The trouble with beer is that it only stays good for so long. A month ago, I bought a case of Miller Lite, and yesterday I realized that I only had two months left before it would go bad. This is a watered-down macrobrew we’re talking about, so “going bad” is a relative term, but I still feel like I have to rush. After all, I’ve only had two bottles to date. Pair those with the two bottles that a friend of mine drank and the two bottles that someone downed at my birthday party, and it’s 6 down, 18 to go. This is why I shy away from large-scale beer runs. I’d rather run out of suds after buying a six-pack than pour a dozen unused bottles down the drain.
Archive for March, 2011
Wow, that’s harsh, and I’m not talking about the whole terminal illness thing. I’m talking about the notion that green goes with black. Take a walk through your local forest preserve and you’ll see that green goes with brown. Then, slip a pair of black dress shoes over a pair of brown socks and you’ll see that those two colors are like oil and water. If green loves brown and brown hates black, then wouldn’t it make sense for green to hate black by proxy? Of course it would. Now if the woman in this strip had blue eyes, she might be able to pull off an all-black ensemble. Personally, I think silver and yellow go best with black, but if her eyes were either of those colors she’d probably be lying in a hospital bed next to her husband instead of talking to a doctor about his condition.
The ongoing environmental disaster in Japan is nothing short of heartbreaking. It’s tragic enough for thousands of people to be swept out to sea by a tsunami, but the threat of a meltdown makes things even worse. This must be especially true in a country that felt the brunt of nuclear weapons 65 years ago. (To be honest, I was surprised to learn that Japan even had a nuclear industry, given its history.) That said, I’m not sure it’s wise to prevent newer, sturdier structures from being built. What are the alternatives? Natural gas? Crude oil? Coal? I live one mile from a coal-burning power plant, and if someone offered to tear it down and build a brand new nuclear reactor tomorrow, I’d consider myself lucky.
Hope springs eternal. This Friday, at 1:20pm, the Chicago Cubs will take their 103rd crack at breaking the longest championship drought in professional sports. Could this be season the Cubs finally win the World Series, their first since 1908? The team’s starting rotation looks solid, if not spectacular, and its bullpen seems capable, if not particularly dominant. Even the Cubs’ rookie manager, Mike Quade, appears to be knowledgable, well-liked, and committed to those oh-so-important fundamentals. But the offense…oh boy. Unless, I’m missing something, it seems like this year’s Cubs are destined to lose a lot of 4-3 games. Hopefully, I’m mistaken. Hopefully, the offense will score runs in bunches. Hopefully, the team will end its infamous streak at 102 years.
It’s been years since I’ve watched the news, but earlier this week I found myself trapped in a mechanic’s waiting room with a widescreen television blaring CNN. I expected the midday anchor to be terrible, and she did not disappoint. One of the topics she touched on was AT&T’s plan to acquire T-Mobile. What sorts of questions did she ask her guests? Did she explore the impact this acquisition might have on customers’ phone bills? How about network quality? Potential anti-trust violations? The fate of small carriers in a more consolidated mobile phone market? No…all she really wanted to know was whether or not T-Mobile customers would be able to purchase and activate the latest iPhone. Sadly, it only took CNN five minutes to remind me why I get my news from newspapers and websites.
When my wife and I first met, eight years ago, we were both in college and (not surprisingly) living with our parents. We hit it off right away, but decided against moving in together. We both wanted to strike out on our own before embarking on a grand experiment in co-habitation. My wife moved from the suburbs to an apartment on the north side of Chicago, and I moved from my grandfather’s house on the northwest side to a lovely three-flat on the southwest side. It was important for us to know that we could make it on our own, at least for a year. Once we had that squared away, moving in together was the natural next step.
On the bottom shelf of my pantry sits a box of gingerbread pancake mix that’s just waiting to be made. One of these Sundays, I’ll get up early and whip up a batch of breakfast goodies on the griddle; in fact, the only reason I haven’t yet is that my wife refuses to eat the perfectly good blueberry syrup that I use to flavor my pancakes. She insists on maple syrup. No matter, I’ll add it to the grocery list along with deli-cut bacon and a fresh container of milk. Amazing breakfast, here I come.