Use of taxes

You may not know this, but sales tax in the city of Chicago just went up to 10.25%.  The highest in the country.  Not only does that suck, but if sales tax is going to be 10.25%, you'd hope to have fewer potholes and less crime obviously, but I would really like to address two pet peeves.  

First, the mileage markers on the lake shore running trail need replacing.  Today, I set out to run 6 miles and ended up running 7.5.  The mileage marker I was looking for to turn around never came, so I decided to keep going to the next one, half a mile away, and it didn't come either, at which point I was half way to Evanston and decided I better turn back, seeing as though the furthest I'd run before away was 5 miles.  Overall, it went fine, though I did lose almost 5 pounds of water weight in the process, which probably isn't too good.  So now here I sit guzzling water, unlike to pee ever again.  

My second pet peeve is cyclists riding their bikes on the sidewalk.  Let's be clear: in the city of Chicago, IT IS FUCKING ILLEGAL to ride your bike on a sidewalk.  ILLEGAL.  Besides some pending litigation stemming from a cyclist on the sidewalk riding her bike into my car (and yes, she's suing me) that I shouldn't probably discuss here, a huge girl on a bike almost rammed into the back of me as I was running home on the sidewalk.  She took evasive action at the last second and almost wiped out into a bush.  Then she flipped out about how I was taking up the whole sidewalk and was, quite frankly, a total bitch.  I might point out that her width was at least double mine, so me taking up the whole sidewalk that she fit on is a mathematical impossibility.  Rather than get upset, I asked her if she was aware that it was illegal to ride on sidewalks in the city.  "No it isn't, no it isn't," she retorted, like some sort of retard who says everything twice, and wobbled off down the sidewalk.  

I am so pissed off about this that I am going to talk to my alderman tomorrow.  Since I won't be bringing a brown bag of cash, I'm not sure anything will get done, but I'm going to ask for signage, at least around my place, telling cyclists to keep the fuck off the sidewalk.  Either that, or I'm going vigilante and poking a golf club through their front spokes until word gets out.

Why Small Talk Sucks

Seeing as though we have a wedding to attend this Saturday, Mrs. Bumdad suggested that I might consider getting my first haircut in almost three months.  I think my hair looked just fine, but anyone who's married knows that doesn't matter.  So off I went to get a haircut.

The girl who was cutting my hair was nice enough, the typical Midwestern farm girl type--pretty, but 30 pounds overweight and working towards making it 60.  We made the required small talk, and she revealed that she had a dog of whom she was very fond, a French Bulldog.  Still not sure exactly what a French Bulldog is, but I'm willing to bet it runs away yelping if another dog sets foot in it's yard.  But anyway, we chatted for a while about the dog before I asked what she did with him all day while she was at work (she lived in an apartment in the city).  At that point she paused and a look of grief came over her face--had her dog just died?  She maintained the silence for a good 10 seconds while I contemplated what the hell was going on.  "Actually he lives most of the time with my ex-boyfriend.  We broke up and now we have joint custody of the dog."  Having explained her sorrow she reverted to her grief stricken look and eventually went back to pecking at my hair with her scissors in silence.  

Neither of us said anything for the next 5 minutes.  Awesome...

A Long 18 Years...

I always thought, and I guess I still do, that I'd want a smart alec kid.  The sort who sees the humor in someone stubbing their toe, rather than a kid who'd cry in sympathy.  Well, today my daughter was having a rough patch, fussy, nothing would make her happy.  Finally, I tried lying on the couch and holding her above me, doing the "flying-baby" of which she is quite fond.  She was okay with that, but still not thrilled.  As I was about to lower her, she puked all over me.  And proceeded to giggle--happy as could be--as I surveyed the scope of the barf with a gagging look on my face.  If that's how it's going to be, it may be a long 18 years for Bum Dad.

Fart sounds

My daughter is wonderful.  Yesterday she was unhappy about something, so I stuck my tongue out at her and made a fart sound (I don't recommend this for dealing with unhappy women over the age of 3, however).  She immediately smiled, so I did it again and again, and she became more and more excited and giggly each time.  Finally, she decided she wanted in on the fun, and stuck her tongue out.  She crossed her eyes and fixed them on the tip of her tongue and looked expectantly at it, waiting for the sound.  She starting straining her neck forward, trying to figure out why her tongue wouldn't make a noise.  When she surmised that that wouldn't work, she tried darting her tongue in and out like a little frog.  Still nothing, so she decided it wasn't going to happen for her and reverted her attention to my tongue farts, a big grin on her face.

Rich? and Fish and Chips

I was sent a news story today about a girl who was made a ward of the court so that a judge could change her name from "Talula Does the Hula From Hawaii."  Are you fucking kidding me?  I may have a zany sense of humor, but even I think that just sucks.  Oh yeah, by the way, this happened in New Zealand.  I would have suspected California, but no.  I guess proximity to the Pacific makes you crazy?  Other names that were allowed in New Zealand: "Number 16 Bus Shelter."  Not allowed: "Fish and Chips" and "Sex Fruit."  Personally, I'll take being named Fish and Chips over a bus stop.  Maybe the kid was conceived there? [Must. Not. Make. Mom. Joke.  It hurts.]

We have a wedding to go to next weekend, and I had to go downtown and buy a new suit today.  I'd been nursing my old one along for almost 10 years, it was time (Yes wife, you're right.).  So I headed down to Nordstrom and after various parking debacles--I really hate downtown Chicago in summer; tourists everywhere!--made it in and asked a sales guy for some help.  Sure thing, he said, and led me over towards the suit area.  As were walked he looked over at me and says, "Rich?"  I did a double take and realized I hadn't misheard him, and said, "What?"  Was he trying to ask how much I wanted to spend?  Did I look homeless?  Was he confused because I had on shorts and flip-flops but a nice watch?  Seriously?  "What?"

"Rich," he says, thrusting his hand towards me.  Oooohhhh.

"Bumdad."

Smartest Baby Ever

I started running 3 weeks ago, and I'm addicted.  Nothing too ridiculous yet, 5 miles 4 or 5 times a week.  I never had the combination of time and energy while I was working, but now burning 45 minutes is no big deal, and I get plenty of sleep.  I think when I reach a plateau and am not going faster each time out I may get bored, but for now the obvious improvement every time makes it enjoyable.  Well, yesterday I went running by the lake, and headed south.  I was flying.  I couldn't believe how fast I was going, I thought maybe I had seen the wrong time on my iPod when I started, or something.  I stopped for a drink at my usual water fountain and turned to head back home.  Holy wind, Batman!  Apparently I had had a 20 mile per hour tailwind the whole way down.  Going back home I swear it felt as if I were running but going backwards.  It sucked.  From now on I will always check the wind direction, and run into the wind first. 

What made it all worth it, though, was about a block from home I jogged by a woman trying to parallel park on the street.  I saw her first attempt from a distance, and was alongside her as she tried for the second time.  No luck.  This was a huge, huge space.   A large SUV could easily have parked there, yet she couldn't get Corolla into the spot.  I saw two more attempts before she realized I was watching and laughing, at which point she peeled out, ran a stop sign and disappeared.  Note to self:  I will personally teach my daughter how to park.

The highlight of the day, though, was of course my daughter.  She's had an interest in playing peekaboo for a while now.  I'll lift her shirt over her eyes, she'll squeal, I'll lower her shirt and she'll be oh so happy to see me.  Sounds boring, but trust me it's awesome.  Anyway, last night we were playing, and instead of giggling when I covered her eyes, she strained to lift her whole body up so she could see me over her shirt.  She was pleased with herself, but I was beside myself.  I got my wife to video it and everything, it's on YouTube now.  If you can find me another 2 month old who can figure that out, I'll be very surprised.  In sum, I have the smartest kid ever.

Boasting Dad Alert

Happy Birthday Dad!

You'll hear a lot of parents, especially dads, proclaiming that their child is the greatest, smartest, best, cutest, whatever.  Guess what?  They're all wrong, because my daughter is the greatest.  I don't brag about her much because it's tacky, but today is an exception.  It's grandpa's birthday, so let's hear how awesome his granddaughter is.

One of the theaters near our place has a "family matinee day" for the first screenings of all movies on Tuesdays.  By family, they mean potential screaming babies and loud children are allowed.  We decided to go see The Dark Knight, since everyone says it's the greatest movie etc etc.  There were maybe six or eight other babies there besides ours, and they all started screaming at one point or another.  One screamed pretty much the entire movie, and his dad saw fit to stand beside the last row (which happened to be where we were sitting) and hold the screaming baby rather than address the problem.  Not too cool.  But anyway, my daughter didn't cry once.  She made her hungry grunt and wave once, and got fed.  She napped a little, but mostly entertained herself.  She looked puzzled at the crying babies, peering down her nose at them from her car-seat throne, Queen of the Babies.