbs, a longtime fan of the Ice Capades, said about hearing the show would make a local appearance. “I didn’t believe it, that’s for sure. They’d come to Joliet, Peoria, Chicago for shows.
“But never to Ottawa.”
Most likely because larger cities such as Chicago and Joliet had arenas with, you know, actual ice rinks in them. Ottawa, on the other hand, could offer only the floor of Kingman Gym.
The recently-renovated, gleaming hardwood floor of Kingman Gym.
Unswayed by that little technicality, OTHS – with assurance from the Ice Capades that all would go well – proceeded with organizing the vent. The proper safeguards were taken as special, waterproofed material was placed over the gym floor, and intermittent spraying and freezing continued until the spacious Kingman was fit for a penguin.
The crowds then cam, the skaters whirled, danced and leapt barricades, and everyone acclaimed the performance.
“They put on a good show,” Fribbs recalled.
Those handing out the accolades included even the skeptics, because when the floor’s protective barrier was removed following the production, Kingman’s surface was just as shiningly beautiful as before.
Yes, everything had gone as smooth as ice.
A couple days after the event, disaster struck as Kingman’s floor began – and continued – to buckle and bend. When it finally ceased, more than half of the recently-finished hardwood had been warped to some degree.
“That show ruined the darn floor,” Riley said. “It buckled up so bad near the northwest corner of the gym by the cafeteria, that you couldn’t even open that door. The floor must have popped up a foot.”
For Riley, than an assistant basketball coach under Gil Love, the debacle proved particularly troublesome as the Ice Capades took place during the hoops season. Ultimately, though, the mishap proved even more vexing for the Pirates’ opponents.
“It was several years before we got a new floor after the damage,” Riley said. “And it just added to the Kingman mystique. One area on the east end of the floor, the coaches from other schools would hate it because the ball would bounce about halfway back up when you dribbled it. And we knew where those boards were.
“A lot of other teams hated playing in that gym.”
Luckily for the school’s taxpayers, they didn’t have to hate paying for the gym, as well. As it turned out, the Ice Capades’ insurance ended up footing the bill for the aftermath of the one event in Ottawa certain to never have an encore.
“I think there’d be a little resistance against something like that now,” Riley said with a laugh.
“Probably more than a little.”
I love the “Super Bowl Shuffle.” Every Bears fan does. But the whole thing — the dancing, the lyrics, the singing — is also godawful. Blissfully godawful, but godawful nonetheless. Every Bears fan knows that, too. Which makes it all the more inexplicable as to why — why?! — the Bradley University basketball program thought that making this video was a good idea. For shame, Peoria. For shame.
Three years ago, during my first full-time winter in Chicago — and back when I was blogging for the Trib — I asked my readers to share with me their tales from the frozen tundra of Windy City winters past.
They responded with — naturally — an avalanche of amusing anecdotes.
This week, as I prepare fresh blog entries to bring the Wisch List out of hibernation — while Chicago, in all likelihood, descends into it (Thursday’s high temperature is what?) — I figured it was the perfect time to revisit these “Winter War Stories” from November 2005.
So, sit back and crack open a few of Chicago’s cold ones. And, visit again soon. After all, while the temps are dropping, the Wisch List is just getting warmed up.
It’s a brand new year around here.
And now, straight from the City of Cold Shoulders …
“I worked at the IBM Building (330 N. Wabash) in the 1970s. When the weather got bad, the building would put up ‘life ropes’ at each corner of the building. This was to help anyone who walked over the Chicago River Bridge, as they could grasp a line and ‘pull’ themselves in. Known as the windiest place in Chicago, it became even windier when the river froze and the wind, falling off buildings, would come down the river and accelerate.
“There was also a `life guard’ posted at the southern corner of the building whose job was to rescue anyone who could not pull themselves into the building. I saw an elderly lady blown down, and she was carrying along until the life guard got her and dragged her in.You calculate the wind chill of a negative-10 degree day with 65 mph winds, and that’s cold.
“This was the day I decided to pursue opportunities away from One IBM Plaza.”
— S.C. Argento
“Here’s one for you: Last January or February — I cannot recall which month it was — I had just left my place of employment on Fullerton and missed the bus by a half block. (I am heading east to the Red Line south — I reverse commute) I know it’s cold and it’s starting to snow, but what is a six-block walk? I do it all the time!
“As I am walking east it starts to snow heavier and heavier. I cross Racine, and it worsens! I start walking backwards (barely tolerable). Then, I get to the DePaul Campus entrance and I can barely see in front of me, cars are pulling to the curb. I literally stop walking. I turn my back to the blowing snow — it feels like needles.
“Now, I am a grown male, 46 years of age, but I will tell you this, I literally almost started to cry – it was so unbearable. Well, it started to let up and I continued walking. I crossed Sheffield and thought I should stop in Dominick’s to warm up, but said, what the heck, I am almost at the station. I enter the station and people are looking at me oddly.
“I go up the stairs to the platform, and again the `looks.’ Well, I finally look down and see that I literally am covered in snow. I touch my head and the snow just starts falling off. I must have looked like a walking snowman.
“By the time I came to my stop, at Clark and Division, I had warmed up; however a little soggy. Next time I will wait for the bus!”
— Dominic Raso
“Hello, Wisch! I drove gasoline tankers from ’77 to ’83 and you gotta stay by the truck as it unloads. (Fire Marshal stuff, ya know!) One bitter night on Pulaski Road, wind chill was 48 below zero, and it takes 30 to 45 minutes for the tanker to empty. The tractor engine’s gotta be shut down (Fire Marshal stuff, ya know!), and it took five minutes to get the diesel to run afterwards. A big plume of white smoke came out of the exhaust stack and there was a lotta grinding and groaning (from me and the engine!)
“I wore heavy gloves and long underwear (it still didn’t help). To this day, I can’t hold frozen food packages, it hurts to pick up an ice cube, and I can’t walk barefoot on a really cold floor! Folks don’t realize what ‘outside-job’ guys put up with so they can drive their gas-guzzlers to the corner store! I work inside now (computer graphics), so no worries about wind chill — except when the refrigerator door is open!”
— Steve Johnson, Evanston
“I lived in Rogers Park in the mid ’80s to late ’90s and had to walk, every day, from Clark and Granville down to the Granville `L’ stop — about a 20-minute walk.
“Well, one snowy morning, I got on the `L’ and either the heat wasn’t working or it was so darn cold it didn’t matter, I could actually feel the cold coming up through the soles of my shoes!”
— Peter J. Gallanis
“Currently, I can’t complain about the fact that I am currently living in southern California (Riverside) and have been since November 2004. Having left Chicago in July 1998, the memories of 40 years of Chicago winters, have not faded. There is one winter that will never fade from memory, barring Alzheimer’s.
“It was in the late 70’s (1978 or 1979?). There was this one January morning in particular that started off with a low of minus-28 degrees, and a wind-chill of minus-82. After putting on multiple layers of clothing, I took those dreaded steps out the front door.
“When glancing down our street, there was a common sight from one neighbors house to the next. Every neighbor had the hood of their car up, in the hope of getting it to start. The snow on the ground was so frozen that I never broke the surface as I walked across the front lawn to get to my car. The door lock on my car had frozen. After heating up the door key with a lighter, and after what seemed like forever, I was able to get the lock to slowly turn. My body was already numb from the cold. I got into the car, closed the door and felt the warmth of minus-28 degrees without the wind-chill. I turned the ignition key to try to start the car. With little surprise, the engine wouldn’t crank over. I then proceeded to walk (like my legs were strapped to 2 x 4’s) back into the house, never to venture outside again that day.
“On the brighter side, the temperature did climb up to a high of minus-16 degrees.”
— Richard Mysiewicz
“My favorite memory of a nasty Chicago winter was in January of 2004, when I had managed to stumble to and from class decked out in most of the cold-weather gear that I owned. That evening, I remembered I had promised to go ice skating on the Midway Plaisance rink (nothing between you and the lake). And by that evening, the absolute temperature was about negative-7 and the wind chill was about negative-30.
“I had everything on — thermal undershirt, sweater, dual-layer ski coat, scarf, watch cap, thermal pants, jeans, wind pants, dual-layered cotton socks, heavy boots … but nevertheless, by the end of the 45 minutes of skating my extremities were throbbing..
“If I could pull that off (my first winter in Chicago, too!), then I think you can manage to survive this winter.”
— Brian Hinkle
“Dave, I know this sounds sick and twisted, but after what seemed like an eternity of 90-plus-degree days and constant sun with no rain for weeks on end, I am looking forward to this winter. What’s not to love? Rain, sleet, snow, slush, Battleship Grey skies for months on end …
“Mix in those blessed days in mid-January when the clouds finally break and the sky is so blue, so clear, so clean and it is so cold that the smoke stacks from New Buffalo (you know, on the other side of the lake) look like they are three blocks away. I love winter so much that three of the times I have moved, it was winter. We could have it much worse, like when I moved to Minneapolis and then back, both in the cold. Nothing like having to park on the street and lift heavy things over packed snow, ice and slush 2 feet high and 4 feet wide. But, the best was moving my family into our new house last January. Remember that really big snowstorm? You know, the only one last winter? Something like 12+ inches? Yeah, I moved in that, loved every minute of it.
“Yes, sick and twisted.”
— Martin Sikorski, Oak Forest
“This is my first Midwest winter. I moved here in September from Florida … FLORIDA! I’m going to freeze!
“But my mantra today and for the rest of the winter is this: At least it’s not a hurricane.”
— Michele Jones
“I was born and raised here in Chicago. I am here to tell you, you will never get use to the winters. Every year (for the last five years) I have ask myself the question, `And, why are you still here?’ This question will be asked a couple of times a week. Until about March, where the question seems to fade. Then comes November again.
“For a person who has never experienced a Chicago winter, I feel there are no words that can truly give it justice. I can only hope that I will get the answer to my question — or it will get so cold that I will forget what the question was.”
— Vivian Rayford
“One bitterly cold winter day about 10 years ago, I waited in vain for my bus. Since it was only about a half-mile to the train, I started walking. I stepped off a curb right through some ice into a very cold puddle of water, which soaked through my boot. I continued my squishy trek to the Blue Line. At our first stop, the sliding doors on the car became stuck open.
“The conductor had to stand by them, so none of us would fall out. And he assigned a passenger to look out the little window and let the engineer know when the platform was clear of passengers. The car was crowded and cold, but everybody seemed to take it with good humor. My foot was even more frozen than when I first got it wet due to the wind from the open door blowing on it.
“I finally arrived at my destination and caught my last bus. Upon debarking, I slipped on the wet steps and slid down them into a large snowbank! Thank goodness, I was well padded with all the winter garments I had on. Of course, I was late to work and I referred to this adventure as my Ride From Hell. (By the way, it is really cold on those train platforms, so dress in layers.)”
— Irma F. Gibbons
“Last winter both of my doors (on a two-door car) completely froze shut and couldn’t be opened. I was in the middle of a parking lot, so the old blow dryer trick wasn’t going to work because there was no electrical outlet anywhere near by. And it was also late at night and I couldn’t get anyone to help me. My solution?
“I took out one of those lighter things for like the barbeque and and started going up/down the door panel until I was able to start chipping off ice and get the door open. The whole circus took me over 30 minutes between digging out my car and getting the door unfrozen.”
— Yvonne Suarez
“I’m a Chicago native now in the South and trying to come home. I miss the cold. It’s miserable living somewhere that has 100,000 percent humidity and extreme heat for too many months to count. I often say I would rather take a Chicago winter over a North Carolina summer. But, I may be forgetting what’s it’s really like as I only get home for a few days at a time.
“Anyway, here is my cold weather story that doesn’t make me miss the cold. I was at school in Michigan and suffered through one of their coldest days on record negative-30, or something like that. Pretty much the whole `world’ shut down — except my school. It’s not like I never skipped class, but for some reason I had to go that day — I think it’s the warrior in me.
“By the time I got to class my eyelashes were frozen. I had a hat down to my eyes and a scarf up to my eyes. But the cold would make my eyes tear and the tears just froze when they hit my eyelashes. AND, I looked like the kid on `A Christmas Story’ — I was so layered underneath my down parka that I couldn’t even put my arms down. It was a sight.”
— Heather Kuh
“I once started a contract assignment at LaSalle Street and the Chicago River on Jan. 2. My train let me off at Union Station and — not yet knowing the buildings I could cut through — I set off into 35-below wind chill. By the time I reached the building, my face felt sharp as a razor and twin trails of ice left white stripes in my mustache. I spent the entire spring getting to know the correct routes to take, but there’s no mistaking the “all limbs tucked” block posture of a Loop commuter who knows how to walk in the winter wind.
“Towards the lake isn’t so bad, with your back to the west wind. But back to the station from the lakefront, into the wind — wanna talk `character builder?’ “
— Brian Turner, Schaumburg
“One of the big reasons I hate winter, and especially Chicago winter, is falling. Now, I am no gazelle. But, with my big feet, I can usually stay upright. But at least once every Chicago winter I would find myself flat on my back — betrayed by a sneaky patch of ice that was masquerading as pavement or snow.
“Every fall made me vow to move to Arizona, which is where I now live and read your column online.”
— John Koller, Surprise, Ariz.
And, finally, this one may be my favorite (the last line is classic):
“I remember the winter of 1981-82. It was bitterly cold, especially the month of January. The air temperature was below zero degrees and the howling winds made the wind chill factor near 80 below zero. Everyone was having problems starting their cars, and the CTA was really having problems keeping the bus lines in operation. In fact, Mayor (Jane) Byrne had ordered that the buses be kept fueled with engines running all weekend to avoid not having them start for the Monday morning rush.
“I was a freshman at St. Rita High School, and I lived in the Pilsen neighborhood. The announcement came over the radio that all Chicago Public Schools (grade and high schools) were closed due to the weather. It was announced that most area Catholic grade and high schools were recommended to be closed. Needless to say, I was shocked when it was stated on the radio, and confirmed by the school, that St. Rita High was open for a regular schedule.
“Mom insisted that, if the school was open, I must attend classes. After some arguing, I bundled up and walked out the door to the bus stop. Normally, I would have had to take two separate buses to get to school, but the first bus was more than 30 minutes behind its usual time, so I decided to walk to the next bus line which was Western Avenue, more than a mile away.
“I waited at the bus stop for another 45 minutes with the air temperature hovering around 18 below. I was miserable and angry that I had to be outside in that weather while my siblings were home because their grade school was closed. I finally made it to school around an hour and a half late. I was given a detention for arriving late to school. We didn’t learn anything new due to the fact that around 90 percent of the student body and 60 percent of the faculty staff were absent.
“I moved out of my parents’ home at age 18.”
— Gabriel Garcia
A lot of Cubs fans take playoff losses hard. But then there’s this guy, who took things to another level Thursday night after L.A.’s 10-3 beatdown of the Cubs at Wrigley Field. For all I know, the dude is still sitting there. But, hey, at least he has his Bud.
“And when the day comes for that last winning run. And I’m covered in beer. I look to the sky and know I was right …
To think someday we’ll go all the way.”
— Eddie Vedder, “All The Way”
I went for a run last night.
Laced up my Nikes. Tucked my iPod headphones into my ears. Pulled my Cubs cap down onto my head.
And jogged off into Wrigleyville.
Every week since I moved to Chicago three summers ago, I’ve embarked on late-night runs through my neighborhood.
Heading down Sheffield to Addison, up Clark and along Waveland, I complete a circle around the ivy-covered burial ground six blocks from my apartment building.
Some nights while I run, Wrigley Field is jumping. Other nights, it’s silent.
And, occasionally, when the calamitous happens — as it did this past Wednesday and Thursday — it’s both.
In the same inning.
For Cubs fans, October never has been the kindest of months. Our tricks start a month before Halloween — and we never get the treats.
But after a century of heartache, this year was supposed to be different. It seemed different. And until this week, it was different.
The Cubs won 97 games, coasted to the NL Central Divison title, had the most imposing offense and pitching staff in the league …
And then, well, they started playing like the Cubs.
Twenty years ago, in the spring of 1988 when I was 11 years old, I recall thinking to myself that the Cubs couldn’t possibly go EIGHTY years without winning a World Series.
Eighty years? There was just no way.
I’ve, ahem … learned a lot since then.
Most of it the hard way.
And among my tough-luck lessons is the fact that when it comes to the Cubs, “The Curse” does exist.
In the embodiment of 100 years’ worth of pressure, it exists.
Now, that’s not to say there’s some billy-goateed spectre of evil lurking over Wrigley Field pulling on the Cubs’ marionette strings, but there is an entity surrounding the North Side ballclub that truly is tangible in the postseason.
And it’s something that can be crushing on Cubs players, often causing them to tighten up, no matter if they’ll ever admit that or not.
I’ve believed in that notion wholeheartedly ever since I sat in the upper deck at Wrigley Field for Game 6 of the 2003 NLCS.
As I’ve told people countless times since that infamous night, the feeling that crept over Wrigley — spread like a virus by the frozen-in-fear fans — after Steve Bartman reached for the fateful foul ball and Moises Alou flipped his lid was the eeriest I’ve ever experienced.
Unless, you were there at the ballpark, it’s almost impossible to fully explain. But you could literally feel the tension.
I mean, feel it.
I’m certain the players felt it too. They had to. And it’s why they ultimately collapsed once things started going against them.
No matter what anyone says, Cubs players — once they get to October — know all-too-well that a century of failure is weighing on their shoulders. And it’s not just a city, but an entire nation’s eyes are on them.
And it’s the reason why routine grounders pop out of gloves. It’s why simple fastballs go awry. It’s why hot bats suddenly go oh-so-cold.
I firmly believe that’s what happened again on Wednesday night, when Ryan Dempster lost his control. And on Thursday, when every Cub forgot how to field.
The incredible pressure to succeed made the Cubs fail.
That’s “The Curse.”
And that’s the burden.
But that doesn’t mean that it can’t be lifted. I believe it can be. Although, it’s going to take a Herculean effort — and it will never be easy.
Not for the Cubs. Not after 100 years.
I honestly do think, though, that the best thing for this team right now is to get the heck out of Dodge(r) and head for the (Beverly) Hills.
There’s just too much pressure in Chicago right now.
Los Angeles ought to feel like a vacation.
Regardless of how they played in Games 1 and 2, everyone should remember that this Cubs team is good. Damn good.
It’s the best North Side bunch I’ve seen in my lifetime, and while it’s unlikely, it’s hardly inconceivable that they could win twice on the road this weekend.
For 5 good reasons why there is still reasonable reason to hope for a Cubs miracle, I suggest reading this excellent piece by Michael Bradt, the creator of the entertaining Cubs blog “Hire Jim Essian” who, coincidentally, I met on the Red Line this summer.
En route to a game at Wrigley, of course.
The points Bradt makes in his piece were the same ones I was bantering about with co-workers this morning once the fog from Game 2 lifted and I decided that rather than pout, I’d instead remain hopeful.
Sure, I’m hopeless, but the fact is:
- The Cubs still have excellent pitchers — arguably their two best — slated to pitch Saturday and Sunday in Rich Harden and Ted Lilly.
- The (sadly) woeful Kosuke Fukudome is mercifully leaving the lineup. Mike Fontenot should be playing. He needs to be playing.
- And, Ryan Dempster will almost surely bounce back with a strong showing — if the Cubs get to a Game 5.
During this, the most magical summer of my 32 years, I’ve been to a ridiculous 30 Cubs games (I counted them up tonight).
I’m just not ready to let go of this season just yet. In fact, today, I was able to buy tickets online to Game 2 of the NLCS.
It’s slated for next Friday, a night on which I’ll probably jog down to the ballpark, no matter what.
But it sure would be nice if the Cubs decided to show up there with me.
Hey, you never know.
Even Mordecai Brown could count to three.
If Howard Stern is the self-proclaimed “King of All Media,” well, then I must at least be a Duke. Maybe an Earl.
Okay, how about Court Jester?
Reason being is that exactly one year after leaving the newspaper biz to try my hand at public relations, I’m embarking this week on yet another media adventure.
I’m joining the cast of Mad Men.
Okay, not really.
But on Tuesday, I am beginning a job as a writer for a suburban advertising-marketing firm. My new company bills itself as agency of innovation, and being the innovative sort myself, I’m excited about the opportunity.
I look forward to embracing this realm of the media industry. Particularly so, because in many ways, it’s my final frontier.
As I wrote back in May after my 15 seconds of fame on E! THS Investigates, I’ve now worked for newspapers, big and small, both in print and online. I’ve written sports, features and hard news. I’ve been a reporter, an editor and a columnist. I’ve done PR, been interviewed on TV (not only for E!, but a Polish television station, as well — long story), had my own radio segment and published a book.
Oh, and yeah, I also blog.
Once I get the hang of this advertising-marketing thing, I figure that when it comes to meida, I literally will have just about done it all.
Except for movies.
Still need to get one of those under my belt some day, I suppose.
Who knows, maybe if Mad Men ever goes to the big screen, I can be an extra.
Then again … maybe not.
Living near Wrigley Field and attending Chicago Cubs games like it’s my job, I know all too well about the Bucket Boys.
As do my eardrums.
But last Thursday, while while walking past Murphy’s Bleachers prior to the Cubs-Phillies tilt, I stumbled across a brand new drop in the bucket:
Behold the Bucket Baby. (See photo below.)
Perched on a crate next to his, um, mentor (?), the Bucket Baby’s rhythmic skills could still use some work. But, hey, the little fella already knows how to spin, flip and catch a drumstick.
As well as draw a crowd.
So much so that just a few feet down Sheffield Avenue, a rival Bucket Boy duo was sitting idle Thursday as they glumly pondered the new kid on the block.
With the Bucket Baby working it, the two of them couldn’t get any attention.
Even though one of the guys was in a wheelchair.
And had no legs.