Book Club!

I forgot to mention in my woefully boring recap of my Tahoe that the book I took with me was Peter Hyman's The Reluctant Metrosexual.

It's a hoot and a holler of a good read, and I was able to knock about 80% of it out on a flight from Minneapolis to Sacramento. There's a few chapters in it that are all-to-reminiscent of the Life Of Ilk.

Currently on my nightstand (and far too large to travel with) is Jared Diamond's Collapse, which after just 120 pages has already proven to be a fascinating anthropology lesson.

But When Do They Leave For Canada?

From FOXNews.com:

Many Thanks

A conservative group called Citizens United, hit liberal Hollywood Sunday night. Outside the Oscars, celebrities will see two billboards thanking them for helping to re-elect President Bush.

Pictures of Michael Moore (search), George Clooney, Barbara Streisand and other stars who supported John Kerry are on the billboards, right next to a smiling George W. Bush.

No Fair!

Have a look at this map.

If you live in northern Indiana, you're getting snow today.

If you live anywhere in Michigan from Niles to Sault Ste Marie, you're getting snow today.

If you live in eastern Ohio, you're getting snow today.

If you live in NORTH EFFING CAROLINA, you're getting snow today.

But if you live in Chicago, you're getting flying ice pellets that ain't stickin'. Boo hisss.

Oscar Thoughts

I spent most of Sunday night catching up on TiVoed stuff from last week, but now I've got the Academy Awards on in the background. Yawn.

Here's a few thoughts:

Chris Rock's monologue (which I did catch before my TiVo session) was funny. I'll admit it, even the Bush-as-Gap-employee stuff was pretty clever. Time to start a war with Banana Republic. Good joke about that fat slobby Michael Moore. I still think he should have done a rap paying homage to the stupid musical ditties Billy Crystal used to open with.

God, Sean Penn is a sanctimonious (synonym for the female genitalia). I can't believe his overly histronical performance in "Mystic River" won last year, and I still can't believe he got to bang Madonna. Maybe he should go back to Baghdad and hook up with a suicide bomber...he's one American casualty I wouldn't be too upset about.

Hillary Swank needs to eat more. But she's still hot. Someone Super Size Her!

Kate Winslet's obviously been eating less.

God I wish there was a basketball game on.

My fantasy baseball draft started on Wednesday. It's now mid-day on Friday and we're just mopping up the third round. I think it took a total of 3 days last year to pick 15 players, and I think this year I'll be lucky to have a team by Opening Day.

So far the West Side Hitmen have Carl Pavano, Ichiro Suzuki and Paul Konerko on their roster.

The West Side Hitmen's managerial brain is being severly hampered by a nasty head cold, which he thinks is leftovers from the flu he had, combined with too much activity in Tahoe. It better go away over the weekend.

Who Am I? 18546!

That's my number in the Cubs wristband ticket lottery.

Yep. After about 6 beers up at The Rail last night while watching Illinois steamroll yet another Big Ten opponent, I hopped on the Red Line and waited in line for 45 minutes to get this stupid green piece of plastic which may or may not get me an early crack at seats at be-yoo-tee-ful Wrigley Field.

Of course, I probably won't use said tickets myself. Unlike most Sox fans, I don't hate all things Wrigley (I just hate what the Cubs stand for) and enjoy going there, but I'm usually able to finangle free tickets 4 or 5 times a year through various connections in the financial industry. Any tickets I get tomorrow will probably end up on eBay at highly inflated prices for lemming Cub fans to snap up before the season starts.

Funny though. I stood in line (freezing my ass off and having to pee like a racehorse) with 2 fairly intelligent Cubs fans (yes, kinda like Republicans in Chicago, they do exist in very small doses) and talked baseball with them the whole time. They're not feeling too pumped for this year, saying the Nomahh deal was a huge mistake, and that Jeromy Burnitz is just Sosa Lite.

Ta-hizzoe!

Back from the Great American West. Here's some highlights:

Where we stayed: Peppermill Resort and Casino. In Re-no. PLayed some Ke-no. Nice place, but not centrally located which is probably a good thing since most of central Reno is an absolute shithole. Lots of turquoise neon and low ceilings, which kinda made it feel like a strip club.

Where we skied: Friday we hit Alpine Meadows, which was recommended to me by a crusty old skier I was BS'ing with at the Sacramento airport. Big hangout for locals who ski.

Saturday was Squaw Valley, the grandaddy of them all and site of the 1960 Olympics. The place is simply huge, making it both a great place to ski and a nightmare to get around. We had to park in the overflow employee parking lot, which made for about a mile walk with full ski gear to get to the lifts. Rob and Renee were hating us by then. Fun side note: Squaw is the 7th Olympic venue I have been at in my life. It was at Squaw that I suffered my worst moment of the trip: I left my hat, goggles and brand new gloves (which were the best pair of gloves I'd ever owned...I'd just bought them the day before) in the bathroom. I realized my mistake and walked back in there 2 minutes later...gone daddy gone. So, seeing as that it was snowing sideways and 30 degrees out, I needed to do something quick. Unfortunately, your options are pretty limited ar 8000 feet. 75 bucks later, I had a new pair of crappy gloves, a pretty cool hat, and blue sunglasses that put Bono to shame.

Sunday was Northstar at Tahoe, which I'd put on par with Vail in terms of the total ski experience. Simply amazing. Short lines, friendly staff, and most important of all...shuttle service to and from one's car.

Where we ate:

Piper's Patisserie in Truckee. Excellent coq au vin, and a great (if somewhat overpriced) selection of California wines. (If you visit the Tahoe area, I highly recommend checking out Truckee for eats. Much less congested than Tahoe City.)

The Steak House at Peppermill. If this place is truly Reno's Premier Steak House, then I'd hate to see what the competition is like. My prime rib tasted more like unprime ass, and K's filet reminded me of a Bass Weejun. Rotten rotten rotten. I'll give the Peppermill food service props where it's due though--their coffee shop has some of the best omelettes I've ever had.

OB's in Truckee. Looks like a run-of-the-mill bar and grill...but the menu runs more to the fine California food side than it does to burgers and fries. Had a great chunk of salmon that was great big, too.

Truckee Diner in (you guessed it) Truckee. It's a real authentic 50's diner...I'd never been in one before. Damned tasty.

La Terraza in Sacramento. Good Mexican eats in an interesting section of the Golden State's capital. Limited menu, but still good stuff. Good maragaritas as well, served in a pint glass.

What We Drank: Fat Tire Amber. Lots and lots of it. Someday they'll sell the stuff east of Fort Collins.

Geyser Peak Shiraz. Only highlight of our miserable steak house experience.

Stella Maris Red. Tasty meritage of Merlot and Cabernet that just might be in my top 10 bottles ever.

Random Stuff:

There's a trailer along I-80 between Reno and Truckee that has "Lotto Liquor Ladies--LDI Club--28 miles" spraypainted on it right near the Farad exit. I tried and tried to snap a picture of it, but we were always moving too damned fast. Damn, it was funny.

I only had one really good wipeout. Sunday at Northstar I was bombing through a double-diamond powder field (I really don't ski the hard stuff anymore, so I was sucking wind and on the verge of death) and popped a binding on a downslope, launching me about 8 feet in the air still wearing one ski. I kinda half-somersaulted and landed on my well-padded backside. Rattled my cage pretty good, but I was fine.

In keeping with their general theme of self-absorption, California drivers have got to be just about the worst bunch out there. While driving up 80 from Sacramento to Reno, we saw one woman in a Beamer poring over what looked like a legal brief resting on her steering wheel at about 75 mph with the dome light in her car on. Shortly after that, we passed a chick who was scarfing an In-And-Out while talking on her cell phone and driving with her knees.

Stimulants! Whiz! Bang!

I gave up caffeine for Lent. Why I still give stuff up for Lent when I have only been inside a church 2 times in the past 5 years is well beyond my comprehension.

The flu has pretty much hit me full on, so I'm doing everything in my power to control it ahead of my trip. I've been mainlining echinacea and Vitamin C, and guzzling orange juice. I've also discovered the joys of Theraflu. It tastes like hot lemonade (maybe I should mix some Stoli in there) and packs a punch like a Mountain Dew-cocaine-espresso cocktail. Even in my weakened 101-degree-fever state, I am bouncing off the damned walls.

Crappity Crappity Crappity Crap.

I'm starting to feel fluish. Coughing a bit and I'm kinda achey and generally blah-feeling this afternoon.

K had the flu last week, and was sick for 5 days.

If I'm as sick as she was for 5 days, no skiing in Tahoe for me.

Uh oh!

Now That That's Over...

V-Day came and went without a hitch yesterday. Neither K nor I are big Valentine's Day people, but I was feeling too lazy to cook, so out we went.

This was the first time I'd gone out for Valentine's Day since 1998, when I went to Bistrot Zinc with Pauline, the nasty little Filipina chick I dated for a bit who it turns out was sleeping with 4 other guys in addition to me. She would actually go out in the middle of the night, shag other guys and then come back to my house and sleep in my bed. Ewww.

Dinner was at Kan Zaman, a nice Lebanese joint on Wells just north of the Mart. I'm kinda bummed that just as we were leaving, they busted out the hookah. It's BYOB, so we had a good Frei Brothers pinot noir with din-din. K had never had pinot noir before (she wasn't a wine person at all until she met me), and made a semi-big scene in the liquor store Friday night about how she couldn't wait to try it because of the guys in Sideways and their affinity for it. I wanted to be microscopic...it was almost as embarassing as some of my Stepmom Moments over the past few years.

Went over to The Melting Pot for dessert. I normally eschew chain establishments, but the Pot's afordable fondue and good wine selction make it OK in my book. We ate in the lounge, surrounded by first-date couples making googly eyes over each other. Groan.

One thing I'll never be is mushy.

If It's Sunday...

...it's Meet the Press.

Yesterday, my guy Russert had Natan Sharansky, author of this tome on the redeeming power of democracy as a guest, debating Pat Buchanan on the merits of W's favorite theme, spreading freedom.

(Side note: my buddy Joe Carper says spreading freedom sounds like something which requires either a knife or a condom)

Supposedly, Sharansky's book is one of W's favorites. (All you liberals can insert your books-on-tape/coloring books/Dick Cheney reading to W jokes here) In theory, democracy in every nation sounds great, doesn't it?

But surprisingly as I listened to the debate, I found myself agreeing more and more with Buchanan on the issues. Example A of an excellent Pat point is below:

MR. BUCHANAN: We brought down the shah and we got the ayatollah. You bring down that Saudi monarchy, you destabilize that regime and Howard Dean, an Arab Howard Dean, is not going to rise out of the wreckage. That country is a nation whose people now admire and respect bin Laden, not George Bush. We cannot make the enemy the best of the good. Tim, look, we have had occasions, the last great crusade for democracy was Woodrow Wilson going across the sea with an army to make the world safer. We brought down all the monarchs and we got instead Lenin and Stalin and Mussolini and Hitler.

Eventually, Buchanan unmasked Sharansky as just another Zionist. Sharansky made it clear that he advocates democracy for everyone...except Palestinians.

Transcript is here.

Grosser Than Gross.

I was rudely awoken at about 7:15 this morning to the sound of a woman having a screaming hot porn-star style orgasm. It put Jenna Jameson to shame.

Moments later, it dawned on me that it was the couple next door getting it on. You know, the ones with the screaming kid who keeps me and K up all night? The ones who scream at their damned dogs all the time?

They're gross people. He looks like one of the half-human creatures from LOTR, and she's got an ass so fat I could use it as a bookshelf.

Guess everybody needs some lovin' though.

Grosser Than Gross.

I was rudely awoken at about 7:15 this morning to the sound of a woman having a screaming hot porn-star style orgasm. It put Jenna Jameson to shame.

Moments later, it dawned on me that it was the couple next door getting it on. You know, the ones with the screaming kid who keeps me and K up all night? The ones who scream at their damned dogs all the time?

They're gross people. He looks like one of the half-human creatures from LOTR, and she's got an ass so fat I could use it as a bookshelf.

Guess everybody needs some lovin' though.

Who's Your Daddy? (Clap clap clap clap clap)

I've know my buddy the Killer Bee since 1996. We used to go out and drink ourselves stupid 3 or 4 days a week when we were in our mid-20s, always on the prowl for dollar bottles , dime wings and loose women.

Over all these years, Killer Bee (his nickname comes from his acronym on the floor of the CBOT, which was BEE) has consistently beat me in everything we've ever competed against each other.

Fantasy football? Kicked my ass season after season.

Madden football on the ol'Sega Genesis? I beat him one, he beat me like 85 straight times after that.

H-O-R-S-E? Schooled me every time. Keep in mind I'm 6'2" and he's 5'7" if he's lucky.

So at his poker game last night, after we were both eliminated from the main event, Bee started a side game with 3 other guys, including yours truly. The first 2 guys went out in short order, leaving me and Bee to duke it out heads-up, mano y mano, face to face.

So we did. I'd get a 10-J in the pocket, and then flop a 7-8-9. I'd have a pair of 4s, and catch another one on the river. 2 and 6 of spades? No problem, I'll have a flush by fifth street. After a while, my ass really started to hurt from having the horseshoe jammed so far up it. I actually folded a suited A-5 at one point because "it just didn't feel right." But I kept winning.

In the end, I took him with a set of jacks, and made a whopping $60. I've probably lost 5 times that betting with him over the years..but this was easily one of the sweetest victories of my life.

Word Of The Day

I have the hardest time understanding the meaning of "snarky."

Can someone give me an example of what snark really is?

YEEAGGGGGHHHH!!

One of my favorite bookstores in DC is having a Dean Scream contest this weekend. Pay 5 bucks, scream your lungs out and the proceeds go to a good cause, the Kristen Carr Memorial Fund.

A little background: Kristen Carr's mother is Barbara Carr, who is Springsteen's road manager and a good friend of my buddy Bill Marcus, with whom I followed The Boss around the Midwest on his 1999 reunion tour. Had dinner with her one night in Chicago, truly a remarkable woman.

I'll say this about the new DNC head--he's got the passion and the gumption to make something happen. He has the peasants with pitchforks mentality which Hollywood Terry McAuliffe so sorely lacked. More power to him for at least trying to put the party of the working class back into their hands, instead of the hands of Babs Streisand and Michael Moore.

The One Where Ilk Cuts And Pastes.

As most of you know, we're heading to Tahoe next week for some skiing, tippling and gambling. What a dream vacation...3 of my 4 favorite activities rolled up into one nice little snow-covered package.

Rob (of Rob and Renee fame) emailed me this story from the Old Grey Lady about the record snowfalls this year. (Note to self: clip and save)

The article precipitated the following email exchange:

Rob

to me,

Show options

3:09pm (39 minutes ago)

Screw waiting, lets go now.

Ilk

to Rob

Show options

3:19pm (29 minutes ago)

K has the flu, so it's just you and me son.

It'll be like "Sideways."

Rob

to me

Show options

3:23pm (26 minutes ago)

I didn't see "SideWays", should I be worried?

Besides, what about Renee... can't she come with us too?

Ilk

to Rob

Show options

3:25pm (24 minutes ago)

Here's the premise: 2 guys, one a somewhat uptight writer/teacher
still getting over a divorce and the other a dashing lothario with the
moral sense of a cherrystone clam wend their way through napa valley,
womanize, and guzzle lots of wine.

no girls allowed.
___
Yawn. Sometimes I wish I could pull a Sideways type routine and just go bomb around in the middle of nowhere, swilling vino all day and hitting on waitresses at night.

Gotta live sometimes, ya know?

By The Way...

A long time ago last year, Gmail invites were as coveted as a neighbor's hot wife. Now they're about as coveted as a neighbor's donkey.

Anyway....I have 47 of them to dump off. Email me at ilk417 (at) gmail (dot) com if you want one.

Hello Clarice.

Jeff Van Gundy is my favorite NBA coach ever. A Rochester native, he got his start coaching at my dad's high school and went on to skipper the Knicks before heading to Houston.

The Trib ran an interview with him today, here's a funny tidbit:

We did have a bet about Jodie Foster in my freshman class (4) about who could get the first date. We all threw $100 in. One of the other guys asked her to a hockey game and she went. I had my chances earlier. I was walking back from the gym. There's this big freshman quadrangle. You go through this big gate. There's a candy store and popcorn. I stopped as I'm going by, and a voice behind me says, `Boy that popcorn smells good.' I turned around to say, `Yeah, it sure does,' and it was her. And I froze. And I ran away. Twelve-hundred bucks I could've used. That was a choke.

Here's some ink from Detroit on the Maggs signing.

I'm trying to figure out which ballclub made the biggest belly-flop splash this offseason. Here's the finalists:

Mets: Grabbed Pedro Martinez. Can't wait for the inevitable "Who's Your Daddy" chants during the Subway Series. If this guy couldn't handle the spotlight in Beantown, how's he supposed to hang in Nueva York? Also signed Kris Benson and his fat 4.30 lifetime ERA to a fat deal, and signed Carlos Beltran to a monster contract based on a monster quarter season.

Orioles: Let's see, last year they signed Sidney Ponson, who promptly spent most of the season throwing batting practice to the Yankees. Yeah, Sir Sidney is one of my favorite people, but that doesn't mean he can pitch. How do they top that this year? By trading for Sammy Sosa!

Tigers: I think the last good outing I saw Troy Percival throw was Game 7 of the 2002 World Series. Magglio might get 12 million bucks and not even play a game.

Slow Day, Part II

Behold the peckerpod!

No longer does a man need an SUV or fancy TV remote to serve as a phallic extension.

Elton Air!

Elton John's mug is going to be plastered all over the side of some of the jets in AirTran's fleet. Apparently in this case, The Airline Formerly Known As Valujet is paying him to use his likeness.
This isn't the first time this has happened...if I remember right, Southwest had a Simpsons plane for a while.

Let's face it, crass commercialism sucks. But let's think about this the other way for a minute. Maybe all the cash-strapped airlines in the US should sell ad space on the side of their planes to raise money. There's plenty of companies out there that I'm sure are willing to pay for it.

(What a slow news day. Yawwwwwwn.)

Pay-tree-attts!

Those bastards with the flying Elvises on their helmets did it again. I'm just trying to figure out if Mcnabb has been in the league long enough to start the inevitable comparisions to Brett Favre as a QB who turns into an INT machine when the spotlight's on him. You gotta give the guy credit, even when he throws a pick, it's still with laserlike precision. Their clock management was just rotten and Akers blew that onside kick...but this is all stuff any sports talking head could tell you.

Meanwhile, I somehow managed to hyperextend my knee while swimming (!) last week. I've been gimping around like Kirk Gibson in the 1988 World Series all weekend...and it's not fun at all.

This cartoon is in Korean, but I guess you kinda get the idea...

Cartoons for other MLB teams can be found here.

How Biz-ahh.

I have a lot of weird dreams. But last night's may have been the weirdest ever.

I was back in the little burg of Ontario, NY, where I spent 9 years of my life as a little kid. I was getting a haircut from Dave Ferguson, who ran the only clip joint in town.

I complained to him after he was done that I hated how after I got a haircut, I would shed the clippings stil in my head all over just about everything. He told me to start eating these chocolate bars drizzled with mercury that he sold for 8 bucks each. The bars were sitting on a counter at the front of his shop, and had signage that looked just like the signs for the baked goods at Starbucks.

To think, I didn't even drink last night.

Wow.

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood today. 50+ and the sun is glinting off the windows of our fair city. The mammoth snowdrifts have been reduced to little grey piles of ice chunks, and the sidewalks are nice and treacherous with thin layers of ice in the shadows, which are just perfect for me to slip on. (Did it twice this morning)

Don't get me wrong. I love winter. I love snow. But damnit, I am ready for spring. Spring Training is still 2 weeks away and the boat is hibernating under her car cover at a barn up in Wisconsin, but it's nice to hope, non?

Oh yeah, the Super Bowl is Sunday. I'm guessing the Patriots win it, but my heart says pull for the Eagles.

Just remember, Pats fans, all dynasties come to an end. The Roman Empire ended with an inbred emperor jamming on his fiddle while Rome was sacked. The Edmonton Oilers won a bunch of Stanley Cups in the 1980s, and now most folks couldn't even find Edmonton on a map, much less name the hockey team that plays there. The Toronto Blue Jays were an unstoppable force in baseball in the late 80s and early 90s, and now they draw 10,000 people a game to watch them battle the Rays for last place in the East.

Beware the Ides Of February, Pats fans.

Going Going Gone...

Dave Wills, working class hero and consoling post-game voice to White Sox fans everywhere is off to greener pastures. Well, that is if you can call FieldTurf in a half-empty stadium greener pastures. Wills took the Devil Rays' play-by-play gig and will be moving to the (Tampa) Bay Area within the next few weeks. He's had his eyes on a booth job for a while, and it's great to see that he got it.

Wills would stop by Jimbo's or the Bullpen Bar after every game and swill a few pops with his fellow Sox fans. He was the epitome of a South Sider: big, jolly, down to earth, and he has one hell of a Chicago accent. So good luck Dave, and we'll see you in Tampa in March.

As Chicago says bye-bye to Willsy, Baltimore says hello to Scammin' Sammy, who has proclaimed Camden Yards as his new house. Check out this fluff piece from Linda Vecsey.

One more hardball note...I've now found the best minor league team name ever. Check out that logo!

A Pirate Looks At Thirty (Part One Of What's Sure To Be Many)

Went up to Durkin's last night and caught the tail end of a lackluster outing from the Bulls, shortly after catching the Illini's latest waltz over a Big Ten opponent.

Five or six years ago you would have caught me in a joint like that 3 or 4 nights a week, swilling whatever the nightly special was, chatting up some Lincoln Park chick ("oh, you're a trader? you must be so rich") or playing yet another game of Name That Tune with my old drinking buddy Bryan. (Bryan and I had a running game of Name That Tune going for about 2 years, where the first person to name the artist and song owed the other guy a buck. We usually kept track on a napkin Bryan kept in his pocket) The guys who run Durkin's are a great bunch, I slung drinks at one of their sister bars back in 1997 and 1998, and it was probably the most fun I had in my life.

But anyway, I went in there last night, and boy did I feel like an old wrinkle. The bar was jam-packed with drunken 22-24 year olds standing in a circle singing a terribly off-key rendition of "Piano Man." (I cannot stand Billy Joel, to me he's a wussy version of The Boss) The music was turned up so loud I couldn't even talk to my friend, much less actually hear what the song was, and the waitresses and their seemingly endless trays of Jager shots just seemed oddly unappealing.

Yeah. I'm getting old.

Mehh. Not much in the way of new material today, so I'll give y'all the recipe I made last night:

Chicken Saltimbocca

(This is an old favorite of mine when I dined out at Proietti's growing up. K cut this recipe out of Allure magazine and told me it sounded good, so I whipped it up. According to the headline in the magazine, I now cook like an Italian goddess)

3 boneless skinless chicken breasts
1 10 oz package frozen spinach, thawed
3 slices prosciutto
Fresh parmigana cheese (shredded)
1 clove garlic
2/3 c chicken broth
2 tbsp lemon juice
olive oil

Take spinach out of package and throw into a bowl with a dash of olive oil. Season with salt and pepper and set aside.

Pound out chicken. If you're male, make obligatory joke about beating your meat while doing so.
Lay prosciutto on top of meat, then layer spinach, a touch of garlic and cheese. Roll up and secure with toothpick, which is somewhat of a bitch if you use large breasts like I did.

Heat skillet with a couple tablespoons of olive oil. Toss in chicken breasts, cook about 3 minutes a side and reduce heat to medium. Add broth and lemon juice and let simmer for about 8 minutes. Remove and serve.

If you're a wuss worried about portion sizes, you may want to slice the rolled up breasts before serving. They're pretty filling. Enjoy!