The Intelligence Estimate

These statues are downtown on Michigan Avenue. (I forget what store they're in front of but they're between 600 North Michigan and the Watertower.) Probably a hold over from the Christmas season and an unintentional comment on the mental capacity of the sheep that crowd the stores down there to find the latest styles so they can stand out by looking just like everyone else. Anyway, it reminded me of a song I started writing one day after work when I couldn't get around a tour group that was meandering along Belmont at an all too leisurely pace. I don't know if I'll ever finish the song, but I thought the words fit nicely with these images.

"Fat suburban asses clog the bar
Like the fat that clogs their poisoned hearts
Tourists in town to see the sights
Ignorance on the left where nothing's right

I don't care if you know where you're going
But don't stop moving cause the crowd keeps growing
Take pictures on your own time
Right now I'm racing to the red line

Tell me again how it's all so novel
Tell me again how none of us care
Tell me again how you love your duplex
Tell me again why you aren't there

Hell is other people
Hell is coming true
Hell is overflowing
Hell is you"

Due to a huge public outcry (Wendy, that was you!) here is the casserole recipe from the the movie. As you can see it is a recipe of one Mrs Marlys Haverkamp. Marlys used to be one of the cooks at the high school, so she knows a thing or two about feeding people...whether they like it or not! The recipe was taken from the American Lutheran Church (Grundy Center, IA) Cook Book which was published in 1996.

The recipe for Heartbreak Casserole (also from the movie) is a personal concoction perfected throughout my early to mid 20s.

Here's a little video project I've been working on for the last week or two. It was "commissioned" by one of my supervisors, Brian, for our next full company meeting at the Blue Man Group. My friend Ryan Hamlin and I were tasked with coming up with a little slice of life from the ticket office. This is our thin slice of Box Office life. Enjoy.

http://media.putfile.com/Love-Always-Rings-Twice

I went to the remedial Subway yesterday. It's a little sandwich shop near our office and, well, what it lacks in customer service it sort of makes up for in convenience. At least I thought so until yesterday.

I ordered a sandwich with EXTRA MEAT AND CHEESE. This is not an uncommon occurrence at Subway. They even have a menu item for it called A SUPER. If you order a 6 inch Cold Cut Combo SUPER, they automatically give you extra meat and cheese for a nominal fee. No big deal...unless you go to the remedial Subway.

I looked this Sandwich art-school drop out in the eye and told her four times that I wanted "extra meat and cheese." I made sure to make eye contact and to speak very slowly and distinctly. I avoided using jargon like SUPER, but to no avail. She stared right back at me and said, "uh-huh" but did nothing. The last time I said it she got a faint glimmer of understanding, a moment of clarity, but still did nothing. I stared a little harder. Her solution? She folded the meat over another time so it LOOKED like I had more meat and cheese.

That's the real solution right there. We've solved the hunger crisis. Just fly a package of bologna to Africa and ask them to keep folding it until everyone is full! The whole solution will cost like $5 for the bologna. We'll have a Marine do it on his lunch break.

I walked past a psychic's office today and saw a sign out front that said, "walk ins welcome." Why would you need an appointment at a psychic? Wouldn't they know you were coming? I asked my wife this and she said, "Yes they would, but you wouldn't know who else was coming to the office. They do it for you so you don't waste your time" True enough I guess, but if they wanted me to not show up they could just call me.

Just because they're psychic doesn't mean they're unorganized.

So I was doing laundry on Sunday, right? (Just say "Yes.") I went into the laundry room and found that someone had left their clothes on top of the dryer. Or, more precisely, someone forgot to get their clothes out of the drier and the next person to use the drier took the clothes out and put them on top of the drier. Well, as I was moving the clothes I found this shirt...














Classy, no? This guy should just be happy that the courts allow him within 1000 yards of women, let alone conjugal visits. But it made me think back to earlier in the day when I found this in the courtyard of the apartment building....















Now, you don't need a degree in criminology to figure out what happened here. And I have to assume that the guy is laying in that position because the (now ex-) girlfriend did to him what she always meant to do to the boyfriend. Namely, permanently kept him from procreating. And good for her, I thought. But I was pissed that the idiot boyfriend, in his grief, couldn't be bothered to remember to take his clothes out of the drier or at least put them out of the way. So I went upstairs and told my wife what happened. (A brilliant presentation complete with pictures!)

We decided that the boob got what he deserved and that being distraught over losing a girl who was obviously too good for you (pond scum is too good for this moron!) is no excuse for forgetting the simple courtesies of the laundry room. Our solution was to post the shirt in the laundry room with the following modification....

This is a test of the Intelligence Estimate blog e-mail list. This is only a test. If this had been an actual emergency you would have been alerted on where to tune in your area. Also, had this been an actual emergency, you would have been expected to panic and generally run about in a delirious manner. You may now return to your regularly scheduled e-mail chain letters.

I just want to say one things about the Golden Globes on Monday. Why does Larry McMurtry wanna live in a cave? He came up to the podium to accept his award for best screenplay and he ended up singing the praises of his typewriter that kept him from the "cold, impersonal computer." Isn't it a little late in the game to be deriding PCs? Apparently there's a warm place in his heart for the moving picture shows that he writes for, but computers are from the devil. And don't even get him started on indoor plumbing!

Dad, my brother Dave, and Grandma Gummert

What is it about digital cameras that makes you think you need to have a photo of yourself with everyone you've ever known? Does anyone else remember when photos needed an occasion like a birthday or Christmas? Now it's become so easy to memorialize occasions that we routinely get photos of important things like our pets asleep and that one face that our friend makes when drinking hot coffee. It kinda make me long for the days of Matthew Brady. Days when you had to sit still for an hour to get one really stoic portrait.














Dave, Grandma Beenken and me

At least I'm not taking those hideous vacation photos where people stand in front of landmarks to prove they were there. They always just end up blocking half of it and I think, "I'm sure the Grand Canyon is back there somewhere."

But still, this photo is just of Grandma Been and Dave and I in a restaurant back home. No occasion whatsoever.














Me and my friend Jack pretending to be superheroes

This photo is just a chance for my friend Jack and I to act like asses. Now, in our defense, we don't need a camera in order to legitimize that activity. We would be doing it anyway...as our wives will readily confirm.














Me and my niece Katie

This photo is pretty nice because it almost has a purpose. Everyone everywhere wants photos of babies, but my purpose in this photo is little more than to act as an easel to hold Katie into a viewable position. I am totally unnecessary. People will want to remember when Katie was 5 months old, but no one asks for photos of my 366th month. I guess I'm just hoping that I will look cute by association.

I was at a bar last night with Jen and they had several TVs on at once as well as some REALLY loud music. The result was that we could WATCH tv but we could not HEAR tv. And not having any tv reception at home I was just mesmerizesd by the moving picture box. But one commercial caught my attention in particular. It started with a disclaimer in small white letters buried in the bottom of the screen stating "not a gambling site." Well that piqued my attention because the whole commercial was visuals of people playing poker on the beach. Beautiful people in a beautiful setting laughing and having a good time...playing poker. Then the logo came on the screen: POKERPOWER.NET. I tried to look up the web site but it would not load. So here's my quandary, if that's not a site about gambling then I have to assume that POKER is code for something else. And if it is a code, then is the poker power product legal in Alamaba?

This is a concrete goose on my mom's front porch. I made the mistake of assuming it was a seasonal decoration like the lights on the house or the Christmas tree. However when I went home the last time it was still out and mom had changed its outfit to a little green coat and a black hat...presumably for St. Patrick's Day. That's when I discovered that she has handmade outfits for the goose for all seasons. I think this is her own passive way of crying out for grandchildren. "You know, if I had some grandchildren to dress up and lavish my attention on I wouldn't have to resort to this goose!" Seriously, I don't think playing dress up like this can possibly be healthy.

Me and Leslie Hall of Leslie and the Lys

Some friends from work (and a friend I from the blogosphere I didn't even know I had) went to a concert on Sunday night at a bar called The Beat Kitchen. The band we wanted to see (Leslie and the Lys) didn't go on until 11, but we wanted to be there early in case the show sold out. As a result we saw the two opening bands as well. One of them, Robo-Sapien, was terrific. The other one (who shall remain nameless) was abhorrent and I'm pretty sure made it onto the bill because someone lost a bet.

The band was a proto-punk outfit made up of two guitars, a bass, a drummer and more psychoses per square inch than bands twice their size. However, what they lacked in size and skill and musical ability and stagecraft and personality and talent they more than made up for with volume. Their sound proudly proclaimed, "we are channeling our anger through our distortion peddles and now you're angry too!"

But ears were not the only thing bleeding, so was the lead "singer." He had a large gash (and a seemingly fresh one at that) on his bicep that was seeping down his arm and pooling around his elbow. I noiticed it because I was actively looking for ANYTHING else to watch that wasn't the band. A pool of blood was preferable and more musical. I couldn't decide if the "singer" had done it on purpose for effect, or it was an accident. I finally settled on the notion that his body was physically rejecting his "music"...as was the rest of the room.

They thrashed about the stage wailing and stumbling for about 20 minutes and then packed up and left. But not before hurling the typical punk insults at the audience. In between "songs" they would politely remind the audience to "shut the fuck up." Which seemed presumptuous of them considering that no one was really applauding out of anything more than fear.

Watching them you got the distinct impression that the "real band" was tied up in the basement of whatever mental institute these posers wandered out of. I only hope that the real band gets word to the outside world before this lot of sociopaths ruins what little credibility they have left.

I don't know how rail service works in other countries, but I know how it works here: poorly.

I got precious little sleep on Thursday night. I got very little sleep all last week when I was in Iowa, but it really started to accumulate into quite a nice little deprivation by Thursday. Compounding that problem was the fact that I had to be up at 6 a.m. to be to the train station by 7:55 a.m. so I could be home by 3:05 p.m.

Well, I got to the train station at around 7:30 which gave me plenty of time to check my bags and relax before the train came. PLENTY of time...because the train was delayed by 5 and a half hours. Not 20 minutes, not an hour, 5 AND A HALF HOURS!

So I had to come up with something to do in Osceola, Iowa (population 4659) for 5 and a half hours. Jen stayed with me the whole time so we could be miserable together before I left for Chicago. (That's what marriage is ll about!) We went out for breakfast. I shopped in the local hardware/clothing/toy store combo for longer than is absolutely necessary. (I got 100 blank CD-Rs for $20!) We went to a small roadside park outside of town and looked at Canada Geese for longer than is absolutely healthy. We went to the local school and watched kids at recess for longer than is probably legal. We got the car washed. We called Amtrak to make sure the train was still running late. (It was.) We drove out to the casino outside of town. We had lunch and then waited at the station for about an hour and a half.

It's a lot of work to be distracted in Osceola.

By the time I got home it was 10 p.m. and I had seen the ass-end of every podunk town between Chicago and Osceola. They tout rail travel as being so scenic, but once you've seen one sewage lagoon you've really seen them all.

I plan on posting again tomorrow, but in case that doesn't happen I wanted to tell you why: BANDITOS!

I am going to be getting on a train in Osceola, Iowa at 7:55 a.m. which is supposed to arrive in Chicago, Illinois at 3:05 p.m. Now, unless movies have lied to me, I expect to be harried by roving gangs of shabbily clothed hooligans on horseback who will attempt to commandeer the train and mine its various treasures. I'm not sure what those treasures may be (a Blackberry, a leather-bound Franklin Planner, sweaty businessmen?) but I'm hoping my ignorance will keep me from the banditos bullets.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed!

Has anyone seen the movie "Vernon, Florida?"

http://imdb.com/title/tt0083281/

It's a documentary about the residents of this tiny town in the Florida panhandle. And I think there's something in the water. There was a couple who had been to the desert southwest and brought home a jar of sand that was about a quarter full. Now, several years later, they swear up and down that the sand has GROWN! "It'll fill the jar full up in two years." And honestly, these are about the most normal people in the movie. Here's a taste of some of the other wisdom of the residents of this fine hamlet...

"He said killing himself was the last thing he'd ever do...and it was."

SEE THIS MOVIE!

I'm in Iowa right now. No, no, no...I'm not after your pity. However, I won't turn it down either! I say that because I spent yesterday and today with Mom and the conversation got around to this blog. She's on the e-mail list that gets the blog sent to them as soon as it's updated. Not that it does her any good. We spent about 20 minutes last night discussing a previous post that she "didn't get." So I told the story again, nearly verbatim. I was essentially reading her the story aloud. THEN she got it. So it is in that spirit that I tell you today's funny story...slowed down for mom!

A few weeks ago I had a terrible time trying to redeem an offer from Pepsi. They were running a promotion where 1 in every 6 bottles had a "Buy One Get One Free" offer under their lid. But when I tried to redeem it, EVERY PLACE I took it said, "We don't take those here." Every place. Including the place where I bought the original beverage.

(How you doing Mom? You still with me? Any questions so far?)

When Jen and I were traveling to Iowa yesterday she brought along those bottle lids with the thought of redeeming them on unsuspecting merchants along the way. We stopped at a place about 50 miles outside of Chicago and I sprang my trap on the unsuspecting locals.

(No Mom, it wasn't an actual trap...it's a figure of speech. A euphemisms. A metaphor. A...nevermind. I didn't trap anyone! I don't have a convenience store owner pelt in the car.)

I walked up to the counter, set down my two Pepsi products and casually threw the lid in with them. The cashier looked at the lid and said, "We don't take those...they're only good in Chicago."

(See Mom, the guy in the hinterlands thought that the lids were only redeemable in Chicago and all the Chicago merchants were telling me that they wouldn't redeem them. It's not picture-perfect irony, but it's frustrating. And any good humor is derived from a protagonist who is put through the wringer. In this case that protagonist would be me and the wringer is the run around that I'm getting from any and all merchants where the Pepsi lids are concerned. You get it? Mom? You know what? I'll just read this to you instead!)

Jen and I saw Brokeback Mountian on New Year's Eve and all the holiday blockbusters were represented on the big LED screen above the entrance to the theater. But because there were so many movies they couldn't squeeze the entire title of the movie onto the board. Some movies suffered more than others. The Jim Carrey, Tia Leone movie "Fun With Dick and Jane" was shortened to "FUN DICK." I'm sure that publicity could only help the movie.