"OOBER-DOOBER!!"

I loved "Young Frankenstein." RIP, Peter Boyle.

The 80's Weren't All Bad

Thanks to the wonders of You Tube, I've been on a Pat Benatar kick lately. As someone who sat in front of the idiot box a lot watching MTV, I can't for the life of me remember this video:



It's a beautiful song, which makes me wonder what Chrysalis Records was thinking in not releasing it as a single back then.

Maybe that's why Chrysalis is out of business.

A Day That Will Live in Infamy

Today marks the sixty-fifth anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor.


Laura Oppenheimer at Chicagoist celbrates her birthday today. Feliz Cumpleanos, Oppenploppen.


She also shares a birthday with this man, who turns fifty-seven today:



It's good company, Laura.

Jack Frost Nipping at Your Nose

I just finished weather stripping the front door and kitchen, the two places in this apartment that let in cold air like it's summer in Miami, and I'm air conditioning a bungalow. With the way things have been the past couple months at work, the winter will be challenging, at best, as far as bills are concerned. The last thing I need is an enormous heating bill.

I've lately been both looking at classifieds and asking for advice on freelance writing inquiries from people I know. Gotten good advice on the latter, advice that may pay off soon. On the first front, I need to develop some good habits, like sending out resumes, form letters, and clips. At the same time, I haven't lost the urge to tend bar or manage one. If anything, the past few months at work have rekindled my desire to move on and learn more. I've been remiss in not taking advantage of the opportunities that have come. It's not that I want a new job; spend seven years at one place and it starts to feel like home. You don't want to give up that familiarity, sometimes at the expense of your future. I need to decide whether I want to stay at "home", or move on. Sometimes, it's "family" that often hurts you the most.



On a happier note, an impromptu and belated birthday party was thrown for my friend Chris the other night. Most everyone was under the impression that he was turning fifty, but Chris played a good hand poker face and kept mum. He'll turn fifty next year, and that should be a hell of a party. Chris is the nexus, the one responsible for all of us knowing each other, really. He and his then-wife used to live at Belmont and Clark in a loft apartment located in an alley, across from the Alley. And Chris took full advantage of it, throwing some of the best parties I've ever been witness to. Parties with jazz combos, rock bands, poets, visual art, short movies, elaborate decorations, and copious amounts of "treats." I truly feel as though he never took advantage of turning all that energy into a career, but it was probably for the best. If he ever decided to be a party or event planner, some host might have beaten the fun and excitement out of him. So I look back on those parties and feel that we got him at his most inspired, crafting these soirees out of love and the pure fun of it all, with no strings or catches other than the opportunity to be your friend. More often than not, it worked.

Saturday night was one of those rare moments where I was able to be together with all of my old friends at one time, in one place. Normally, if I'm out that late on a Saturday night, I'm getting paid. Seeing as how I'd just talked to most of them at Peg and Brian's wedding two weeks prior, it felt doubly good to see them all again, and so soon. Usually, it's months between sightings. Another reason I'm dusting off resumes and planning my next moves. I really like to see them all more often.

Signs That Your Mother - And By Extension YOU - Are Getting Old

Mom: Are you eating right now?

Me: Yes, ma'am.

Mom: What are you eating?

Me: Biscuits and gravy.

Mom: Biscuits and gravy?

Me: Yes, ma'am.

Mom: Is it just regular gravy, or did you use sausage?

Me: It's sausage gravy, Mom.

Mom: You like that stuff?

Me: It's your recipe, Mom.

Mom: My recipe?

Me: Yes, ma'am.

(pause)

Mom: You know, Charles. There's a reason I had all those heart attacks.

Happy Birthday, Mom.