When I was in elementary school we sold candy bars. Maybe a pizza. All of this to raise money for a field trip to the zoo or something.

Our local elementary school is selling mattresses.

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Another Rant.

This could be my last post on Facebook but it probably won’t be because apparently I can be some sort of masochist.

Rant time: It’s “nice” that Facebook can barrage me with a constant stream of horrific memories of 9/11 on September 12. I mean, why be timely when you can relive the sad desperation of that horrible day over and over again, day after day, to garner more ad money for this service? 9/11/01 was a tragedy, no doubt, and some of the posts I read yesterday were quite touching and thoughtful. But today is September 12 and I strive to move forward with my life. But Facebook, in all its “infinite wisdom” wants me to wallow on sorrow, just like the barrage of Father’s Day ads I see every year, even though I have told Facebook several times that my father is deceased. Why am I still on this thing? I really have no idea other than everyone seems to be afraid of venturing outside of Facebook these days. To share is to Facebook. Most folks like echo chambers and their news fed to them by Facebook. I seek. I search. I learn. If you want to contact me, text me. Email me. Follow my idiotic tweets. Read my blog. Heck, if you’re shy and don’t want to talk to me, I’ll set up a free voicemail account and you do the same and we’ll exchange voicemails. Write me a letter. Step outside of this walled garden of growing idiocracy, there’s a beautiful world out there.


I watch this TED talk by Mel Robbins on a routine basis. It’s the motivation I need to keep going, keep growing and keep living life. 

Watch this. Grow with me. 


One of the best things about our relocation to Chicago is the opportunity for walking. Back in Central New York I would walk up and down our semi-suburban/wanna-be country road for exercise. It was an exercise in flirting with danger as there was a McMansion park up the hill from us and people would often come barreling down the hill way above the posted speed limit. Many would be using their phones, some would be randomly placed in the vehicle and there was always one guy in a European luxury car shaving every morning. When you walk the same 1/2 mile in each direction up and down your road it gets quite boring. To go anywhere interesting involved planning, a vehicle and a drive of at least four hours. It was not a conducive scenario for a quick walk during working hours.

Here in Chicago I have many places to walk. Our neighborhood has both beautiful residential and shopping districts. I can easily hit my goal of 10,000 steps a day without even trying; I usually clock around 13-14k steps a day now. This is a beautiful thing, especially since I can’t start riding a bike again until next spring due to my surgery earlier this year. 

Earl and I have been walking after supper and getting to know our surroundings a little better. I know folks from the old stomping ground were sure we were going to be shot within days of moving to The Windy City but we have little worries when walking around our neighborhood, even after sunset. The streets are well lit but more importantly, the vibe is safe.

Looking for a slight change of pace the other evening after work I took the train down a couple of stops, walked that neighborhood and then walked back home. I logged nearly 22k steps that day and I felt amazing. Walking around, seeing the sights, and being amongst people other than those texting and/or shaving in their vehicle is a beautiful thing.

It’s just another reason why I think this move to Chicago is one of the best things to ever happen to me and to us.


I did a search of Twitter on “Irma Landfall” to see the latest tweets about the strongest hurricane in history. Amongst a wide assortment of charts, facts, and speculation, this little gem of a tweet popped up.

Again, I ask those that think “God will handle this”. ISN’T IT GOD’S HURRICANE TO BEGIN WITH?

It’s CLIMATE CHANGE. The climate is changing and it isn’t for the better.

The Age of Aquarius has morphed into the Age of Idiocracy.


So Irma, probably the strongest hurricane ever recorded, is flinging her way through the Caribbean and headed toward Florida. Folks are evacuating key areas and I’m really hoping that the damage will be minimal and lives will be spared. I want everyone to be safe.

I’m noticing a lot of people voicing their prayer activity on various social media outlets. I’m curious as to the reasoning behind this type of prayer. Yes, we all want people and animals to be safe and damage to be minimal. But, praying to the God that allegedly threw this storm onto the face of Earth seems to be a futile effort. If God wants the storm to follow the path that he’s launched this storm along, why would he listen to prayers? Do we think God will reconsider his Irma plan? Was God wrong? Yes, we want people to be safe, but why on Earth would a rational person think God is going to spare someone because of prayer?

Look, I want people to be safe and I want those that are worried to find comfort through any means possible. I would probably do the same thing. But, logically and rationally prayer doesn’t make a lot of sense. Well wishes. Hopeful thoughts. Positive thoughts. Yes, all of those make sense to me. But prayer? OK, I guess….

If you find comfort in prayer then I hope you find comfort in your prayer around Irma. But I have a hard time reconciling rationalization around the effort. But that’s my hang up, I guess.


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I have always been fascinated by regional dialects. I never really had a grasp of the concept until I left Central New York for Western New York to attend my first round of college; until then I knew there were accents (most notably a Southern accent) and that the folks downstate spoke differently than the folks where I grew up but in my mind those were accents. In Western New York they spoke much like we did back home but with a slight twist, for example, “pop instead of “soda”. I actually grew up fairly close to the pop/soda line in New York State, which seems to have drifted west a bit since I was a young lad.  When away at college talking with other students from the area there were other subtle differences that caught my attention, for example, folks from Jamestown would say “ming-ya” when they were irritated or for some sort of emphasis, though the folks were hardly Italian. “Ming-ya, that woman is an idiot.” 

My friend Matt lives in Central Pennsylvania and I noticed that he says “slippy” instead of “slippery”, which I think it kind of cool. I’ve picked up on “slippy” in other parts in that general vicinity. “Slippy” seems to have its roots in Pittsburgh which makes sense to me, because Pittsburgh has it’s own take on the English language and I find it quite endearing.

One of the things that I like about Chicago is that the dialect is fairly close to what I grew up with, albeit with a few twists and indications of local slang. The flat “a” sound reigns supreme, just like back home on the shores of Lake Ontario. Mary, marry, and merry all sound alike. It feels very comfortable. I think it’s the result of growing up at the opposite end of the “Great Lakes Accent” from Chicago. For example, I’ve heard plenty of people say “sammich” instead of “sandwich”. I’ve also picked up on “washroom” instead of “rest room”, which reminds me of Toronto and Kingston, Ontario. (I hardly ever rest in the washroom, my diet doesn’t really allow for a restful experience in there). There’s also slang like “Jewels”, referring to the local grocery chain, Jewel-Osco (though ours is just a Jewel). Sneakers are now gym shoes and apparently we’ll be entertaining in the frunchroom. 

Tonight I might of had a couple two three drinks while we were out and about in Boystown. I like the idea of having a vague count like that. It fits the mood.

Here’s a couple other articles on “Chicago slang”:







Earl and I ventured to Pratt’s Beach in Rogers Park for a relaxing Labor Day at the beach. Jamie and Chris joined us for a while. We sat on blankets on the ground and ate homemade sandwiches. 

One of the things I love about Chicago is the blend of so many cultures without strife. Skin color, language spoken, styles of clothing, none of this makes a difference. In our short time here I’ve witnessed more blending than segregation. 

This beach is reachable by the ‘L’, Chicago’s version of the subway. We take the Brown Line to the Red Line and here we are. We drove today because we were bringing our picnic supplies. If I want to come here to clear my mind during the week, it’s easily reachable. 

The varying types of music filling the air is interesting to me. I’m using the Shazam a lot to identify songs I would not normally hear. I like being exposed to new things. It’s part of what makes life great. 

Since today is the unofficial end of summer, Mother Nature is starting to show just a hint of color in her leaves. For the first time in nearly two decades I am not feeling a sense of dread nor the “closing in” of the change of seasons. 

I’m excited about the continuing adventure.