the ocean

As there is literally no escaping knowing in the U.S., it was Super Bowl Sunday last weekend. There was a time when that would have meant me awkwardly staring at a giant TV at someone's house, pretending to understand the basic premise of football and hoping to find someone who would prefer to go into the other room and talk about The Real Housewives. (Also me eating my weight in dips, naturally.) But in recent years, Ian and I have abandoned the pretense of wanting to be part of this particular social custom, and our friends seem to be able to live without our glazed-over expressions and frequent trips to refresh our booze. So instead we spend Super Bowl Sunday as just another Sunday, doing whatever we need to do or feel like doing. It turns out it is a fine day to stock up on light bulbs at the Home Depot or place your extra complicated order at the Mariano's deli. It is also a great day to go to the movies, if like us you hate crowds and can't silence the voice in your head that says someone might shoot you during Madame Web.

As though I needed another reminder that I am an adult man who makes snarky remarks about pop culture on a website that no one reads, I turned 47 this week. It was a gala affair that consisted, as per usual, of overpriced takeout and games devised by my niece and nephew to allow themselves to win. The former took the form of tacos and the latter of a forty-year-old Dizzy Dizzy Dinosaur that now lacks the energy to do much damage to any enterprising cavemen. The upshot that I formally became another year older and yet no less childish. Such is life, one supposes.

So I'm going to be performing another show this April. This time it will be stories and songs about my experiences in the 1980s, everyone's favorite decade of legwarmers and an AIDS crisis the president refused to even acknowledge for many years. I was a child for all of this decade, so obviously my insights will be significant. Oh, and I'm keeping it honest by ensuring that every single song I'm parodying came out in the 1980s, even though frankly a lot of the music from that era is the hottest of trash. Should be exciting!

The return to reality after our week at Disney has been a bit jarring. The flight back did not help. We were delayed, and the Orlando airport has some serious third world vibes to it. There were fracases galore as they boarded our giant, international-sized flight full of people desperate to get the hell out of Florida. And I swear to God someone in the row ahead of us was watching and rewatching Maid in Manhattan. Well played, Satan.

When we got back, it was like 17 degrees out. I worry that you're going to read this and think I just mean that it was very cold, but in Chicago 17 degrees is an actual thing we experience. Or even -17 degrees, thanks to the Polar Vortex. That's where your face starts stinging just because you've stepped outside. And not because of the Botox, for once.

I also had to dive right into a week of rehearsals and shows for my amateur theatrical for lawyers. If I didn't put on wigs and deliver pun-based humor, who would? It was, of course, a fine time with friends, but also a terrifying hellscape of sleep deprivation. Plus I caught some kind of something, so I was sucking down Alka Seltzer Cold & Flu like my life depended on it, which perhaps it did.

And then there's the little thing we call work. I'm lucky to have a great job where I work with intelligent, non-toxic people, but it does still require the doing of some things. I'll admit I copped out and worked from home on a few of the painful face days, but otherwise I've been diligently getting sneezed on on the el and heading to the land of double monitors and copy machines. I even assembled some binders, so you know I'm serious.

Anyway, it's January. It's supposed to be awful. I have high hopes for late March, though.

 Continuing with the Disney adventures. I've managed to limit myself to two installments, I believe.

The Skyliner linked our resort to Epcot and Hollywood Studios. And I loved the many visual warnings it gave us. If I were ever planning to wear a lariat necklace on the Skliner, I now know better. (Yes, that is obviously "no smoking," but it took me several tries to see that.)

Here we all are at Epcot, which still presents a stunning 1980s-based vision of the future. There has been some updating to reflect the fact that America has steadily increased its hatred of being educated in any way since then, but some entertaining shreds of optimism remain.

Spaceship Earth created this nifty simulation of me and Ian in the future, riding in our space car with our praying-mantis-like bodies. I can get behind this.

There's a spot in Epcot where you can taste different flavors of Coke from around the world, and they are all pretty gross.

Ian's head is sort of blocking the castle, but take my word for it that we are on Main Street U.S.A. in the Magic Kingdom espousing traditional American values, like hot dogs and classism. 

For some reason, the kids both wanted me to take their photo with this sign at Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. I mean, sure, it's a great sign, but I've seen better.

Splash Mountain has been rethemed to be less racist, but it still gets you quite wet if you are in the front of the boat. Luckily I have no vanity about me.

As you walk into It's a Small World, you cross a bridge where you can see the happy faces of the people who are just finishing their journey on this classic ride. In no way have they been touched by madness.

I had assumed that Enchanted Tales with Belle would involve Belle telling the children a story. But no, it turns out they want the children to act out a story for Belle, which seems kind of rude. Like, you invite people to your castle and make them perform for you? And while the children are all volunteers, they press two unwilling and unlucky adults into service as the suits of armor. I had become separated from the herd and was selected for this honor, which is commemorated in this non-consensual photo. 

We only managed to stay long enough to catch the fireworks on one night. But they were very nice. The Phil Collins jam from "Tarzan" figured more prominently than one would have expected, but different strokes for different folks/animated characters.

Maybe I'll become one of those Disney travel tips people. Tip number one: you are not actually obligated to go to Disney at all, though it may feel like it.

At Animal Kingdom, there was a dinosaur ride that included a film starring Phylicia Rashad for some reason. She did not get eaten by a dinosaur. Nor did anyone, actually.

Even with all of the high-tech, expensive rides, it turns out that the kids still wanted to spend half an hour digging in what was essentially a dinosaur-themed sandbox.

We went on a fake safari and saw giraffes. And a lot of other animals, too, but giraffes are undeniably baller.

There was a river ride where people got very wet. Fortunately, we had purchased some obviously very high end ponchos to help protect ourselves.

There was a Finding Nemo stage show where they strapped puppets and heavy machinery onto the actors before they had to sing and dance about. I hear this is how Glenn Close started out.

Moving to Hollywood Studios, they have a fake version of L.A.'s "Chinese Theater." I have seen the actual version and can attest that this version is superior for the lack of traffic and people trying to spit in your mouth.

Lots of Star Wars stuff. I have not even seen all of the Star Wars movies, but I think I got the gist of it. Frodo has to use The Force to beat Voldemort, right?

As a teen, I wanted desperately to ride the Hollywood Tower of Terror but did not get to. This wrong was righted on this trip, and all I had to do was stand in line for ninety minutes with a variety of ill mannered children and Disney Adults.

After years of ominous rumblings, my extended family finally made the pilgrimage to Disneyworld this past week. It was overall a very nice experience and the kids had the time of their lives, which was in fact all that mattered. At the same time, and as one might expect, I have a lot of thoughts.

Let me tell you, I've surveyed (read: not plagiarized) a bunch of publications' year in reviews, and some of the stuff they include is wild. Danish Queen Margarethe II abdicated? Yeah, that was on everyone's minds in 2024. Utah's new flag design took effect? Maybe that was the hot news for flag manufacturers. So I'm not even going for significance or uniqueness with mine; these are just the random 2024 things that occurred to me off the top of my head.

My favorite source for cutting-edge technological news, Us Weekly, has informed me that artificial intelligence is going to be huge, at least insofar as it can be used to create “bikini body” deepfakes that displease Jennifer Aniston (who, sources assure me, is still going to die alone). So even though I remain firmly convinced that the internet is a fad and we will all return to the use of illuminated manuscripts painstakingly created by monks who are ultimately driven mad by their efforts, I decided to enlist ChatGPT’s help for this year’s holiday greeting. This did not go well. My initial prompt returned only highly generic references to “cherished moments with loved ones” and “success, health, and happiness,” which have already been optioned for a Hallmark movie to star Jodie Sweetin as a maker of bespoke mousepads who falls for the single father who plays Joseph in the town Nativity but fail to meet my rigorous standards of sassiness. When I asked it to make it funnier, it added a joke about a Wi-Fi router. Just for kicks, I asked it to do it in the style of Virginia Woolf; the result was honestly pretty credible, but that only made me want to put on a fake nose and drown myself. Thus, like the sisters of the Eurythmics and Aretha Franklin “classic,” I am doing it for myself.

The holidays are nice. I realize this is a pretty spicy take, but I genuinely believe it. In a world where people fight over everything from Oxford commas to the ethnicity of cartoon characters, it’s pleasant to have a season where people generally bring the temperature down a little bit (if not literally; people who put their thermostats on 65 and offer you a cardigan can die in fires). Regardless of age, race, or creed, we can all come together to express concern about Mariah Carey’s mental health as she performs “All I Want for Christmas is You” for the 9027^th time. CEOs and secretaries alike can find joy in watching the junior analyst who legitimately never shuts up about crypto get what appears to be a lightly-used talking toilet paper spindle in the office gift exchange. Conservatives and liberals alike can probably agree that The Nutcracker is really pretty creepy if you think about it, and RFK Jr. just wants to retrieve the Mouse King’s corpse and dump it in Central Park. Yes, we are all still secretly judging each other on the inside, but there’s something to be said for at least pretending to be nice for a while. Just ask Katherine Heigl.

And although Ian and I never did make it to Shondaland this year (transitions!), we did have some other interesting journeys. I went to London for work, where I considered using a night off to find out who is still seeing Phantom some three decades in, but instead got drunk and housed some Five Guys hot dogs. (Cultural.) We vacationed in Mexico City and were delighted to discover that we did not immediately burst into flames upon entering the shrine to Our Lady of Guadalupe. We also visited Montreal, which was lovely aside from the roughly fourteen hours we were trapped on a malfunctioning train to Quebec City watching Canada’s bougiest professionals go Lord of the Flies over the rationing of microwave pizza slices. (I want Diane Lane to play me in the movie.) There was movement on the home front as well, as I transitioned my white collar practice over to Shook, Hardy & Bacon LLP, where I am accepting referrals as well as recommendations for good Spanish restaurants and home contractors who are unlikely to murder you in your sleep.

So that was 2024, to the extent it can be crammed into half a page. I’ll leave more detailed reporting to people who were not raised with MTV and therefore have attention spans, but no real appreciation of Madonna. Happy holidays and best wishes for a great 2025!

We have actually been to a movie theater a few times over the past month! This is unusual, and our return has kind of reminded me why. There were literally twenty minutes of previews before the movies even started, and that's not even counting the damn Nicole Kidman ad. They were short on the liquid "butter" that is the only thing that makes movie theater popcorn worth eating, and the Coca Cola "remix" machines ran out of Diet Coke, leaving us with, like, Fanta and various fruit flavored syrups. And then there's the constant fear of being shot, which may just be me, but this is America, so it's on my mind. 

I'm still here! It's been a crazy few weeks. I had to go to DC for work, where I did everything from taking people's coats and getting them nametags to chatting up state Attorneys General (hooray for weird plurals!) over veal I sincerely did not want to eat. Perhaps the most notable part of the experience was that hotels in DC were for some reasons thousands of dollars per night, which makes sense, because spending several days in DC is exactly as valuable as owning an economy car. It was also kind of nice that DC was about 30 degrees warmer than Chicago over this period, though I did have to come back eventually, and was absolutely not equipped with the coatage for that.

I've also been rehearsing extensively for my amateur theatrical for lawyers. Objectively it is insane that I spend this much time on something I will never be compensated for (and indeed even spend money on, as RFK Jr. costumes aren't free), but it does keep me off the streets. This year has a Back to the Future theme, I guess because we just found out that movie exists? Also, fart jokes. So if you happen to be in Chicago January 10-11 and want to spend $50 on something, let me know. Or just buy eggs; I hear they are killer expensive in Joe Biden's America.

As traumas go, having to go to a different buffet restaurant than the one you are used to for Thanksgiving is definitely not at the top of the list, but it did make things a little weird. Our normal Chicago spot got out of the game this year (no doubt due to Biden's War on Thanksgiving) so we had to go to a place my sister found out in the suburbs, which might as well have been on Mars. The food was fine and all, but we were in a banquet hall seated at rickety round tables that seemed likely to collapse at any given moment. Also, the buffet lines were insane and there were separate lines for the salad and carving stations. The end result of which was that I loaded up on mac and cheese (which was admittedly amazing) and called it a day. The kids had fun loading up on sugar and pretending they were puppies, though, so I guess it was a win.

After the big luncheon, we went out to Ian's parents' place, since they have relocated to the northwest suburbs from Minnesota. They are in a seniors-only community, which is kind of the dream. They have classes, entertainment, and a clubhouse with a very credible club sandwich. Plus you can drive your golf cart anywhere you want. It does give a little bit of a wife swapping vibe, but I'm sure that's optional. Anyway, we were just there for dessert and the rebroadcast of the Macy's parade, which gave us an opportunity to realize that we didn't even recognize the names of half of the pop stars featured. Ariana Madix singing The Cardigans I knew, though. It was like that one was aimed straight at my heart.

So yeah, Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! I'm laying low today so as to avoid being crushed in a flat-screen-TV fracas, but that is something to be thankful for in and of itself.

I was in Florida for work this week. Fort Lauderdale, specifically. It was perfectly fine, particularly given that it snowed in Chicago, but I didn't see a ton of actual sun. Also, I found the suiting situation confusing. It was fall, but hot, so should I dress for the weather or the season? I just decided to put on jean shorts and call it a day.

The trip was for a conference, which was interesting and well-organized, but it is kind of exhausting to be attentive and interesting all day for three days. There were potential clients to be met, don't you know. So I made a lot of small talk about the weather, everyone's health, and likely white collar enforcement priorities for 2025. We are a fun group, to be sure.

Traveling will never not be the worst, though, am I right? Not the part about being other places, just the part about getting there. The flight there I had a talker sitting next to me who was impervious to my earbud trick and I couldn't get the outlet under the seat to work. The flight back we were delayed and had the endless taxi at O'Hare to top it off. We seriously landed at 6:30 and I wasn't off the plane until 7. At least this time I didn't get the gate mathematically calculated to be the absolute farthest from any sort of ground transport. 

Anyway, I'm back, and looking forward to the holiday. I view three days as the optimal length for a work week.

My sister's family enjoys watching Nailed It!, the show in which ordinary people fail at complex baking tasks. They decided they wanted to do their own personal live version. Though I've only seen the show in their presence while vigorously texting or playing Candy Crush on my phone, I agreed to join. The results were predictable yet no less glamorous.

Still, it was tasty. I would say the mission was accomplished. And, I did not have to take any home with me, so all is well.