Riding in Cabs: A Manifesto

On the surface there is nothing about a cab ride that should be unpleasant. It's a nice private ride from once place to another that you pay a premium price for. One would expect that because of that premium price that the experience would also be top notch. Haha, you naive imbecile. While a cab ride is almost always faster than public transportation it is fraught with agonies that are far more infuriating than what you find on the train. The combination of these atrocities and the excessive cost almost always make me wish that I chose to leave earlier and taken the bus. I've taken the time to break down each element of a cab ride that makes me want to pound my head to a bloody pulp on the glass divider between the driver and myself.

Smell
The CTA is not world renowned for smelling like roses. Yet I would rather endure a faint smell of stale hobo piss over the all encompassing incense smell of most cabs. In the winter I find myself rolling the windows down immediately lest I start coughing my fucking lungs out thanks to the burning patchouli flanked by pine tree air fresheners sitting on the dash. I don't know what exactly cab drivers are trying to accomplish with this but every cab I've ever been in smells like the bedroom of a 15 year old trying to mask the smell of pot with every goddamn scent imaginable at once. It's hideous.

The Driver's "skills"
 I feel like this is such a well known fact that I don't even need to cover it, cab drivers are horrible drivers. Whether it is because they do not understand that the pedals do not need to be smashed to the ground in order to function or because they believe that sidewalks are a "bonus lane" every cab driver makes a mockery of the rules of the road. Despite having a steel stomach I have found cab drivers capable of giving me car sickness. I'll never understand why it is that the few people whose entire livelihood is based on their ability to drive CAN'T DRIVE. I can't help but giggle at that irony.

Refusing to turn around
Every once in a while you will run into the most bullheaded cab drivers on Earth. I've had drivers refuse to pick me up because I wanted to go the opposite direction of what we were facing. Now, I understand the annoyance of this, I hate backtracking, but it was at 3 in the morning and I had been looking for a cab for 20 minutes. And you know what happens while the cab drives around the block? I pay more money on the meter. Shut your goddamn mouth and make a little extra money you crybaby. 

The Chatty Cabby
I'm not the world's friendliest person. I don't enjoy making small talk with strangers just to do it. I'd much rather stare out the window and think about whatever it is that runs through my mind. Yet every once in a while you get the cabby who cannot shut up to save his life. Fine, I'll talk with you a little as long as you have something interesting to say. The problem is that this has happened twice ever. Actually, one of those was a limo driver who picked me up instead of a cab because he was bored, so really only once. And that guy had a tracheotomy and told me a story about shooting heroin and fucking hookers in Mexico City. Unless you're going to come strong like that please just shut your mouth. Yes, I'm going to the airport. I know it's terribly exciting and I am aware that Florida is warm this time of year. . . I should start offering to tip triple to get them to shut up. Don't make the mistake of keeping headphones on either, this just makes them yell louder.

Slowest routes ever
It is almost imperative that if you know the city you are in that you tell the cab driver exactly how to go. If you don't they will take the slowest possible route, even if you simply ask for the fastest. I have yet to meet a cabby in Chicago that doesn't try to drive through Boystown or Wrigleyville when the bars are closing, even if you are going nowhere near there. They just know traffic will be godawful and that means more bling bling for them. Also beware the driver who always says that it's better to avoid Lake Shore or the highway. He's frickin' lying.

The Shocking lack of Shocks
I've always wondered if cabs were even allowed to have shocks. In a city that is more pothole than road there is nothing more terrifying than a cab ride home from the bar when you trying to hold in a few gallons of recycled beer.

The Credit Card Debacle
This is by far the most infuriating situation of all. All Chicago cabs are required to allow you to pay by credit card, but you can rest assured the cabbies are going to make you wish you hadn't. Every time I start to use the card machine I start getting yelled at. "CASH! CASH! Please pay cash, machine is, uh, broken." When I explain that I don't have any cash this usually leads to the cabbie wanting to take me to an ATM. Come on dude, just let me pay with a card. "CASH CASH CASH!!!" After a few heated minutes they always relent and by some major miracle the credit card machine works perfectly fine! I know that they get charged a little for using a card and that's why I always, ALWAYS over tip when I use a card. I even tell them this. Of course, if they fight me about it than I undertip if I tip at all. There's no excuse to fight about this every single time, get over it.

There you have it. All of the reasons I hate Chicago Cabs in one nice organized list. Ah shit, I'm late. I spent too damn long writing this blog, now I'll have to take a cab to dinner. . . . and the vicious circle continues.
   

The one in which I shamelessly beg for money

Hey! We're going to take a few minutes away from all the anger if you don't mind. I can't help but notice that this blog is getting a pretty hefty amount of hits, although I assume most of them are from me obsessively clicking on every link I post to make sure they work. The point being, I may have a wee bit of an audience and I should try my best to use that for good. Every year a group of my friends gets together to form the New Jersey Grabowskis and we play kickball. One reason we do this is so that we can destroy Greg Olsen, Matt Forte, and Brian Urlacher at sports. The other reason, and the real reason, is to raise a bunch of money for cancer research. Cancer sucks and everyone I know has had it mess up their life in one way or another. Science has made a ton of progress fighting cancer already and hopefully with our help they can keep marching down that path until a cure is found.

So, in a fun way of combining raising money for our team and my upcoming journey to the Kentucky Derby I have an idea. For every $10 someone donates to Kicks For a Cure I will purchase a $2 win ticket on the horse of their choice with the winnings going right back to the charity in their name. Or the horse's name if you want to be cute about it. It seems like a lot of fun and a way to trick people into donating money through their degenerate gambler tendencies. :) I'm posting the link at the bottom here and don't worry, super angry post about the shitheads next door coming up by the end of the day.

Thank you so much for any donations, y'all are super rad.

Click here to donate! The Grabowskis appreciate it.

Mario was a terrible role model

Recently I spent a week hanging out at my parents house. Since they have retired to Florida I find it to be more than a little boring when I am down there. I don't know anyone and after about 11 you can be assured that I'm the only one left awake. Luckily there is some salvation for me, my Nintendo.

Many times I have considered bringing it back home to Chicago so that I can waste away countless hours of the day playing Contra but I figure it's safer for my relationship to leave it in Florida. I was rocking my way through Super Mario Bros 3, the game sorta responsible for my crush on Jenny Lewis via the ridiculous movie The Wizard, and a thought hit me. Mario's life is absolutely horrid. All that he has going for him is a pipe dream (heehee) that he will save the Princess and they'll live happily ever after. In order to get that he has to endure horrors that would drive any man to madness. Giant turtles, ghosts, flying fish, asshole turtles with hammers, and cliffs galore. There is seemingly no where in Mario's world that isn't directly next to a cliff that will surely end you shall you fall. Why even go on? Is any woman worth all of that? I'm sure the Princess is a fine lady but damn, enough is enough. After receiving the 4th worthless P Wing from her after saving some ugly king from being a lady bug I would rip that shit up and head back home.

As I pondered this I stumbled upon a bigger thought, would I actually want to be any video game hero? It's an interesting question because so much of the allure to video games is living out fantasies in a way. I'll never make the NFL but I can tear it up in a season of Madden. My poor eyesight keeps me from any dream of being a pilot but I can pilot my own F-16 in AfterBurner. Yet when you sit back and actually consider the lives of any of the famous video game heroes their lives are absolutely atrocious. I'd much rather live my boring little life than have to go through even half the bullshit that the Contra dudes did. Isn't it hard enough to climb up a waterfall without bridges exploding and automatic guns shooting at you the whole damn time? I wanted to highlight just how horrendous the existence of most ordinary video game heroes was.

• The Chef in Burger Time: He's a simple short order cook. He's probably not in the greatest shape and now he has to make burgers the size of Buicks while being chased by man sized hot dogs and eggs. His only weapon? Pepper. No gun. No sword. Not even a damn spatula. Pepper.
• Samus: At least Metroid's hero is a pretty hot lady, I'm sure she has a pretty great life once she gets out of the hell she is trapped in. Only problem? SHE WILL NEVER GET OUT. All the Metroid games last for frickin' ever.
• Donkey Kong (I'm focusing on the Donkey Kong Country Kong here): Finally Donkey is not a villain and he can relax at home with some bananas. No, he can't? He has to jump into all sorts of goddamn barrel cannons to go anywhere, many times he is unable to tell if he will be flung to a certain death or not? Fuck. Sucks for him.
• Any Random Mortal Kombat Character: After struggling through 10 fights where I was shot with a spear, turned into ice, and hit by countless fireballs I have narrowly survived only to fight a four armed behemoth and a damn near unbeatable boss. Now I'm . . . champion. That's it? No riches, no women, nothing. I just get to be champion. Wonderful.
• Kirby: Uh, actually his life isn't bad at all. He just eats everything in his way. I'm sure he has some horrible bowel issues. 

 I could go on and on. Why did I spend all of my childhood thinking that it would be so cool to be one of these characters? As best their lives could be considered infernal yet I spent half my time away from the Nintendo pretending to be them. Look at the Mario universe of characters, even when they engaged in fun activities like go karting it was still possible for them to get killed by a rogue turtle shell. When I relax I go out of my way to make sure that death is not even a remote possibility unlike these morons who use their brief respite from danger to drive on a road made out of a rainbow in the middle of a bottomless void. WHO WANTS TO LIVE LIKE THAT?!! Not me, that's for damn sure. The only video game hero I would consider to be a role model would be Leisure Suit Larry, now that would be a sweet life.

Smells like arrogant entitlement

When it comes to a long standing tradition of being the absolute greatest in their field few organizations can ever hope to achieve what the New York Yankees have accomplished. Wait a second, you didn't think I was talking about on field success and championships, did you? Because I wasn't. No, I was talking about the most impressive feat accomplished by the Yankees and their fans; being the world's largest douchebags for close to 100 years.

I'm sure that any amount of success will ruin the fan base of any sports team. It definitely makes them puff their chest out a little more, arrogance seeps in after a while. Eventually they will start talking about the Aura and Mystique of their shitty stadium (sadly not dancers at Scores like Schilling insinuated) and have internal debates about whether or not the overpriced mercenary they brought in will ever be "a true Yankee." Eventually one would think that this would ebb but remarkably it never has. Their douchbaggery may quiet down for a little while and then they go and do this.

The Yankees made a fucking cologne. Are you kidding me? Deadspin did a smell test of it the other day and the results were that it smelled a bit like Fruit Stripe gum. Personally I couldn't give a shit what it smelled like, I'm already appalled at it's very existence. Yankee cologne? What's it supposed to smell like? A combination of the soothing gel Jeter places on his herpes sores and the stale beer/piss stench of the bleachers at the old Stadium? Who the hell wants a cologne promoting a sports team anyway? When I want to impress the woman folk I don't think to cover myself in the scent of a bunch of dudes who have been sweating for the last 4 hours.

Despite the obscene price ($62 for a 3.4 ounce bottle at Macy's) I can guarantee that it will sell like gangbusters. I'm willing to bet that this Yankee superfan already has a case sitting in his mom's basement right between his Hideki Irabu bobblehead and his Andy Hawkins jersey.

So, hat's off to the New York Yankees for cementing their role as the douchiest franchise in the history of sports. Enjoy that cologne.

I'm trying to break your heart

Yesterday was a pretty weird day for our hero. Early in the day I had read a bunch of stuff about how it was the tenth anniversary of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot by Wilco. Of course I was irritated by most of what I read, big surprise. I just don't think that after a mere ten years one can proclaim an album to be classic and wax nostalgic about it. I also think that so much of the hype about YHF isn't based on the album's greatness (it is a great album, not debating that) but more focused around the crazy story about how it got shelved by their record company and the way Wilco had to fight to get it released. This is a long way of saying that I listened to the album a few times yesterday and as I watched the Blackhawks lose to the Coyotes in the worst way imaginable I heard Jeff Tweedy repeating "I'm trying to break your heart" in my head.

After I came home from watching the game at a dive bar I couldn't get the song nor the actual heartbreak dealt by the Hawks out of my head. I kept thinking about the idiocy of throwing so much of my well being into something I can't control in the slightest. The fact that my entire day was ruined by a bunch of millionaires inability to hit a frozen chunk of rubber past a behemoth millionaire goalie is moronic. As much as I hate to admit it I'm an adult. Why do I care so much about such completely trivial things? I don't have a good answer.

The amount of time I invest in shit that doesn't matter is mind blowing. I read everything I can about the teams I love, I watch as many of the games as possible and spend many hours over many beers arguing over them. For what? What's the end game? Most years it's me feeling like complete shit for a couple of days after the season. Odds are that my team isn't going to win a title and I'm going to get that miserable feeling. Even if I was the biggest front runner of a sports fan (Yankee, Laker, Red Wing and let's say Packers since they look like they could be dominant for a while to come still) I would still spend most years disappointed in the end. And I would be an asshole and a horrible human being to boot.

I've been spending all winter trying to get over the atrocities of last September (I'm a Red Sox fan). I spent the entire winter getting my hopes up that things would be different and better this year. I had planned out an entire summer of watching winning baseball. We're not even a month into the season and I already know it's not to be. They are terrible. TERRIBLE. Do I give up? No. I read more articles online hoping to get some insight into how they can fix the problems, I watch the games with extra intensity hoping that one good at bat can turn the whole season around. When I am already confident that there will be no successful payoff in the end I should back away from the season, fold my cards so to speak. Instead I'm completely irrational and invest myself even deeper into the season. Despite claiming I have given up 15 times in the last week I found myself buying tickets to go see the shit show in person tomorrow night.

Why do we enter into this whole charade of fandom in the first place? We all know that in the end we're going to end up with a broken heart. I make fun of my buddy Mike all the time for being a "sports slut." While he loves sports more than just about anyone I know he doesn't have any strong team affiliations. He just likes the games and all the players. Sure, he roots for some teams more than others, that's only natural. Yet he has no problem rooting for the Bears in the early game and then the Packers in the late game. Nor would he consider a 2-10 Purdue football season successful if the 2 wins were Indiana and Notre Dame while I would deem it better than losing in the Rose Bowl. It really seems like he has it all figured out in a lot of ways. Except it still feels wrong. It's like he's not putting his heart out there in the way that an obsessive fan does with his favorite teams. Kinda like the guy who is a playa and goes through a lot of chicks but has no serious relationships. While he may never have the crushing heartbreak that causes him to sit in a dark room for a week listening to The Smiths (2003 ALCS and Aaron Fucking Boone) he also won't get to experience the ecstasy of finding true love (2004 Dave Robert's stolen base and beyond.)

You know what? I can handle a couple of days of feeling miserable at the end of each sports season. It's the price I pay, right? If it wasn't for the heartbreak, and goddamn there has been a lot of heartbreak, moments like this wouldn't be so tremendous.

If you don't like fish your tastebuds are broken

While I have spent the majority of my life in the lovely state of Illinois (blech) I am from California. I grew up in Walnut Creek which is about 30 miles from San Francisco. Right next to San Francisco there is this place, it's pretty big, it's called The Pacific Ocean. When I get homesick (it's hard to say that it's homesick when you haven't lived there for 17 years but there isn't a better word for it) there are two things that I miss more than anything: the smell of the ocean and fresh fish. I also kind of miss fog but it's a distant third. I love smelling the salt on the breeze, I love staring out into the unending blue and I even love the ghastly smell the sea lions produce as they have taken over Pier 39.And when it comes to eating the bounty of the sea I love it all.

This is why I get filled with a deep rage when people flippantly pronounce that they don't like fish. How can someone make such broad generalizations about such a vast array of deliciousness? More often than not it is because they were raised far from the ocean and when you say "fish" they hear "Gorton's Fish Sticks" or even more terrifyingly "Filet O' Fish." I recognize that 20 years ago there wasn't exactly an abundance of fresh seafood here in the heartland but all of that has changed my friend. It's entirely possible to be eating a halibut* that was enjoying his ugly little life swimming off the shores of Alaska yesterday for dinner tonight. Despite being able to obtain tasty and fresh fish I find that there are an astounding number of people who outright refuse to even try it**.

I understand that everyone's tastes are different but I'm not willing to accept that it's possible to just not like fish. If it swims chances are that I have gladly eaten it and there is one thing I know for certain, every kind of fish tastes different. Sure, there are similarities in the way that all fruit tastes the same. Yet if someone refuses an apple and says "I don't like fruit," they will be completely derided by their friends for eating like a 3 year old, and rightly so. For some reason most people accept it when applied to fish. Well, not any more my friends. I'm leading a crusade to out these people for who they really are, scaredy cats who don't like anything different.

The simple fact of the matter is that tuna tastes just as much like clams as carrots taste like brussel sprouts. Lumping the two together as saying they taste fishy just tells me that you didn't actually try and taste them. Instead you held on to an idiotic belief that fish is weird, foreign and gross and choked down the delicious clam in hopes that you will be rewarded for your adventurousness. I'm willing to put up with people easing their way into eating seafood. Start off with some fried calamari which essentially tastes like all fried food. You don't need to begin your seafood journey with raw oysters or sushi. Just fucking try something. Get it out of your mind that meat comes in Chicken, Cow and maybe Pork. There's a whole damn delicious world out there under the sea and as my good friend Sebastian said;
"Under the sea
Darling it's better
Down where it's wetter
Take it from me
Under the sea
Nobody beat us
Fry us and eat us."

See, even animated lobsters know that they are the tastiest food around. Who are you to argue with him? Go ahead and take that leap and eat something a little different. Just remember that saying something tastes like "fish" is about as descriptive as saying something tastes like "food," and it makes you look like an asshole.


* I have always had a theory that the cuter the animal the tastier it is. Lamb - adorable and appetizing! Duck - divine and delicious! Chicken - Normal looking, nothing special and  pretty standard acceptable food. The halibut throws a giant wrench in my theory. Have you ever seen a halibut? They are fucking disgusting looking. They look as if they are covered in brown slime, both eyes are on one side of it's body near a weird ass pig nose. If you put a halibut next to a swordfish it's like a beauty contest between Sloth from Goonies and Salma Hayek. But I'll be goddamned halibut tastes amazing.
** While I am infuriated by her taste in food I give mad props to my friend Jenny Schindler Melander for always trying at least a miniscule bit of fish each time she is around it. I've come to the conclusion that her tastebuds must be broken and it is no longer her fault.

Woah man, 4/20 is totally our special day to, uh, what? Funyuns.

Every once in a while I get a little worried about the posts I decide to write. As a rule I try to piss off as few of my friends as possible per post. If I didn't care about what my fellow readers thought I would have already posted my 8 post oral history of Brian Foss' inability to play video games, from Ken Griffey Jr Baseball to GoldenEye and beyond! As I have more than a few friends who partake in the marijuana smoking I was hesitant to rip on them for an entire post. Then I remembered how mellow they all are, especially today, and figured that this would be akin to making fun of the Amish on TV. No danger at all. So without further adieu. . .

I'm not a pot smoker. Never have been and never will be. It's not that I'm straightedge or any of that nonsense I've just never enjoyed smoking of anything. When there is smoke in my lungs I freak the fuck out and cough all over the place. This is not an enjoyable experience for me. If you put some pot in a brownie I would wolf it down gladly. In fact, I can't think of any substance I wouldn't eat in brownie form. Mmmmmm, brownies. This is all a long way of saying that I'm not anti-drug. I'm pretty pro-drug in fact. If you want to get fucked up go ahead and get fucked up. Just don't make a phoney baloney holiday about the whole thing and fill up my entire twitter and facebook feeds with your garbage.

Do people even know why they celebrate 4/20 in the first place? You should really head over to read about it on wikipedia, it's such a wonderfully convoluted bunch of bullshit that only pot heads would use it as justification for a holiday. Seriously, the whole 4:20 thing is based around a bunch of stoners looking for a hidden crop and being unable to find it. Isn't that essentially the same thing Mormonism is founded on? Of course there are multiple theories about the origin, another being that 4:20 is the ideal time to smoke the ganj. Really potheads? You can't wait 40 more minutes until the end of work? Slackers.

Why do you need a special little day to celebrate pot smoking anyway? Why not just work it into all the other holidays that already exist? That's what alcoholics have been doing for years. St Patrick's Day, Cinco de Mayo, any family gathering and Thursday are all specified drinking holidays. Doesn't it seem to be more than a little idiotic to promote a holiday based on doing an illegal activity? I'm not trying to get in an argument about the legality of marijuana (I say legalize it and tax the fuck out of it) but the fact of the matter is that it IS illegal, how about a wee bit of discretion? Driving 30 mph in a car with Bob Marley and Sublime bumper stickers today is just about the most obvious way to ask the cops to arrest you. Oh, that's a very nice 5 foot tall water pipe you have in the front window of your on campus apartment, it certainly doesn't announce that you are breaking the law or anything. Give me a fucking break. Just smoke your pot out of a discreet little hitter box and you'll be fine. I'm sorry if it doesn't have the same appeal or ritual that your 8 person hookah does but it doesn't make you look like an asshole desperate to get arrested either. Pretty sure you'll get just as fucked up.

I guess all my anger boils down to the idiocy of needing a special day to celebrate something that requires no celebration whatsoever. You like smoking pot, hooray. Now how about you just do so whenever you damn well please like everyone else does with their vices? If marijuana becomes legal in the US then I'll give you your special little holiday on the day that takes effect. Until then only a moron would celebrate a day that is representative of the time of day a bunch of idiots in San Rafael would gather to attempt to find a fictional marijuana crop. Seriously, it's asinine.