Happy Hallowe'en

photo posted from my iPhone

Vultures with Police Scanners

I'm not sure how it works in the rest of the country (where real Americans live), but in Chicago the tow truck drivers have police scanners and listen for accidents to happen. Once they hear one, they all begin circling like vultures. Not only that, but they descend and one of them hops out of the truck and hands you a business card (I collected 3 before I just started waving them off). The helpful staff provides helpful hints like, "If you drive it like that, you'll do damage that the insurance company won't pay for," and "You don't pay us a dime. It's covered by the insurance company." Even after you say, "I've got roadside assistance, but thanks anyway," they just kind of hang around. It's as if they think you'll eventually crack and say, "Alright! Fine! Tow my fucking car!"

It was not the best way to spend a Friday night. I was giving my cousin a ride home when a woman ran a stop sign and drove right into traffic on Augusta Avenue. By "traffic," I mean "our car." As with any rapidly unfolding traumatic incident, I've rolled back the tape of my memory a hundred times and I'm pretty sure there's no way I could have avoided impact. The front bumper of her car made not-so-sweet love with the driver-side quarter panel of my car. The impact knocked me into the parking lane and I was headed directly toward the back end of a Chrysler 300. It is a testament to Swedish technology that I managed to stop 8 inches short of a second impact.

My cousin was nice enough to hang out with me through the ordeal, which was good. After information was exchanged, police reports were filed, figurative vultures and literal hail were avoided, and the requested tow truck finally showed, it was 10:00 before I got home. Now we're faced with the daunting task of making 9:00 soccer practice for Ellie and a 10:00-noon Halloween carnival in the western 'burbs without our child-safe car. It should be a challenge.

On the plus side, my cousin and I had some time to catch up.

Franzl!

I was trying to explain yodeling to Ellie. Like any good parent, I went immediately to YouTube to find an example. I stumbled upon the king of Bavarian yodeling, Franzl Lang. We watch it regularly now. The kids love it and it puts me in touch with my German heritage.

I submit it now for your enjoyment/enlightenment:

...

Tonight, the wheel of dukkha
Has rolled over my heart...
Again.

I know I should see this as part of life's comings and goings, but this has been going since my grandparents were in swaddling clothes. I can't begin to make sense of the giant knife switch that gets pulled to "Off" at some point during the post-season (unfortunately, it's been right at the beginning of the post season, lately).

I cannot make sense of a Cy Young winner and MVP and Manager of the Year unable to win 1 of 3 in 1984. I cannot make sense of a muffed double play by a golden glove shortstop in 2003. I cannot make sense of the bats drying up two post-seasons in a row in 2007-8. I cannot make sense of 100 years of futility at our expense.

What I do know is this:

Whatever powers there be in this universe, they hate the Cubs and their fans. We are born to suffer and die and pass the legacy of pain on to our scion. We are the diaspora, scattered far and wide... You of devotion to other teams: Look around - we fill your stadiums. Yet, we can never win. We have our hopes raised in holy cow hosanna, only to have them dashed before us like the Bartman ball incinerated at Harry's.

I, for one, quit you baseball. I quit you like an abusive spouse. I simply cannot take it anymore. I will not pass this emotional cancer on to my children.

A side note to Derek Lee: You acquitted yourself well. I hope you go on to further success somewhere, only I will not be watching.

Dear Ms. Palin

If your biggest selling point is that you're a Washington outsider, wha'd'ya say we do what we can to keep you there... Outside of Washington.