Last of the Mohican Chocolate Makers?!?!?

Mmm, weekends. They're always good, but when they include family,
friends, live music, and the soul-crushing obliteration of your opponent
as part of a seven game win streak, they're better.

Two and a half weeks until the new Willy Wonka movie! I would be horribly pissed off about this if Tim Burton and Mr. Johnny Depp weren't involved. Apparently we came very close to having either Kevin
Spacey or Daniel Day Lewis as the crazed candy man. I used to really
love Kevin, back in the day, when he decapitated Gwynnie. I even have an autographed head shot. But K-Pax and Pay It Forward and that Bobby Darin movie have really tested my love. Maybe playing the Wonk would have rekindled it? As for Daniel Day-Lewis... Come on. It's a chocolate factory, not an 18th century mill where one willful worker risks death while battling unspeakable afflictions to make conditions better for his countrymen in the name of God and glory.

Today I also learned that the internet transforms modern life. I read this article on cnn.com using my PowerBook and wireless internet. As a result, I was not exactly blown away by the revelation that many Americans are now doing simple tasks online, like checking the weather, or finding directions. I look forward to future articles about how motorized vehicles - I think they call them "automobiles" - make travel faster.

Stuf-ing My Face

I've been excited about Taste of Chicago since I heard about it from Woody my first weekend here. I've always loved watching the Food Network, even if my own cooking skills are novice at best. And who doesn't love eating out? (No dirty jokes, please.) Countless food samples and music and summer, together for 10 days... aww man, I can't wait to graze.

Speaking of food... today is the 93rd anniversary of that delighful combination of cookie and cream, the Oreo. I'm a big fan of Oreo's slightly obese younger brother, the Double Stuf - though I'm not a fan of its whimsical misspelling. It's not enough to make kids chunky, Nabisco: you have to make them dumb, too? Gee whiz.

On to making fun of things... if moving your arm to pick up a bottle opener lying on the table is too taxing, then the Ring Thing is for you! It's a cunningly crafted piece of jewelry that doubles as an opener for your favorite adult beverage. The Ring Thing can be yours for just $9.99! It also comes in a Shamrock version for just $5 more. Nice - because those of us of Irish descent need more reasons for the world to think we're all drunks. I can't wait for the corkscrew version.

Old People Make Lists, Youngins Tear Them Down

The American Film Institute recently announced its list of the 100 best movie quotes of all time. As someone who quotes movies in casual conversation (although off-kilter ones - Princess Bride, Usual Suspects, and Midnight Run are the top three), my interest was certainly piqued. And what did they name #1? "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." Gone With the Wind. Whaaaa? One of the producers of the accompanying TV special called the line "the catch phrase of catch phrases." Well, not for my generation, dammit. For me, it's "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father: prepare to die." Naturally, that did not make the list. Somehow I'm guessing there was a dearth of contributing 20-somethings, since only 6 of the quotes came from the past 10 years. But hey, they make these lists so people will talk about them, right? Nice work, AFI.

Somewhere, the Members of Zwan Are Crying

Smashing Pumpkins. Providence, RI. January of 1996. One of my first major rock concert experiences. (My actual first concert was Jimmy Buffett. My dad took me and my brother - it might have been '90, making me 10. I still remember my confusion at the lyrical content of "Why Don't We Get Drunk?") When I heard they were breaking up in 2000, I was just as devastated as every other kid raised on alternative rock. So to be in Chicago on the day when Billy Corgan announces that he's getting the band back together... oh, it warms my black little heart.

Balls!

Let's get a couple things straight right now: I grew up in New England, and I love baseball. So as you can imagine... I grew up loving the Red Sox. My early memories include packed-tight Fenway Saturday afternoons, hearing "Deeeeeewey" chanted for a quirky right-fielder named Dwight, ice cream in plastic baseball helmets, and Wade Boggs striking out looking with bases-loaded in the bottom of the ninth. (That was the way things always seemed to go for Red Sox fans in my youth.) I watched countless years go by in heartache, and cried myself to sleep after an Aaron Boone walk-off home run, and then... well, you know how last year went.

But at the end of the day, I really just love the sport. And when it comes to baseball, there aren't many more passionate cities than Chicago. After a few Q101 FAC broadcasts on Clark, I know I'm in a good spot. With all the suffering I've endured in my time as a fan, it seems only fitting that I throw my allegiance immediately to the Cubbies. They've got heart, they've got history, they've got one of the greatest old-school parks in the country - so they've got me.

All that exposition brings us to today: the Yankees have pounded the crap out of the Cubs thus far in the first North Sider visit to the Bronx since pre-WWII. As you can imagine, my upbringing instilled in me a deep and lasting belief that the only thing Yankee players are good for is taunting. Give me 10 minutes, and I'll give you a solid dissertation on how their financial approach to the game is ruining its integrity. To make matters worse, yesterday's Cubs loss included a career milestone for Derek "Face of the Game? More Like ASS of the Game" Jeter: his first ever grand slam. My whining won't do anything to change the outcome of the series, but the situation certainly has cemented my new loyalty to the Cubs. If there's anything I'm good at, it's being indignant and angry about losing to the Yankees.

Marriage, Movies and Boots

Well, this is it. The first post. And given the monumental events happening today, it seems like a good day to begin my web-snarkery. As you may well know, Tom Cruise asked Katie Holmes to marry him this morning, at the totally romantic and not at all cliched Eiffel Tower. Take that, critics! Hollywood types hold the marriage rite in the highest esteem, so there's no way this could be a sham! Magazines everywhere are lapping at this "love" match like kittens at cream - with one embarrassing exception. Last month's In Style Magazine (a mag I actually subscribe to) hit newsstands during the first throes of TomKat frenzy, and it featured a cover story on how Katie, a recent transplant to NYC, was freshly "single in the city." I recognize that these interviews and photo shoots are done ahead of time, but still: red-face central. Unless In Style knows what we don't: the real Katie is happily visiting used bookstores and riding the subway while Tom's KatieKlone prepares for the Stepford life.

The Indiana Jones Trilogy played an integral role in my childhood. Hell, I even owned - and read no less than 4 times - a novel version of Last Crusade. So you can imagine the clenched-teeth displeasure I felt upon learning that Harrison Ford's lady friend, Calista Flockhart, might play his love interest in the long-awaited fourth film. A) Since Ally McBeal's merciful end in 1999, the short-skirted one has only appeared in three films - one of them for TV. Her acting chops are too rusty to even make a cameo in one of the greatest movie franchises of all time. B) So help me God, if these two make Indiana Jones the next Gigli, I swear I'll conduct a manhunt for Mr. Ford that will make The Fugitive look like a game of tag.

On a personal note... just like Tom Cruise's future ex-wife, I too am a transplant. After a year of Philadelphia life, I'm pleased to call Chicago my new home. There's so much to explore in a new city: the unique neighborhoods, the scores of restaurants, the local quirks. Just this morning, I walked south down Wells towards work and passed a slumped-over pair of butter-colored cowboy boots, sitting forlornly by an ATM. I can only assume that one of my neighbors received a jackpot-esque bonus from the cash machine and literally jumped out of his/her shoes. Who wouldn't be excited to live in a place with that kind of action?