Sam's Backup Page

I was over at R's tonight, so I almost forgot to post today's origami!



It's a dog's head. I know.

I was describing my recent cooking adventures to R, including the Dubious Ham Bananas that I made and taste tested. I was trying to describe it to him.

Sam: So you take some ham and spread some mustard on it, and then you wrap it around a banana.
R: Yeah!
Sam: And then you bake it.
R: I bet!
Sam: Then you top it with hollandaise and bake it some more.
R: YES. I like all of these foods!
Sam: I'm not sure you'd like them together.
R: It's like you don't even know me.

In some ways, R is the least worldly person I've ever met; possessions, status symbols, all of that just doesn't seem to matter to him. To the point where sometimes I need to take things away from him before he casually destroys them by accident. It's not that he doesn't respect other peoples' belongings, it's that he doesn't realize he's supposed to.

And while I do like...having things, owning things, I also pretty much own the things I want to own, like, I'm not someone who amasses stuff. So between R's almost Zen lack of worldly concern and my intentional minimalism, we've basically stopped giving each other birthday gifts altogether and instead we gift each other with experiences.

For his birthday (in July) I took him to a sauna (in September; nobody said we were prompt), and for my upcoming birthday he's taking me to a Cubs game for which he wrangled tickets because it was a makeup from an earlier rainout. I'm super stoked because I love going to baseball games and I rarely get to do it, and Wrigley's a really great stadium -- I thought R was just being a local boy about how "there's no bad seat at Wrigley" until I actually went to a game there. It's true, there's not, because it's tiny. I was used to the Oakland Coliseum, which is roughly the size of Pluto and about as warm, once you get into the late season.

IDK, it seems to be working for us. We're also signing up everyone we know for postseason ticket lottery for the Cubs, in the hopes of getting to go to a playoff game.

If we're both still single at 40 we might marry each other. At the rate we're going, whoever does manage to get married will need the other one to approve his bride first anyway. (Being fair, I should have veto power on all his dates, the man can't be trusted with his own love life.)

I'm over at R's today, a habit we've begun to develop due to the epic amounts of college football you get on Saturdays, and how R needs his college football because we've both quit watching the NFL in disgust. But of course, conversation wanders from football frequently.

R: I'm going to a wedding next week.
Sam: Oh yeah? Where is it?
R: It's out in the woods.
Sam: The woods? That narrows it down.
R: You know, the woods!
Sam: Oh sure, the woods, you take The Road to get to The Woods.
R: It's way past West City. You know where Beaten Path is?
Sam: Don't you dare --
R: IT'S JUST OFF BEATEN PATH.

Bless.

I am at R's place tonight for pizza and bad documentary television, despite the fact that it's zero degrees out, -22 if you factor in wind chill. I couldn't resist going somewhere with central air and hot pepperoni pizza.

We were watching youtube videos of famous court trials, because why wouldn't you, when we got to talking about "crime porn" -- cheesy, cheap documentaries that lovingly re-enact real-life murders, complete with detailed death scenes. I don't even pretend these have any value; they are probably a signficant detriment to society. But they're also fascinating, and Behind Mansion Walls is both the best and the worst of murder porn. It's hosted by a guy who is so douchey that by the third season he's being filmed against a green screen so they can project him into a cocktail party he's not even attending.

Every time a dude comes on the screen, R says "HE DID IT." Sad thing is, he's almost always right.

Now we're watching a documentary on the FBI breakin in 1971, and R pointed to a map that came on the screen and said "I've been high EVERYWHERE ON THAT MAP."

In not-at-all-news: J. Edgar Hoover was an asshole, y/y.

I can now cross "See John Williams conduct a symphony orchestra" off my bucket list.

Ages ago I had the opportunity to get some cheap-ass tickets to see "John Williams At The Movies", a Sunday matinee of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra with John Williams conducting a series of movie scores he composed. I bought two tickets intending to fly Mum out for the weekend and take her to the show, because she loves John Williams and she imparted that love to me. Motherfucking HORNS AND VIOLINS okay.

But it turns out of course that due to Knee Surgery she couldn't come, so I asked R if he'd like to come instead. And we had what he calls a Friendate where we got dressed up (okay, he got dressed up, I wore tweed pants and a t-shirt and looked a lot more punk than I intended) and went to the symphony and --

Well, it's a good thing Mum didn't come because she's afraid of heights, and we were on the FOURTH BALCONY which not only is six floors off the ground but has super-steep stairs of death and she would not have been able to enjoy the concert at all. But R and I are both fine with heights and if I tripped I would just have tumbled into him, and he's a pretty solid guy, so neither of us were that likely to die. And the view was perfectly adequate, so who cares?

The concert was fantastic; John Williams was great, of course, and they had a really good violin soloist, Gil Shaham, in for much of the first half. Some of the pieces had video accompaniment, which did make me want to see Close Encounters Of The Third Kind.

Film caption: Muncie, Indiana.
Sam: *elbows R, who is from Indiana*
R: I've been there.
Sam: I'm sure.
R: If it was gonna happen, it'd happen in Muncie.

We've made a plan to have a Close Encounters movie night this week or next, before I leave for Austin. But I think my favourite was the Fiddler on the Roof overture, because Shaham just nailed it and kind of danced while he did it. Watching soloists cracks my shit up.

R: *during intermission* This place is swank. They had complimentary cough drops in the lobby.
Sam: Those are because nobody wants to hear us coughing during the performance.
R: That makes sense.
Sam: You smell strongly of menthol.
R: I may have taken a handful.
Sam: Strongly.
R: I may have filled my pockets.

I was surprised Star Wars wasn't on the program, but it kind of made sense -- Superman and Jurassic Park weren't either, and it was obviously a selection of his less well-known cinema work on the whole. But then he got an ovation and did an encore, which was the Star Wars theme, and his second encore was the Imperial March.

Then we went out for sandwiches and discussed a) how R has now decided he wants to date a lady from the symphony and b) whether or not John Williams has a constant horn section playing in his head as he goes about his daily routine.

I really don't think I can leave Chicago -- at least, not for Baltimore. Maybe for Boston, but not Baltimore. Part of it is I couldn't leave R, part of it is I just love this goddamn city too much.

R came over this afternoon and we played Wheel of Fortune on the Wii, at which he defeated me heartily. The only puzzle he didn't get was a "place": THE BIRTHPLACE OF CIRQUE DU SOLEIL.

I ended up solving it, and he turned to me with this wide-eyed look on his face.

R: Is THAT how you spell it?
Me: ...yes. Have you not heard of Cirque du Soleil?
R: PFFT NO I've heard of it! I thought it was spelled differently.
Me: Like how?
R: I've been wrong for years. *long pause* I thought it was Circus Ole.
Me: Circus Ole.
R: Yeah, like....OLE!
Me: *falls off couch laughing*
R: So it's, tell me again, it's...
Me: Cirque du Soleil.
R: *really flat twang* Cirque...du...Soleil.
Me: Could you sound more midwestern right now. My god that was a faceful of Indiana.

He nearly got defeated by BOLOGNESE PASTA SAUCE too, because as he explained to me, there are really only two types of pasta sauce: red jars and white jars. You just go to the red jar section of the grocery store and pick the one that says MEAT on it.

And then we watched the Cubs and the Padres, the two lowest ranked teams in the league, go head to head for FIFTEEN INNINGS.

Me: What happens if they go to sixteen?
R: Human sacrifice.
Me: Who? There's nobody left in the stands.

Fifteen innings. Nobody even scored until the thirteenth. It took stamina just to watch it.

My exploration of Chicago's farmer's markets continues apace. Although I have to admit today was almost completely by chance; R was going to meet up with some friends at the Green City Market, which is a very well-known and largish market, and he stopped to see if I wanted to come along. I scored some excellent Indiana cheese. (It's like chevre and brie had sex. With your mouth.)

I don't know if I've mentioned here, I think I have, that R and I are considering getting a place together again. He wants to move out of the condo his mother owns, partly to get out from under her and partly because his new teaching job is on the south side. I need to move that direction anyway when work moves, and we know we can live together tolerably. Plus he's grown up a lot since we met, so I trust him with things like "paying half the rent". I mean, the man teaches eight year olds now.

Apparently this past weekend he won a shooting competition. At a bachelor party. At a cabin in the middle of Nowhere, Wisconsin.

Me: I didn't know you shot.
R: I didn't really know either. I mean, I haven't since I was a kid.
Me: You shot rifles as a kid?
R: A lot went on in my backyard, Sam.

The prize was the gun he was shooting. So now R owns a rifle.

RMED AND DANGEROUS.

BLUES AND BEER.

I went out to see R's gig tonight. R has a very specific way of asking for things which it takes a while to translate. "Do you like this rug" really means "Do you want to help me move some furniture", for example. So when he asked if I wanted to get dinner before the gig, I correctly deduced he meant "Do you want to come help me unload?"

Which is fine; I knew it was coming. :D And really his gig setup is mostly stands and mics, so it's not a lot of heavy hauling. And the food was pretty good, plus I got a free beer. CHICAGOANS: TRY GOOSE ISLAND GREEN LINE. I have no idea what kind of beer it is but it's really good. Also, what a cool name.

I hung out with some people I kind of know, including a woman I think R is trying to set me up with, which is sweet of him if rather hopeless given my track record. Still, fun. Best line I heard all night:

"So there I was, naked, on a sled..."

R knows some interesting people.

He thinks I should do some spoken word performance, because I do have a decent reciting voice, but I like being Designated Audience Member. I am aces at applauding!

And now, all the bedtime.

Well, the soup yesterday was definitely a success.

And it was nice to have someone else around to make the stuffing; plus, both of us got to leave R with the dishes. :D R called it his Orphanksgiving, which for some reason just kept cracking me up.

Over actual Thanksgiving R went home to Indiana to hang out with his family, and he took his Wii Wheel Of Fortune with him.

Me: Can you explain to me how you ended up with a Wheel of Fortune Wii game but no Wii?
R: My ma gave it to me.
Me: Was she unaware you didn't have one?
R: No, she knows I don't. She has one, I think she wants me to visit home more often.
Me: Fiendish.
R: It's a subtle but irresistible trap.

He said it really gave him some perspective because apparently he had to stop playing after he continually smoked everyone else who challenged him. I have to admit, it's different when you're actually playing versus when you're chilling on the couch just trying to solve the puzzle before someone else does. He is a canny bastard when it comes to Wheel of Fortune.

I'm wrapping up The City War's blog tour today over at Nyx Book Reviews, talking about the process of writing. Last chance to leave a comment and possibly win ten dollars in credit at Riptide!

R always seems to end up here when Jacques Pepin's cooking show is on. Either that or there's a channel on local TV that plays nothing but Jacques Pepin. It's possible, he's popular.



R: So who would you pick to play Peepin?
Me: You mean like, in the biopic?
R: Yeah. Who's your pick?
Me: Daniel Craig --
R: NO!
Me: -- in twenty years.
R: Acceptable but wrong.
Me: Who are you so sure would play him?
R: William Shatner.
Me: ....I concede.