"Where's the F$&*% Beef?" or "I Pity the Cow"

Somewhere along the line, I insanely agreed to swear off meat for 3 weeks. Easy right? We are approaching the 18th day and I wish someone would just poke a sharp stick in my eye. What was I thinking? I know it's supposed to be good for me but I could have eased into this insanity in small steps. A bean burrito here, a potato pierogi there. But NNNNNOOOOOOOOO. I had to cold turkey it (I would kill for a cold turkey right now). As an example of the culinary torture I have put up with, I give you tonight's mouth watering menu. For starters there was vegetable cabbage rolls. If you ever had my mother's unbelievable concoction of this Hungarian delight, then you know what a sacrilege this is. I mean, come on! VEGETABLE &*$%in' CABBAGE ROLLS! Am I completely nuts? Oh sure, you fill it with something called "TVP" which stands for "textured vegetable poop" and no matter how much you spice it, dice it or smother it in vodka, it still tastes essentially like soggy cardboard but with way less flavor.
To Sandy's credit she has been a trooper in this struggle against nature, which has given me the disposition of a badger placed in a box, shaken for about 3 days and then let out in a crowd of deranged bulldogs. Now, normally I am the picture of cheer and good tidings for all, as anyone in my family will tell you. But for the last three weeks I have beens sullen, pouty and short tempered. Much like a cranky John Boehner without his daily, lobbyist funded, 35 course lunch.
Let me give you an example. Sandy and I decided to go grocery shopping together to pick up a view things to get us through this torture. Probably not a good idea. Anyway, while in the soup aisle we had a "discussion" about the kind of soup to buy, and finally I blew up and said "look we're giving up meet, for God's sake let me have the salted soup!" And of course, everyone in our checkout line knew we were the ones arguing over mushroom soup with or without salt. We were asked to not return.
I mean tell me. What the hell is this all about. Spinach ravioli? Vegetarian chili? And let's not forget the greatest abomination on earth...the freakin' "VEGGIE BURGER!" Veggie burger? Crap, make mine a triple with everything! C'mon man, a burger must have some filling that actually had parents.
Please help me people. I know that red meat has a few drawbacks, but what in life doesn't? Cholesterol, high blood pressure and colitis? But give me a break. I know "bowling ball" is not exactly the "otimal" ody shape, but as I transition from one foot on 60 and the other on a banana peel, to full blown Golden Buckeye status, I need some allowances. I've given up smoking just because of a lousy little stroke (some doctors just have no sense of humor). I've cut back on sweets and alcohol. What more can I do?
Well people this is where I draw the line! No one can take away my burgers, steaks and Vienna Beef dogs. There is no telling where this will lead.I've become a new man! I'm standing up to those who say they are just trying to "help me." HELP ME? You wanna help me? Start by getting me a 5 pound beefburger with cheese and mayo, between a bun of 2 Tbones. I wish I hadn't said that. I'm dying here. Well, I don't care. No one is gonna push me around anymore. From now on I eat what I want to eat.
By the way, don't mention this to Sandy or my kids, ok?

Love
Dad

There Will Be Blues! Part One

My charges in better times. Emma is the black one.

Why is it, everytime I go to Chicago I always learn something new? And usually the learning is not good. My lovely but slightly deranged daughter decided to take an 11 day vacation to, where else, Argentina, motto: "Nazis? What Nazis?" Naturally, they could spend roughly $11,000 to board their dogs, Elsie the angel and Emma, aka Damien aka Beelzebub aka Nancy Grace. But why bother with a kennel when Bob, who didn't learn the cardinal rule about volunteering in the service, is available. So, being the dutiful father I am, I drove up to Chicago the night before the kids left, drove them to the airport and took care of the dogs while they were gallavanting around South America, hiking the jungle, cavorting with monkeys (more on the simian connection in Part Two), riding horses in the mountains and generally having a good time.

Now the fun starts. Before leaving the kids gently pointed out that there was really only one thing I needed to do around their house while I was there. "MAKE SURE THE GODDAM DOORS ARE LOCKED EVEN WHEN YOU ARE HOME!!" Of course, having reached the age where my short term memory is equivalent to a gnat's, it took roughly 3 nanoseconds to forget the only rule. But that comes later. When I got back to the house from O'Hare, it was a beautiful day in Chicago, and there aren't all that many beautiful days (weatherwise) in Chicago, so I decided to treat the dog's to the chance to get some air on the front porch, while I enjoyed a beverage on the porch swing and watched the people go by. In order to keep the dog's on the porch, as they have a tendency to bolt, I put up a baby gate at the steps in order to keep the little rascals on the porch with me. That gate could restrain dog's from getting out about as much as the law can keep congressmen from taking bribes. A poor soul, who I found out later was a professional dog walker, came up the street with two cute bulldogs. Emma, the dog without a soul, hurdled the baby gate like it wasn't there and charged over to the dog's to generally sniff their butts, and then teach them a lesson about invading her turf. Elsie, when she heard me scream "NO!!!" at Emma, dutifully slunk into a corner of the porch and commenced her "I am cowering here, I don't know why, but ain't I the cutest thing you ever saw?" routine. Elsie's a great dog. Meanwhile the canine Idi Amin was snapping and snarling at the bulldogs while the dogwalker (I wonder what the training is) held Emma at bay with the heel of his shoe. I don't know what he gets paid but he deserves a bonus. Anyway, I collared that goddam, er I mean, that sweet little Emma and coaxed her back onto the porch. Fortunately it appeared no damage had been done, except for my ticker.

About an hour later, as I prepared my dinner in the kitchen, I thought I heard a female voice calling "Hello". Now before she left, Melanie informed me that they had heard ghosts in the house one evening, not long before. But, it was middle of the day, so I went on cooking, although the voice did sound like she was pretty close, if not actually inside the house. A few seconds later, "hello!". Of course because I was in the middle of grilling a couple of Vienna Beef dogs on a skillet, I hesitated to leave, but I cursed under my breath, shut off the stove and went to investigate. Sure enough, as I approached the front door where the porch is, I saw a young lady standing next to the wide open door, and petting the dogs, who, once they realized there was no grilled hot dog handout forthcoming fled the kitchen to check on the intruder. Strike Two!
It turned out the lady owned the two bulldogs that Emma had assaulted earlier. She said she just wanted to see how my dogs were and to tell me her dogs were fine. I was touched. I promptly proposed and she politely told me she was sorry, and further informed me she was already married. With that she bid me adieu and scurried off down the street, no doubt searching for an all night restraining order emporium.

Anyway, I knew that now, my life as far as Mel was concerned wasn't worth, as they say, a plug nickel (I have no idea what that means). If it weren't for the fact that Elsie and Emma had been spoiled by some unknown moron giving them handouts of human food, they would probably have been hitchiking to Argentina to find Mom and Dad by the time I realized I had broken the one and only rule.

I spent a couple more fun filled days in the city whiling away the hours primarily by being walked (dragged) for an hour each day by the dogs around the neighborhood and Lincoln Park. I had decided to stay a couple of days in order to take some photographs of Chicago with infrared film. Of course the weather cooperated by providing me with approximately four seconds of glorious sunshine the rest of the week.

So I drove home with my charges aboard on Saturday of that week and spent the following week getting a little work done in between my time watching the dogs poop (add my dog Ginger to the mix now) and yelling like an idiot to try and get a deaf dog's attention. I lie, the dogs were pretty good in Concord, at one point we let them off the leash in the wooded area behind the house and they had a great time running around like banshees and discovering Kellogg Creek. Of course the first thing Elsie and Emma did was dive into the creek, which is pretty clean as far as creeks go but, of course, required that we hose them down to get the creekwater off when we got back home. Why is it, that a dog (all dogs I think) will have absolute orgasms thrashing around in creeks, rivers, lakes or any other body of water, but positively piss themselves the second they see a garden hose or bathtub?

Anyway, I survived and lived to return to Chicago the following Friday with a couple of my college buddies for a weekend on the town. That will have to be in part two as my brain hurts.

Love,
Dad