Don't Like Summer

I'm not trying to be excessively negative, but just to vent. As such, here are the top ten reasons why winters in Chicago are way better than summers (off the top of my head, in no particular order):

1. Everywhere you go in Chicago during the summer someone is cutting something with a circular saw, all day long. The only sound I can think of that is more unpleasant than this unholy screech is the dentist drill.

2. In the winter you can warm up by wearing sweaters, moving around and going for walks. In the summer you are screwed unless you are dead.

3. Sleeping is much easier/nicer when buried under 25 blankets.

4. The streets are safer in the winter, because there aren't as many disenfranchised, destitute, amoral opportunists wandering around looking for targets.

5. You can ride your bike along the lake path in the winter without having to dodge forty thousand errant volleyballs and worry over life after an involuntary manslaughter conviction because of the dumbasses who let their little kids wander around unsupervised.

6. There are fewer people out during the winter. In the summer all you can think about is how the world's problems are all directly linked to way too much human-fucking.

7. Cruising while playing indiscernable hip-hop in bolt-rattling car audio systems goes up by 400%.

8. Assholes with Harleys they've finally been able to finance think they're being subversive by setting off all the car alarms as they tear down the streets in a desperate effort to recapture the vague elements of their youth.

9. You can't go to the lake without being nauseated by the stench of exhaust fumes from whatever kind of fuel is used in motorboats and jet skis.

10. Even more cars everywhere.

Note- Snow is nice, but so are green leaves on the trees, especially when they are rustling in the wind, so those two things sort of cancel each other out.

Cherry Garcia

So I told Anna I was going to buy a pie, just because I thought it would be a funny thing to say, and it was. "I'm gonna go buy a pie. Do you want a pie?" I wasn't thinking she would say much, because we aren't in the habit of buying pies. I don't believe I have ever bought a pie, in fact. But actually she nodded to indicate that yes, she would like a pie, and I could tell that she meant it. But I was only kidding, I just wanted to say 'pie.'

And so I was in a pretty good mood on my way back from Reckless Records, because I gave them my resume because they are opening a new store downtown and they were nice to me, and I like riding my bike in the rain, especially now that I bought a fender and gritty water doesn't get flung onto my butt anymore, and I was on my way home and I thought, How would it be if I were to actually buy a pie? That I think would be extraordinary. I like doing extraordinary, unexpected things for Anna. It keeps things interesting. So I locked up my bike at the Jewel that was on the way home and went in to get a pie.

The thing is, I really only wanted a French Silk Pie. I think I even specified this at the time of mentioning it to Anna. I don't usually like sweet things. But there must have been a party some time recently, or a holiday during which at some point I sampled and enjoyed a French Silk Pie, because I had a very specific craving for this pie. No other kind of pie interested me, which was unfortunate because they didn't seem to have my pie.

I thought maybe a Coconut Cream Pie would do it, because in fact I at first mistook this for my pie. But I couldn't recall whether Anna liked coconut -- she can be pretty fickle these days. And anyway not many people like coconut; it's one of those things, like hot mustard or tequila or water chestnuts: some people can't get enough of it, but most people stay away.

I kind of deflated somewhere in there. I wasn't going to find an appropriate pie. So I instead grabbed some vine-ripe tomatoes, because we definitely like those, and they don't last long in our house. And then I figured this would be a good opportunity to replace all the Chex Mix I ate most of before she had a chance to have much of any. And while I was at it, I found a half-pint of Cherry Garcia Ice Cream, my favorite ice cream. I haven't bought it the past few times I've visited the grocery store, so this time I guess I deserved it.

But something was missing. After a minute I decided on some tater tots. Who doesn't like tater tots?

At the register I forwent the eXtreme value item of the week, 'yogurt' coated fruit snacks. The cashier was a young and attractive girl of indiscernable ethnicity. When she saw that I was standing there the look on her face said that she thought I was very cute for a split second but realized suddenly that actually I wasn't. She rang up my ice cream first and sent it rolling down to the bagger, a guy with long frizzy hair and acne, who caught my eye with a grin and a nod. "Hey, that's good ice cream, right yo?" "Yeah," I said. I told him I've tried a lot of the flavors but I always went back to this one, which seemed like a dumb thing to say, but he was being friendly so I wanted to be nice. "Yeah, but yo, I mean the brand." It took me a minute to figure out that he meant Ben and Jerry's, and it wasn't until after I paid and he gave me this kind of wink-wink nudge-nudge look and told me to enjoy my Ben and Jerry's that he was a stoner, probably into the Grateful Dead, and had taken one look at my grocery pile- Three tomatoes, a huge bag of Chex Mix, some Ben and Jerry's ice cream, and a bag of frozen tater tots- and he'd assumed that I was either stoned out of my mind or soon would be. So there it is: My palette has not evolved, apparently, in the last ten years; I am still eating like an 18 year old guy just out of his parents house when left to my own devices.

Next time I go to the grocery store by myself I'm going to buy carrots and broccoli, and maybe some hummus. And now that I think about it, every morning this week I've been wishing we had milk for my granola cereal. Hurm.