Monday, December 25

Norway Snubbed For Scandinavian Gift Exchange

OSLO, Norway (SNARKY) -- There will be no lutefisk under the tree again this year.

A family member will be conspicuously absent from the Scandinavian Christmas party when Sweden, Finland and Denmark get drunk together.

Norway, a repudiator of the European Union and still smarting from Denmark's assimilation of their country almost 700 years ago, will be home all alone for the holidays.

Akin to some unilateral uncle, the country chooses to sit on the sidelines rather than engage the rest of the family during this reconciliatory time of year.

Said Prime Minister Jens Stoltenberg, "I'm taking my ball and going home." (At least that what I think he said, seeing as how I don't speak Norwegian.)

# # #

Friday, November 3

The Soundstage in My Mind

(Playing out on the soundstage inside my mind.)

Host: Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together and give a warm welcome to the show... the incomparable, one-and-only Chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad W.!
[applause]
Host: Chad, it's been a long time since we last saw you. Everything alright?
Chad: Could it have been Las Vegas? Ummm, has the statute of limitation expired on that weekend? Can we talk about that?
[audience laughs]
Host: No! I'm afraid those records are permanently sealed.
[uproarious laughter]
Host: That was a very long, long time ago. Whatcha been up to since?
Chad: Just living in Iowa, raising a family.
Host: That's right, you're married and have... two kids? Boy and a girl?
Chad: I guess I do now! Seriously, it's a little like that but you should really get your people to update my index card.
Host: We hire day laborers for that kind of work. I think that's pretty evident to everyone who witnessed tonight's monologue.
[audience laughs]
Chad: Then take the next logical step, get day-laborer guests to come on your show.
Host: That's you, Chad! What did you think this was, The Late Show?
Chad: That's right, you did pick me up in the lot of the Home Depot this morning.
[audience laughs]
Host: Now you're grasping the idea.
[Chad takes a sip of water.]
Host: So update us on your life. Everything good? What's the new project?
Chad: Well I've got my own consulting firm now.
Host: Ahh, yes. The appropriately named W. Consulting Group. Way to go out on a limb there!
Chad: It was the wife's idea. Besides we can't all pull a nonsensical nom de plume out of nowhere, "Lukateake."
[audience laughs]
Host: Touche, Monsieur ... Alright that's probably enough French for one interview, I'm losing my audience.
Chad: You lost them a long time ago!
[audience laughs]
Host: Nice timing, well played. So you've got the new project going on. Hmmm, a consulting group. (asking off-screen) Do we have a clip?
Chad: Oh no!
Host: Yes, we've got the clip. Ladies and gentlemen, coming soon to a suburban office park near you... Chad W.'s starring turn in "W. Consulting Group."

(Cut to Chad reenacting the scene from Seinfeld where Kramer has an office job, [background music: Sheena Easton's "(My Baby Takes The) Morning Train"]: fighting subway commuters, washing his shoes in the water fountain, giving a presentation with the projection upside down, back slapping colleagues during Happy Hour and, finally, eating crackers out of his briefcase.)

Host: (smiling broadly) That's great, nicely done. (to audience) We'll be right back with more of Chad W.

(Paul Shaffer strikes up the reprise of "Morning Train" and go for commercial.)

[120 seconds]

(Drop back in on band's trailing bars of Men At Work's "Down Under.")

Host: We're back with our good friend Chad W. So you're in town for a charity benefit?
Chad: No, it's nothing like that at all.
Host: Damn index card.
[audience laughs]
Chad: I'm doing a one-afternoon stand at Merkle's this Saturday during the Hawkeye game.
Host: Ahh, new material?
Chad: (sheepishly) Is there any other kind, Luke?
Host: But the proceeds go to charity, right?
Chad: Yes, the Chad-W.-Needs-a-New-Liver fund.
[audience laughs]
Host: Get in line, pal. (pointing at own liver) This baby didn't enlarge itself.
Chad: You're right, but the Coronas and cheese fries probably had something to do with it.
Host: Guilty as charged. Chad, it's always a pleasure. Good to see you. Ladies and gentlemen, you can catch more of Chad W. tomorrow at Merkle's during the game. Good night.

(Strike up the band, fade to black.)

Friday, October 27

Lukateake: The Costume

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- It's that time of year again: a chance to reflect on the year that was, to atone for mistakes made and to vow to try harder in the future.

No, I'm not talking about New Years Eve and its bullshit resolutions but rather the best hook-up holiday of all: Halloween. Invariably, All Hallows Eve is a fete for the senses and psyche; people dress up and act down.

Part of it is the costumes and how you feel wearing clothes not your own and another part of it is the role playing and indulging in your fantasies that make Halloween without peer. But, really, Halloween is all about hooking up.

Over the years everything from butterflies to baby Elvii have Halloween hooked up with this French maid cum cowboy. Not because we were soul mates or drunk or anything like that but because we each offered the other the specter of fantasy fulfillment.

It's the sense that, hey, I spend every other day buttoned down and laced up so why can't I be fucking deprave and debauch with someone else who feels exactly the same way?

We're consenting adults... dressed like children.

# # #

Wednesday, October 25

A Cautionary Tale

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- Listen up, kiddies, for I have been down this road already.

You're young, full of life, minimally scarred and supposedly "the future." (I dispute that because "the future" is really hydrogen and not our iDeaf generation.)

You've got the world by the short hairs and you want to make a difference. The best way that you see how is the patented three-point plan:

1.) Start a blog.
2.) ???
3.) Profit.

Let me tell you something, sonny boy, no one (and I mean no one!) gives two shits about the rambling nonsensical web logs of some pubescent teenager living in a cul-de-sac railing against their militaristic parents whose tyranny precludes you any outlet save the aforementioned blog.

Instead, people care about what a thirtysomething -- thank you, Ed Zwick, I just now truly understand your show of the same name a mere 15 years after it went of the air -- with a penchant for obscure words and unorthodox grammar sporadically espouses as fodder from his daily life.

Thirties are the new twenties and it's for real this time. Look at how I've grown over the years, I'm more fascinating now than ever! Hell, I just called up my order history at Amazon.com to verify this.

In 1997, my first purchase from the stratospheric-P/E online retailer was Don Delillo's "Underworld" a masterwork of fiction about a fucking baseball and the nuclear Cold War. The New York Times considered the book the second-best fictional work of the last 25 years. I didn't make it past 50 pages of the three-inch thick doorstop.

See, Luke 10-years ago, was an excruciatingly boring person.

But what, oh what, is in my Wish List these days over at the world's largest bookstore? You'll never guess.

Like I said, "I'm much more fascinating now than ever."

# # #

Thursday, October 5

An Argument Against 'Cold Opens'

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- Damn you, network television.

I could handle one television series where I was "Lost" and playing catch-up to what is really going on. But with the recent debuts of "Jericho" and "The Nine" from CBS and ABC, respectively, I feel enough is enough.

Both are "Lost" retreads replete with poor man's versions of non-linear storytelling, pseudo-mythology and masochistic psychology. It all adds up to "science friction" to this beleaguered viewer.

As they say in Hollywood, "imitation is the sincerest form of flattery a steady paycheck." But, by God, these two fall offerings are downright abysmal.

"Jericho" plays to our nookular F.U.D., or fear, uncertainty and doubt. Nice timing on CBS' behalf considering the remaining band members of that irascible "Axis of Evil" trio. Iraq left the group for his solo project whilst North Korea and Iran continue to tour, albeit smaller venues than New York's U.N. General Assembly hall.

Manning the helm at "Jericho" is Skeet Ulrich, who hasn't done good work in the decade since "Albino Alligator." His brooding eyes and wooden acting do little to advance the ball of spaghetti that serves as the drama's plot line.

Meanwhile, Tim Daly, protagonist of "The Nine," makes us wait interminably as though again we're caught in a two-bit municipal airport during the holiday crush in the middle of a snowstorm.

What happened during the 52-hour standoff of a foiled bank robbery? Taking a page from Jack Bauer, the answer will be revealed -- like a Band-Aid pulled much too slowly from a scab -- in 52 episodes allowing for Daly and his cohorts to collect 49 superfluous paychecks.

Add in the lame military PSYOPS cum Stockholm Syndrome angle and we've got a hole in ABC's Wednesday night schedule. However, the lead-in audience from "Lost" alone will allow this show to sputter along over two seasons. And that's two seasons too long in my not-so-humble opinion.

I'm going back to "The Simpson's" re-runs from the third through eighth seasons, when they were at the subversive highpoint, to tide me over the six days to another new "Lost" episode.

# # #

Who Used Who?

LOS ANGELES (SNARKY) -- "The Break-Up" has broken up.

Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn have officially split up mere weeks before the DVD release of their collaboration. In a brilliant P.R. move -- loudly predicted by moi, by the way -- the split implores fans of Vaughnifer to quickly snatch up the disc as a memento to their happier times, a tchotchke of rebound love lost.

To fully appreciate the media savvy of the actors' actions, one has to take the macroview. Both of their careers were in the shitter: a bloated, balding, churlish little boy in Vaugh and a vapid, frigid, discarded-like-a-peach-Pitt Aniston.

Add the two zeros together in a vexing, not-quite-right relationship nurtured while shooting and you have the recipe for a high-rate-of-return public relations campaign for "The Break-Up."

Worldwide gross of "The Break-Up" is less than the sticker price of a Prius from surpassing $200 million. That's not bad for a formulaic he-said-she-said with no digital effects, car chases or explosions. Aniston's ass, notwithstanding.

But of the two main conspirators, who got more out of the relationship? Him or her?

Frankly, the argument could be made either way and still not be convincing to me. I feel that they both used the media who in turn used us the paying public. We've been had. Again.

We should learn a valuable lesson from this break up but we won't. We'll repave this long standing Hollywood rut with the speculation and rumor and inordinate interest in the next pair of celebrities who need a career boost.

It's probably a good thing; there are plenty of babies in the Third World that need adopting.

# # #

Monday, October 2

Why I Wore A Pink Shirt To The Office Today

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- Short answer: I love boobies.

Long answer: October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month and I wanted to show my solidarity with those afflicted with the disease.

Can you imagine a world without boobies? Frankly, I cannot nor do I really want to, thank you very much. The boobie, my raison d’être. The very epitome of womanhood; the quintessential giver of life. May we soon find a cure and stop this insidious illness.

So for all the petite A's and B's out there just trying to keep their head above water and for their voluptuous big sisters, the C's and D's -- who are more likely statistically to contract the cancer -- keep fighting the good fight.

And please know, Boobie, that in addition to myself, billions of men are looking out for you.

# # #

Wednesday, September 27

'T.O.' Allergic to FB Practice

DALLAS (SNARKY) -- Terrell Owens is not suicidal and he wants you to know that.

"I make too much money to want to harm myself," said media-whore Owens after leaving Baylor University Medical Center. "C'mon, I just signed a [$25 million] deal in March and I'm going to collect all of it. After all, I've got to feed my family."

The coddled Cowboys wideout is, however, allergic. But not painkillers, sports supplements, hay fever, the sun, unsalted peanuts or anything else equally plausible. No, quite simply T.O. is allergic to football practice.

In a string of increasingly bizarre excuses, Owens will again miss practice at the Cowboys' training facility after being released from the hospital this morning following his "overdose."

For those scoring at home, T.O. has now missed practice because he: 1.) overslept, 2.) tweaked his hamstring putting on his shorts, 3.) broke the smallest bone in the back of his hand, and now 4.) tried to kill himself.

Unlike the Cowboys' front office -- who happen to be some of the stupidest people on the planet -- I am eagerly awaiting Owens' "Excuse No. 5."

Could it possibly have something to do with an asteroid impact or global warming? I'm crossing my fingers while futilely trying to pull the painkillers out of his mouth.

# # #

Friday, September 22

Blogger Too Lazy To Post, Spellchcek

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- What was once a paragon for satirical musings and shining example of the art of blogging, "Lukateake" has quietly and precipitously fallen into disrepair through a milieu of mismanagement, posting dearth and ill-advised $25 words.

Luke Penca, 31, of Chicago, has on-again-and-off-again written the peculiarly-hyphenated web log since January. But acolytes of the once popular site have recently begun defecting en masse to a more consistent online feeding at the Humor Teat, ala TheOnion.com and AlJazeera.com.

When reached at his stuffy, blinds-drawn apartment, the paranoid Penca briefly parted the louvers into his psyche before becoming combative with this mild mannered reporter.

"It's goddamn A.D.H. and I don't mean my good friend, Andrew D. Heog," said Penca referring to Attention Deficit Hyperactivity disorder. "And, yes, I know that there should be another 'D' at the end of it. Now go fuck yourself. Sideways."

Perhaps, all is not lost for the young author and his Luakteake creation.

"If Luke can harnass his anger and use it as a creative force even for short bursts, he'll be all the richer for it," said fellow friend and jazz impresario Matt Geraghty of The Matt Geraghty Project, his eponymous ensemble and not the least bit narcissistic.

"But if he can't ride that razor's edge, he'll devolve into a bitter and jaded has-been or, worse, a never-was," said Geraghty. "Granted, even then he can still get sitcom work."

# # #

Football Picks Picked Up

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- In an apparent nod to his rampant laziness, a Chicago man has outsourced his office football pool picks to Terry Bannon, a columnist for the Sun Times.

"Terry's record this season speaks for itself," said Luke Penca, 31. "I just don't have the five minutes I need every week to contemplate my picks so I'm outsourcing the work."

Admittedly, Bannon's record over the nascent season stands at a yeoman's 23 wins against 9 losses. However, last week marked a dramatic upturn as he went 14 and 2.

"I'm banking my five dollars on another week like [last week]," said Penca before scurrying off for a nap.

# # #

Monday, September 11

Google To Join Search For Bin Laden

WASHINGTON, D.C. (SNARKY) -- Using the five year anniversary of 9/11 as a backdrop, President Bush unveiled an ambitious new strategy in the war on terror: engaging the vast resources of Google in the hunt for Osama Bin Laden.

"Google can find anything and as my best friend Homer Simpson says, 'they certainly answered my questions about wang enhancement,'" said the President.

When told that Google is only useful in finding things on the Internet and, furthermore, that Homer Simpson is just a cartoon, the President muttered a few nonsensical sentence fragments then furrowed his brow before spitting on the carpet and disappearing behind the blue curtain of the White House press room.

Ask to comment for the Mountain View, Calif. based company, CEO Eric Schmidt said, "Google steadfastly supports the war on terrorism -- from monitoring American citizens' search habits to invading their privacy to sharing our records with the Federal government -- but there is only so much we can do from here. I can put the President in contact with our Tora Bora subsidary 'Gulagle' for assistance in finding Bin Laden."

# # #

Thursday, August 31

Goodbye Liver

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- Sure, we had a good run but frankly I expected more than 30.99 years out of you, enlarged Little Fella.

I'm going to need someone to get me through another grueling college football season and I just don't think you're up to par anymore. Especially since the NCAA added a twelfth game this year. While that may not seem like a lot, that nine percent increase and a possible January bowl game will tax you too much I'm afraid.

Plus, there are better floor models out there in the marketplace, Liver. What with Pledge Week already underway there's bound to be a bevy of supple, young organs with half the mileage you've got.

So say goodbye to your friends in the lymphatic system because I'm breaking out the whiskey and acetaminophen shortly. And keep your chin up, too. At least you're going down with a fight so I can spare you the indignity of cirrhosis, replete with its slow erosion and yellowing.

As I see it, I'm doing you a solid.

# # #

Friday, August 18

Email Etiquette Schmetiquette

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- Since I was bored at work today, I thought I'd update my email signature. You know, that piece of text of the end of our messages that injects a little of our individual panache into the creative desert that is corporate email.

It's no surprise to longtime readers of my daily drivel, that I like to "sign" my name with not one, not two, not three, not four, but five-count-'em-five periods. My reasoning is that an ellipsis is good and that an ellipsis ending a sentence (with another period) is better. Therefore, five must be even greater, eclipsing all those that came before.

What about six, you say. C'mon, don't be silly and ridiculous... that would be showy and superfluous.

I've signed my name like this for years on every business and personal message that I send. Well, except for one email. I once signed a break-up communiqué to an ex-girlfriend simlpy as "Luke." (For clarification, the one period quoted was in the message as well. Yes, I know that I picked a bad spot to end that sentence at and, thus, undercut my illustrative example.)

Immediately after the "Luke." line (yes, that's better), I jumped into postscript to call my ex-girlfriend's attention to the single period. I went onto say something to the effect of "no extra periods[...] nothing more to come later[...] this is it[...] it's over." We had make-up sex three days later but that's a story for another day.

Where was I? Oh yeah, so I'm updating my signature file and I started reading the legal disclaimer that I'm forced to append to all my work messages. Our confidentiality notice is standard boilerplate legalese that is completely unenforceable. It uses such venomous acronyms as "ASAP" and such incisive invective as "please."

Christ, who's our general counsel, Winnie the Pooh?

And that's just the confidentiality notice. There is another floating around several message threads both personal and otherwise, the infamous I.R.S. Circular 230 concerning tax advice.

Jesus, I wouldn't ask some of these people for dining suggestions let alone fucking tax advice. Furthermore, they don't even engage in tax planning activities. They're goddamn project managers at technology companies!

For them, attaching the 230 to their signature is akin to proudly wearing battle ribbons for a conflict of which they weren't a participant. It smacks of "Look at me!" (Note, I use a blog for this self-gratification.)

And don't even get me started on the self-righteous bastards who deliberately don't change the default: "Sent from my Blackberry Wireless Handheld." Pricks.

Luke.....

# # # (This is called the slug line. Pretty cool, huh?)

Monday, August 14

Ricky Bobby Beats Teen Pussy

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- Worst. Headline. Ever.

By now you know that I'm a Variety devotee, Hollywood hanger-on and that I fancy myself a screenwriter. Albeit, an unsuccessful one at that. To date.

So it was over my morning joe -- late this afternoon -- that I came across a startling fact whilst browsing the actuals over at BoxOfficeMojo.com. No, it wasn't that the Will Ferrell vehicle, "Talladega Nights, The Ballad of Ricky Bobby" held onto the No. 1 spot again that upset me but rather the contrived, derivative, formulaic "Step Up" that bested Oliver Stone's "World Trade Center" for second place.

Let's revisit that: teenie bopper "Step Up", a fucking retread of the baldest of Hollywood tires, outdraws a movie that deals with one of the most visceral and important chapters of our nation's history. Goddammit, America, wake the fuck up!

Does anyone in my demographic still go to the movies anymore? Have we surrendered to the Friday night dinner-at-the-Olive-Garden-Ralph-Lauren-cologne-wearin'-boys- mackin'-on-Victoria-Secret-push-up-bra-not-gonna-put-out-girls date crowd?

Judging by its number, there had to be almost a million couples who did just that before taking in the never-riveting "Step Up" this past weekend. Amazing what guys will do for sex: sit through 98 minutes of drivel and dancing in exchange for three minutes of heavy petting in the Camaro with the windows fogged up.

Oh well, I guess I should be glad, seeing as how no one brought a goddamn laser pointer to my showing of "World Trade Center." Though there was the ever-reliable wailing newborn whose parents are seemingly deaf to his plaintive cries.

# # #

Monday, August 7

The Final Countdown

CHICAGO (Skeletor) -- I awoke from my dream and looked around the room. It took me five seconds to remember where I was and why I was there. Then it hit me, I was in Chicago and it was the last day of Lollapolooza. Tonight I was going to see one of the greatest rock bands in history, the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

We breezed through the morning knowing that we didn't need to arrive at Grant Park until 3:30, when we would see Andrew Bird perform. After a morning filled with videogames and television, we finally decided to face reality and get ready to leave. Another long train ride put us five minutes late for the Andrew Bird concert, not to mention that we missed the song that was the whole reason we were going to see him. Seriously, who leads with "A Nervous Tick Motion of the Head to the Left?"

Nevertheless, Crano and I next split concerts between The Shins and Matisyahu. After both stimulating performances, we headed over to the Playstation 2 tent for more videogames.

We were fortunate enough to try the demo for Guitar Hero 2, this new game features a co-op mode with guitar and bass. Tragically, our ten minute wait proved unpurposeful when we found ourselves failing Rush's "YYZ" mere seconds into the song. Not to mention being at the butt-end of some whispered humor of the other gamers waiting in line. Daunted but still resolute, we set down our guitars and quickly walked out of the tent.

We had a brief run-in with other DeWittians (townspeople of DeWitt, Iowa) before heading to our standard location at the intersection of X, the right end of the stage, and Y, the sound booth. After arriving at the central location we used our patented locating technique of raising an arm extended upward into a fist with your index finger pointing up, a.k.a. "Holding up a One," to find the rest of the Rucki. We enjoyed a exceptional Wilco concert before headed down to the RHCP's stage.

Some may think that arriving 45 minutes early to a concert would be more than enough time to get a good spot. Well if you believed that this was true, then obviously you have never been to a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert.

By the time the band took the stage and Frusciante's guitar screamed an intro jam that included the heavy licks of "Warlocks" the crowd had gone wild. Immediately, the body surfing started and everyone was having the time of their life. Even Crano and I had our share of bodysurfing, and I will tell you personally that it is indeed underrated. You let the music take you in, and I couldn't help but play the air guitar to "By The Way" while being passed to the front like beach ball.

After the scheduled time passed, 90 percent of the crowd stayed for a two-song encore that included "Give It Away." It was over before we knew it, but it was extremely awesome.

I now have experiences that I will remember my entire life and have learned many things about bands and life. Bottom line, Lollapolooza kicked ass for three days straight.

# # #

An End to a Beginning

CHICAGO (CRANO) -- Day 2 and 3: After a late night we slept in for a while. We had a late start not getting out of the house until 1:50pm we wanted to get to Lolla before 2:30 but it didn’t work out. When we finally arrived Coheed and Cambria was already rocking. The show was great, complete with behind the head guitar solos and playing the guitar with the teeth.

We then headed over to Wolfmother who played a great show for Wolfmother. Then our group went right back to Gnarles Barkley who was good. Then we finally got a break and rested our fatigued limbs and got some Chicago cuisine. After a barely adequate break, we headed over to the visually pleasing show from the Flaming Lips.

After the completion of that show the No. 1's fought our way though the massive crowd to get a decent seat for a decent show. Kanye West play an average show but played some songs that weren't his. We then went home got pizza and went to sleep.

The next day we got another late start but finally got over to Grant Park. We listen to some of Andrew Bird who was not that good. We heard other things that will be told by Skeletor.

We then got to the main event: RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS. The show was intense with body surfers everywhere -- even Skeletor and I had to give it a chance. Aaron went first and since he only weighs about 17 pounds he went pretty far up the crowd. In my case it wasn’t so, I weigh a little more than Skeletor (why do you think they call him skeletor he is just a skelton) so I didn't go as far as he did but I was thrown and kicked somebody in the face.

The Peppers really brought it that night; it was very impressive. But they still had songs I wanted to hear but, oh well, it was still awsome. I'm glad I was given the opportunity to got to this extravaent event.

That’s my Lolla adventure so I guess this is goodbye. Crano out.

# # #

Sunday, August 6

Still Alive

CHICAGO (SKELETOR) –Day 2: The second day was approaching and even I was prepared for it. Coheed and Cambria would start it off at 2:30, then we would go to Wolfmother followed by Gnarls Barkley. After a hour break, we would see The Flaming Lips, take another hour break then top the day with Kanye West. It was a flawless plan that couldn't fail; at least on paper.

We left the apartment at 1:50, you would think that would be plenty of leeway time to make it by 2:30. Unfortunately, we once again found ourselves underestimating the almighty El train. It took us less than five minutes to walk down to the station, but it took another twenty-five minutes just for the damn train to arrive, while we were waiting we counted three trains traveling towards O'Hare before just one train going downtown showed up.

After a ten minute train ride and a fifteen minute walk to the stage where Coheed and Cambria were playing, the concert was halfway over; somehow we still got the closest to the stage that we got the entire weekend. During the concert we saw the first bodysurfing of the festival. You could tell that there was a pressure building when the Raconteurs were playing a day earlier, but it was happily released when lead singer and lead guitarist, Claudio Sanchez, proudly raised his guitar up high, pressed back his magnificent afro and played his guitar solo behind his head. At the moment at least 20 bodysurfers started up and were thrown around like a pitbull with a baby.

Following a mind blowing performance by Coheed and Cambria, we saw a show by Wolfmother that can only be described as, wolfmotherish. We then headed over to see Gnarls Barkley. During his show we had a major occurrence of déjà vu, as we saw a man with a crooked mohawk that we had seen the day earlier, exactly in the same place in front of us, and wearing the same Zoo York shirt that he was in yesterday.

An hour of down time felt good on my sore feet after wrongly choosing to wear sandals two days in a row, the open sores burned every time I walked. We ate and drank, and then saw a very visual show by the Flaming Lips, but the music was just okay. Another hour and then Kanye West started with 60,000 people watching. It was a good show, but songs from four different artists were preformed. I mean come on Kanye, get your own material. By ten o'clock at night I had heard Gnarles Barkley's hit song, Crazy, four different times and only one of those was actually performed by Gnarles.

I left Grant Park with sore feet and a tired body, but I knew that it wasn't over yet, I had yet to achieve day three status.

# # #

Saturday, August 5

Tale of One City

CHICAGO (SKELETOR) -- Day 1: As we approached Grant Park we could hear the music playing, but were left unsatisfied when we had to walk another half mile to the entrance. While we all trickled through the gates, I could smell the beer and smoke (of all kinds) in the air. I noticed while heading to the Bud Light stage where the eels were playing, Lollapolooza in Chicago was one of the few places that you could find yourself staring and the most beautiful person and the ugliest creature on earth at the same time; there was not much in between.

We stopped to rest our already blistering feet in the burning sun and watched the wanna be British rock stars, Aqualung for ten minutes. After two Coldplay imitation songs, the cleanly-shaven lead singer, Matt Hales, introduced his band. To the crowd's dismay everyone in the band Aqualung had a beard except for Matt. Even he introduced them as "the bearded" and "with the beard", neglecting his own absence of such manliness.

The eels were entertaining, as long as you forget about the upstaging band member in a security guard t-shirt and his lucrative kung fu moves. All I ever saw him do were some back-up vocals, and he played the maracas once. I can imagine he was a brother of a real member of the band, and after numerous naggings by their mom, the brother was allowed to get a role in the band. I thought that was fine until he started mock-fighting the other band members, kicking and punching air. Next, in an effort to be humorous, the brother sat down cross legged and meditated for a good five minutes. This was the straw that broke my Camelback; I chose to go catch the last few minutes of Panic! At the Disco instead.

After an uncharacteristically average Ryan Adams show, it was off to see The Raconteurs.

Starved, I need sustenance. Naturally, when in Chicago, do as the Chicagoans do. And do we did, as we helped ourselves to six dollar beef and sausage sandwiches while embracing proudly the mantle of Fattest City in America.

When we finally got back to the apartment we couldn't help but sit down after roughly nine hours of standing and walking. We stopped by La Pasadita, for some of Chicago's finest burritos, and what a better place to go for burritos than Chicago. After multiple self-inflicted maulings on my tongue due to the outrageously spicy salsas we decided to leave the packed restaurant. It was already midnight and I guess more than one concertgoer had the munchies. On our way out we couldn't help but notice a Mr. T look-alike, who displayed a feather-like mohawk and beard that seemed to wrap around his head. As you walked by you had the unquenchable urge to grab his hair to see if it was real. On arrival back to the apartment it was time to sleep, and sleep I did.

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Chicago: Crano style

CHICAGO (CRANO) -- Writing a blog in your spare time is no fun. Being forced to write a blog, in a sweat shop is much worse. I've been sitting here for 18 hours and my fingers are bleeding for 7.3148 cents an hour. Yes, as you have probaly guessed there is no point to this paragragh.

DAY 1: We were greeted to the "Home of Encased Meats" with a strange handshake. We set out onto the mean streets of inner city Chicago passing many a crack dealer. As Theo points out, "the usual guy must be sold out because he is not in his cove." We went to the El train stepping gingerly over puddles of piss and mangled corpses of hobos and hookers. On the train we tried not to touch any thing for fear of herpes.

We then walked on to Grant Park get in and melt in with the crowd, the ranks of the "No. 1's" swelled as Lukateake met up with his few remaining friends who cling to life after B-Day or Blog Day. The team headed to the eels while catching the tail end of 75% bearded group Aqualung. We listened to the eels who were decent. We chilled for a will glance at Panic! At the Disco and went to see an apathetic Ryan Adams.

The rest of the night is a story for later -- but it would include Mr. T, chicken burritos, Mexicans, gunshot wounds and raccoons. I don't think that you're ready to hear about all that. Yet.

This Kameron C., aka, "Crano" signing out.

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Thursday, August 3

No Free Lunch (You Have to Blog About It)

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- I'd charge my own mother on the tollway. Assuming that I, you know, actually worked for the Illinois Tollway Authority, which I don't, thank you very much open-road tolling and Governor Blagojevich. (Yes, I had to google his name to spell it properly.) What does this have to do free lunches? Nothing really, I just lacked a good opening paragraph.

"Free lunches" in the economic sense of the idiom mean that there is always an opportunity cost to doing something. You could be doing something else instead of dining on that dried out brisket sandwich and laughing at your boss's lame jokes, which is about the only time I ever get a free lunch anymore.

(Jesus, I just got fired. Phil, I like your jokes actually, I was just trying to be funny. Brisket is a lot funnier than sushi so you know that I was going for funny in the preceding paragraph. Damn it! Now I've cut both paragraphs off at the knees. No wait, it's funnier if I say that they've been castrated or rendered otherwise impotent. Fuck, this third paragraph is dying on the vine; time to cut losses.)

But most people don't see "free lunches" in the economic sense; probably because they're not Adam Smith. No, to many a "free lunch" is a consternation producing predicament that implies that there are strings attached to the gift. I want the brisket sandwich but I don't want the ass-kissing, ego-stroking charade.

Well, I'm guilty of employing the free lunch maneuver. I'm offering my nephews three-day passes to Lollapalooza on one condition: they blog here about their experiences. Underhanded, no? No.

I'm doing it for a couple of reasons really. One, because there really aren't any free lunches in the world and they should learn that early in life. But less harsh, I want them to understand the value of work. Life isn't all rock concerts and baseball games. It's not always grilled steak and chocolate-covered strawberries. Hard work makes the trappings of the good life available to those who provide something in return.

Moreover, I think it will be interesting for the Lukateake readership to see the world through someone else's eyes. I'm not maniacal enough to believe that I'm above reproach and have to be the only voice here. Plus, these kids have talent and we should nurture that by thrusting them into the churning waters of a fervent audience. So be frank with them as I will be.

There is no partial credit in life; not everyone takes home a blue ribbon at the end of the day. I'll be helping my nephews to develop their own voices in the coming days and learning to respond to accolades and critiques is one of the finest arts that no one teaches.

Without further delay (and paragraph wasting), I present Aaron and Kameron C., guest posters to Lukateake who will be bringing their take on Lollapalooza (and life!) in a way that only they can.

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P.S. The last reason that I'm doing this is a selfish reason actually. By having "guest posters" on Lukateake, it means that my voice can take the back row in the choir for a few days. Or get drunk with impunity.

Uncle Frets Candid Conversation With Nephews

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- His nails are bitten down to nothing. His stomach is twisted into knots. And, with apologies to Andrew Bird's excellent "Mysterious Production of Eggs" album, he's developed a "nervous tick motion of the head to the left."

When it comes to conversation, Chicago raconteur Luke Penca, conservatively considers himself a savant; a real natural who lets the conversation just come to him without effort. However, Penca didn't prepare this much for a speech when he met the President (of a local Chamber of Commerce). He didn't prepare this extensively for million-dollar presentations to top Fortune 500 executives.

So just what has got Penca's proverbial pontification panties in a bunch?

"My nephews need to learn about sex and drugs. Thankfully, the rock-and-roll will be handled by Lollapalooza," said a stressed-out Penca.

"Today's teenagers are a tough audience to get through to thanks to their Playstation-induced A.D.D. I know that these conversations are always uncomfortable for the kids but, Jesus, I didn't realize how tough it would be for me personally."

When his sister Katherine first presented the idea, Penca jumped at the opportunity to impart his wisdom on his nephews, Aaron C., 16 and Kameron C., 14.

"She and her husband have already covered the conversation's tenets in detail. So I figured I could just transact on my 'Cool Uncle' currency," he recounted. "In my mind, I planned for them to sit in rapt attention as they listened to my cautionary tale. My words would soundly reinforce messages their parents had already framed in their young, malleable minds.

"But now as the inevitable conversation draws closer to me now, I begin to fully appreciate the situation's gravity. I love these kids, and all of my nieces and nephews for that matter, so much that I don't want them to make the same mistakes that I did."

Friends and family know that Penca will pull it together at the last minute.

"He's profane and profound at the same time," said Lukateake, Penca's alter ego with a dubious track record of disappearing for weeks on end.

"I fully expect him to deliver on the salient points, e.g. engaging in safe sex, abstaining from drinking alcohol and forgoing recreational drug use. Now if only we could get him on-board with those 'clean living' things... on second thought, maybe we shouldn't because I don't know if I would I exist anymore?"

Added a humbled Penca just before going on stage, "Even if I bomb, it's going to be memorable and, perhaps, that act itself will serve as a warning to my nephews."

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The Sound of Music

WELTON, Iowa (SNARKY) -- They may not be the Von Trapps but an area family has got the pipes -- and the moxie -- to compete with all would-be karaoke contenders.

After a long hiatus, the "Plucky Pencas," comprised of sisters Katherine and Caroline and brothers Michael and Luke, recently reunited to belt out favorites to a crowd loaded on $2 domestic beers. Their surprise performance at "Buzzy's" was the place to be last Friday night; if for no other reason than the simple fact that the bar is the only venue in town.

"It had been some time since our last show and we were more than a little nervous," said Katherine, the eldest and a founding member of the quartet. "Those [Coors Light] 'Silver Bullets' sure helped take the edge off."

Rather than experimenting with new material, the group launched full force into a retrospective of their catalog. Their opening number was the call-and-answer "Summer Nights" made famous by the Grease film starring Olivia Newton John and John Travolta.

Several of the members were in rare voice following the layoff.

"Sure, we're refreshed but it was hardly perfection," said Michael. "I had to shoulder the male part by myself because Luke seemed more interested in stage histrionics and the groupies than in carrying a tune."

The group also dusted off such classic numbers as "Sylvia's Mother" and "On the Cover of the Rolling Stone" by yacht rock pioneer Dr. Hook. Those catchy songs quickened the crowd's pulse who yearned for more after the quick set was over.

But whether or not the the super karaoke group will ever fully reunite and tour again remains unclear. Creative forces and personalities have doomed more than one group over the years and only time will tell if the Plucky Pencas will be any different.

Andrea G., the group's pugnacious agent, added ominously, "Yeah, they're a draw as all four on the summer festival circuit but let's be clear here: Caroline has been carrying the rest of the group for some time now and is the only one with any real talent."

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Monday, July 24

Downside to Neighborhood Gentrification

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- The meteoric rise of "nouveau neighborhood" Wicker Park has some residents up in arms over the changing face of the enclave they've called home.

The neighborhood's recent revitalization and upturn in commercial investment, condominium construction, and soaring property values is quietly uprooting working-class families on Chicago's near West Side. African American, Polish and Mexican families who've inhabited the area for generations are being driven out as yuppies seek a reprieve from the white-hot Lincoln Park and other lakefront real estate markets.

In addition to the loss of affordable family housing though is an equal loss of charming residents who deftly lent their vibrancy to the eclectic neighborhood.

"I used to sit in the park all day just drinking my bottle of grape," said Charles "Stickles" Johnson, 39, from a further-west Humbolt Park bench where he had pissed himself.

"To get by, I maybe sold four or five copies of Streetwise to some sisters who felt some guilt and a little self-righteousness, too. Now the Man has gone and moved me on [to here]."

The situation is even direr for that quintessential neighborhood entrepreneur, the drug dealer.

"Two years ago it was all rock, now my best seller is powder [cocaine]," said Anthony "Two Toofs" Last-Name-Withheld. "It really hurts my bottom line because my income only comes on Friday and Saturday nights now, whereas, I was accustomed to an even daily rate from those ever-reliable crack whores.

"Who knows, I may have to expand into new product lines like knock-off Lacoste polos with the popped collars or maybe those hot Coach handbags just to get by. Fuck it, or I can go out of business all together, you know what I'm saying, fool?" he forlornly continued.

The loss of character hasn't gone completely unnoticed on Wicker Park denizen, Chris T, who overlooks the gentrification's epicenter on Milwaukee Avenue.

"I do miss 'Quarter Guy' who used to stand by the subway entrance and repeatedly yell at me, 'Can I have a quarter?' I'll never forget his lingering ever so eloquently on the last syllable," reminisced T.

Added his roommate, Luke Penca, "I used to leave half-finished beer bottles in my trash for the homeless drunks, you know, sort of as a present. Now the only ones going through the garbage are the rats. It's a damn, damn shame."

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Thursday, July 20

Summer of Luke, Part IV

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- It's intermission of my seasonal blockbuster: the Summer of Luke, Part Four. So it's time to hand out a midterm report card and pick up a box of Junior Mints before heading back into the theatre for the inevitable denouement.

This is my fourth summer of being single in Chicago (something that everyone should do at least once in their lifetime) and, like Rocky IV, it's been a Battle Royale already. The summer began with my grandmother's passing and, for the sake of comparison and in tremendous bad taste to some, we'll liken her death to that of Apollo Creed. Both characters we're instrumental to the development of the two protagonists -- myself and Balboa, respectively. Both appeared in every previous installment to move the plot forward masterfully. And, strangely, both looked good with picked out 'fros.

(Grandma G., I love you and want to tell the world that you meant so much to me and the rest of the family. You were truly the definition of a classy woman and I miss you very, very much.)

Following that tumultuous time, I did sequester myself and began training to fight my demons. I didn't have to travel to Siberia like Rock but I took plenty of time away from the limelight and spent it in introspection and atonement. Also, I metaphorically bore more than one yoke through symbolic waist-deep snow all to the bombastic wailings of Survivor, who are a real band unlike the "reality" show.

The training was not physical since I'm a such a pussy; it was literally literary training but more on that later in another thread. In one sentence let's bring the reader right up to the moment: Figuratively speaking, I'm now in Moscow surrounded by unfriendly Reds and ready for the final bout, be it Drago or some metaphysical apparition manifesting from a demented psyche beset by guilt over the loss of a friend. Whoa, that was a helluva run-on sentence but at least we're all caught up. Whew!

Okay, enough already distraction already: what's the film's grade thus far? Well, since I fancy my story as something more than the derivative, cookie-cutter contrivance Hollywood routinely shits out (see Adam Sandler, et al.) then I'll give myself a A-minus. If I'm grading against those low-budget art house pretentious flicks, then I'm about a C-minus. But only because I lack an Academy Award-nominated cinematographer who is willing to work for scale. (I'm looking in your direction, Janusz Kamiński.) Sure, I'm biased about my story but I definitely feel that there is enough substance to warrant riding this show out now. And remember, conflict resolution will come quick as it's all downhill now that the fucking exposition is out of the way.

So will the hero prevail? Will he get the girl? Will someone beat unconscious those douche bags with the laser pointer who keep talking throughout the movie? All I can say is stay tuned. I read "The Hero with a Thousand Faces" by Joseph Campbell so anything can happen; go with the monomyth. Or against it just to mess with people.

Also, is it more than coincidental that the Bridgette Nielsen hairstyle worn in Rocky IV is in vogue during Summer of Luke IV? Fuck, my life really is a movie!

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Wednesday, July 19

Lukateake Spotted on Route 66, Film at 11

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- Sorry Lukateake fans (all two of you), I took a long weekend off from the blog to re-energize. What, huh? ... I was gone for more than a trimester?! Hmmm, it didn't seem that long. Really, it didn't.

Nevertheless, it's good to be back among the livingposting, unlike that flash-in-the-pan CraftyAndSnarky blog. Truth be told, there was no way that a meglomaniac like me could get behind a project where I was getting second billing ... and buried behind an article of speech, too!

Well, since there's been a long layoff how about 10 updates about me since we last caught up with one another.

  1. I was acquitted.
  2. Tom Brokaw hopped on the now-fashionable global warming bandwagon driven by yours truly.
  3. My Axe Body Wash has yet to run out. Though I take a shower everyday, I'm really more of a shampoo-as-soap guy, especially since I wear a hairshirt ... in the literal sense.
  4. I still have no surrond system but the plasma TV exists, if only in my mind.
  5. I killed Ken Lay.
  6. I, The Ruckus, killed Paul Gleason.
  7. I've started taking fashion tips from my soothing meditation instructor Matthew Lesko.
  8. Tom Skilling is balder than ever but he's still weaseling his way into my life like a ... a ... wait for it ... a weasel.
  9. Oil prices are up nearly 20 percent since I was last bored with the subject, four months ago.
  10. Cheeseburger, it turns out, is quite happy with his decision.
  11. The married guys are winning. And, after an extensive and expensive campaign, I'm the Best Man.

Yes, I know there are 11 entries above when I said that there would only be 10. Consider it a bonus, you inconsiderate bastard. And, frankly, I didn't think you'd read a list that contained 11 items so I had to dupe you.

And, no, this really shouldn't count as a new post; it's really more like a clip showblog. (Yes, I just learned the HTML tag that does strikethrough text. The really funny thing is that it took me these three months.)

Anyway, I'm back and I hope that you're back with me. I'll try to be funny, I'll try to be creative, I'll try to be entertaining, but know this: I will be me and I will be here. (Or here.) ((Or here.)) New and improved Lukateake ... now with 50 percent more elipses!

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Tuesday, July 4

America Doesn't Look a Day Over 30

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- As I like to say: 230 is the new 20. The Grande Dame hasn't looked better, in my opinion. Though she may not be the comely lass she once was -- idly vexing the League of Nations gents mincing about the perimeter of the ball. (No matter, America, most of them are gay anyway -- not that there's anything wrong with that.)

My love affair with America becomes plainly evident on the Fourth of July. It's the perfect summer holiday to stop and celebrate our country and reflect upon our wonderful way of life here.

From the boisterous social gatherings around the grill with friends and family to the awe-inspiring and magnificent fireworks alighting the warm night sky, the best of America is everywhere today. But the epitome of it all is the slow parades marching down Main Street. Men on tractors and in those silly Shriner cars. Lady Godivas riding horses and wearing cowgirl hats. This holiday is the very soul of Americana 101 and what the boys (and girls) abroad are fighting to preserve.

I'm no rabid, flag-waving nationalist/protectionist but I can't help having a serious crush on America and what she represents.

Sure, America is full of idiosyncrasies but that only makes my love for her more real; the imperfections make her more endearing to me. To wit, there's something akilter to the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation parade float throwing out Jolly Ranchers candies. All that extruded sugar can't be good for their stated mission. It's ironic probably only to me, nevertheless, I love the nuance surrounding the action.

So America, keep doing what you're doing whatever that may be. It looks like it must be Pilates or something because your Sun Belt is looking taut, girl. Call me sometime: 773.425.2XXX.

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Saturday, June 24

An Open Letter to My Parents

Dear Mom and Dad,

I've met this really great girl at work. Unfortunately, she broke up my marriage and I know how much you liked my former wife. Anyway, I've decided to put my career on hold and follow her around for awhile. But before you worry too much, I've saved up a little money to support us both since she's currently just a volunteer and not getting paid for her efforts.

She also has two children by different fathers who are no longer involved in the children's lives. Also, while this letter may not be the best way to tell you such important news, I don't know how to tell you otherwise: she's pregnant with my baby.

I know, I know -- we're not married. I know that you don't approve of that and you're probably thinking that I've been duped like the small-town Midwestern boy that I am. But I really like Angie and I think that we can really be happy together. Plus, she's got a great body, not that that is important but I'll mention it nonetheless.

Anyway, I've got to go as we're heading to Africa in the morning so she can have the kid.

Your son,

Bradley

Monday, June 19

Tribune, Anheuser Develop Sport For Wayward Cubs Fans

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- Timing their announcement perfectly, The Tribune Company and Anheuser Busch today unveiled plans for a new sport for downtrodden Cubs fans. Though details are few it is known that the league will begin play in June and continue through August when football can safely take over.

"We're looking for a vehicle to carry these poor souls through the summer frankly," said Tony Ponturo, vice president of Global Media and Sports Marketing at Anheuser Busch. "Bad baseball doesn't equal more alcohol consumption despite what people may initially believe -- frustration ruins the palatte for our product."

Nature of the Game

With a three month league slated, complete with nationwide WGN radio and television coverage, it's still unclear as to how the actual game will be played. However, that is of little consequence as it turns out.

Quoting a Tribune representative who asked to remain anonymous, "Our best market research indicates that all demographics don't care as long as it doesn't include a glove, a ball and Dusty Baker."

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Wednesday, June 7

ABC, CBS, NBC, ADHDtv.

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder television -- where every episode is only five minutes in length. That's enough time to tell the story, but not too long as to abuse the audience's short attention span.

Because who really has time to devote a half-hour to some contrived situation comedy let alone an hour to a pseudo-reality contestant show? Let's keep it to 300 seconds people as that's all that we're really interested in.

We're talking cold openings, dropping the viewer right into the action without all the elaborate exposition. Add to that quick, escalating dialog that pulses with the 180-beats per minute score.

And don't wait a week to deliver an episode either, instead make one available every three days. Plus, put it on the Internet so my Tivo can download it and I can watch it whenever I want.

My first idea for a series on ADHDtv: two teenage characters named Ritalen[sic] and Adderhal[sic] struggle to find themselves in Albuquerque, New Mexico. The only problem is that they're in Hell but they don't know it.

Hollywood, I'm available now.

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Monday, June 5

God Caught Napping on the Job

KIEV (SNARKY) -- I've said it before and I'll say it again: God only protects you when you're wearing your shoes.

On a related note, the lioness thanked her god for the manna-from-heaven-on-a-string.

Thanks for the link, Roland.

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Friday, June 2

LiveStrong But Just Not This Long

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- It's true, I wore the LiveStrong bracelet two summers ago when they were the fashion accessory. Hell, I even wore it last year when Lance won his seventh Tour de France because I liked the contrast between its yellow band and my tanned olive skin. That and I liked cycling before it became cool to do so.

By then my friends thought that I was holding on a little too long. But really I was holding on long enough for the inevitable surge in popularity before bowing out gracefully on a high-note for a polyvinyl-chloride loop that cost me less than two dollars.

Once I removed my own bracelet I did an about-face and began belittling those who continued to wear them. I thought of them as posers and uninformed ones at that.

But it was really I who was uninformed because as I recently lobbed an epithet at someone wearing the LiveStrong it occurred to me that this person may actually have cancer. I was so caught up in what the bracelet had become that I forgot for which it really stood.

Jesus, I'm an asshole!

To those friends of mine (and you know who you are), if I still had my LiveStrong bracelet I'd wear it for you as a sign of solidarity.

Now about that white Iowa Hawkeye bracelet of mine, well that's a different story.

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Friday, May 26

Go Cubs Go! Go Cubs Go!

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- Looks like Kerry Wood will throw on Monday, a day later than originally expected. That means that I'll be there to see his arm break cleanly off his body after one pitch and land in the dugout. Greg Maddux will immediately pick the severed limb up and use it to destroy a water cooler before handing it over to Dusty Baker who will fashion it as a replacement toothpick as he serenely looks on at Wrigley Field.

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Wednesday, May 17

Higgason No-Hits Cubs in BP Debut

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- In his major league debut with the Cubs, newly acquired batting practice pitcher Mike Higgason tossed 30 minutes of no-hit warm-ups before Wednesday's game.

Higgason, a 35-year-old left-hander who only played high school ball at Loyola Academy, threw batting practice for the offensively-challenged Cubs without allowing a single hit.

However, his perfect batting practice session was erased 22 minutes into the frame when Ronny Cedeno reached on Higgason's error.

"I got caught up in the screen in front of the mound and couldn't field [Cedeno's] dribbler cleanly," said Higgason. "Other than that one pitch, everything I threw found Blanco's mitt."

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Tuesday, May 2

And Then There Were Two

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- There is a circle of friends that numbers six, in no particular order: Kevin, Andy, Rick, Zoom, John and yours truly. The other five welcomed me to Chicago the very first week after Y2K and we've been through a lot together in the intervening years. We are most remembered, scarlet letter-marked if you'll allow me the indulgence, as being "Those Guys."

Those Guys? You know, Those Guys who come into a party and take it over: affable and gregarious, conversationalists who are complete drunkards; ones who wind up breaking the stereo -- accidentally -- and no one seems to care. From their eventful entrance to their dramatic departure, it's a riveting, entertaining experience when Those Guys have the room.

The status quo abruptly ended when two members announced their respective engagements on the very same weekend in the summer of 2003. Incidentally, I also got engaged that very same weekend, granted it was only a five-year commitment to car payments, but still my longest relationship yet.

Zoom B. would marry Jodi the following spring and Rick M. would wed Katie shortly thereafter. At the M.'s wedding reception, there was to be one of the most bizarre ice sculpture defacements in memory. Again, Those Guys were blamed. (I'm such a bad friend that I still owe a wedding gift to the M. family. As well as the dry cleaning bill for the entire wedding party and other dignitaries; sorry, Grandma M.)

But I digress, soon after the two weddings; another domino toppled when Kevin K. proposed to Amy and got hitched in late 2004. For those of you scoring at home (and some aren't because they're married), tie game: 3-3.

For the last year and a half there has been relative calm in the group as the no voting bloc had a majority.

That balance was upended this past weekend when John H. announced his engagement to Lisa. However, here's the change-up: I absolutely approve of their union despite what an outside observer would see as the death knell for Those Guys. For you see, despite changes in marital status, we're still Those Guys.

Hell, the very engagement party was one Flip Cup and Boone's wine-stained affair. And I guarantee everyone wore a smile on their face. At least until John had to mop up the kitchen floor the next morning.

So today Those Guys remain very much intact, however, there is a new twist in the current dynamic: all of us can make a legitimate claim to be Hank's Best Man.

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Tuesday, April 18

Barrett Keeps Impressive Quote Streak Alive

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- Michael Barrett is off to a fantastic with the Chicago Cubs this year. His OPS (on-base percentage plus slugging percentage) is a staggering .947 through 12 games. Even more impressive than that sizeable total is the fact that he's batting a thousand against reporters' questions.

Truth be told, I like Michael Barrett. And the reporters like him as well because he'll answer every last question of theirs. In those narrow terms, he's a real "company man" for his owners at the Tribune and the rest of the media.

But his proclivity for the pulled quote alienates him in the clubhouse.

How else to explain Carlos Zambrano and Mark Prior's refusal to let him catch them when they are on the hill? Instead, manager Dusty Baker has to trade Barrett's power for the offensively-challenged Henry Blanco who is literally unremarkable in every sense of the word.

Barrett is one of the good guys. He plays the game the right way and he'd run through a brick wall for this Chicago team to win the World Series. Hell, I would too if I spent five long seasons in Montreal, baseball's now-shuttered purgatory.

Granted, his quotes may be a tad too sunny and hyperbolic for some to stomach. But in this age of sound bites and droll remarks they're a refreshing change of pace.

And Barrett's not a sycophant, either. He's just trying to erase a century's worth of grey gloom surrounding this franchise by taking the "half-full" approach.

So cut Barrett some slack in the clubhouse, gentlemen. He's only feeding the beast that is the millions of Cubs fans who hang on every article. The ones like me who constantly reload ESPN.com throughout the day in the hopes of a new morsel to fill the championship void in our souls.

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I Know I'm Late On This Story

WASHINGTON, D.C. (SNARKY) -- I just couldn't resist this story any longer once I saw this recent campaign photo of Cynthia McKinney. Talk about an unfortunate coincidence, too. Racism and classism. That must be the topic for the day here on Lukateake apparently. Please discuss among yourselves.

Anyway, "fighting for us," indeed. Now if only I had some mad Photoshop skills, I'd give her cellphone a cameo.

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2 Duke Lacrosse 'Attackmen' Indicted

DURHAM, N.C. (SNARKY) – I can't help but think that there's an unfortunate coincidence in the Duke Lacrosse rape case because in men's Lacrosse the three forward offensive players are called the "attackmen." Ouch, that's got to sting.

Lacrosse is one of the fastest growing sports at all levels of play and one of the oldest here in North America. Obviously, this wasn't the sort of publicity that the sport was looking for when the story broke. However, it will forever be inextricably linked to what transpires in a North Carolina courtroom.

But this story isn't about Lacrosse per se; it, like everything else, is about those two stalwarts of the American consciousness: racism and classism.

That dyad just happens to manifest conveniently enough as Lacrosse. It's the sport played by those white-bred bluebloods from the Northeast. At a school where the tuition is greater than the poverty line for a family of four. In an immediate area inhabited by disenfranchised blacks.

The media is having a field day with this one and, in the end, the only ones who will be served by the whole process are the advertisers.

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Friday, April 14

Throwing Oneself Into the Abyss?

Dear Luke,

What the hell are you thinking, dude? Haven't you read the goddamn papers or watched the freakin' nightly news lately? Iowa is just about the last place you want to be this weekend.

It's as if, on Easter no less, God is smiting the Hawkeye state with plagues and calamities what with infections of the mumps and devastating tornadoes, respectively.

If you want to take your life into your own hands, that's so not cool with me. We're two sides of the same coin and I have a say in this, too.

Look before you leap,

Lukateake.....

4th Wheel Foils Ménage à Trois

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- Three's company and four's a crowd. That was the situation my three buddies found themselves in at some woman's condo late one night recently.

The foursome was drinking and partying at her place after 3:00 AM, the low ebb of the soul, when the topic turned to sex.

"The next thing I knew, she was doing the splits on her kitchen floor," said Ve B. "I said to myself, 'oh yeah, it's on.'"

A knowing nod to his compatriot later and visions of threesomes filled my two buddies' heads. But there was just one problem: Roland S. sitting on the couch in the living room thumbing through the woman's music catalog and slow-sipping his beer.

S. is known for his world-class tenacity and determination. He's one who takes the "last man standing" approach to hooking up; therefore, his plan was to wait the other two out. However, he was unaware of the potential triad in the other room.

How could the two get S. to leave without making it seem obvious? And how could S. get the other two to leave while staying behind?

"We tried a little reverse psychology on him but it didn't work," said Chris T. "So we tried to lure him to a late night bar, expecting to double back on him to the condo. But, God damn it, that son-of-a-bitch just sat there stoically."

In the end, neither party succeeded because no one was willing to surrender his position -- positions that get all the more interesting with an extra pair of arms and legs.

A circumspect and presumably circumcised S. offered his final word on the subject, "Let's be clear: this was a MMF that we're talking about here. It's not like it was a milk-and-honey FFM that we've all fantasized about. Frankly, it's a little unsettling to reflect upon."

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Austinite Secretly Loathes Lollapalooza

AUSTIN, Texas (SNARKY) -- She's a gregarious and affable woman, always quick to give while expecting nothing in return. To her, life is an unending day of warm sunshine.

But rain clouds have gathered around Emma M. of late as she quietly harbors contempt for Lollapalooza, the mega-music festival to be held in Chicago later this year.

"It sort of takes a little bit of the shine off ACL," said a forlorn M, referring to the Austin City Limits Festival held in September. "To many music travelers, we're no longer the red letter date and music Mecca we once were."

Lollapalooza and ACL share the same promotion company, Charles Attal Presents. As such, the two have booked nearly identical line-ups for their respective dates six weeks apart.

"How the hell can I expect my Chicago friends to come to Texas again this year? Jesus, they'll have ACL on the lake there first."

Reinforcing M.'s viewpoint is the lack of talk amongst her friends about going to ACL this year.

"My friends and I haven't really talked about it yet," said Luke Penca, a three-time ACL attendee and one of M.'s friends from Chicago. "Probably because we know that it will be a hard sell to ourselves in light of Lolla[palooza]."

Last year's festival in Austin did little to help its case as record high temperatures descended on fans bracing for a hurricane whose relieving rains never arrived.

"It was 108 fucking degrees," said Chris T. who was at the three day ACL show. "Fahrenheit!"

The uncertainty surrounding whether her Chicago friends will still come to ACL this year is clearly taking its toll on M.

"I went to last week's flash mob pillow fight so I could beat the piss out of someone just to work out my aggression," said M. still wielding her "D" battery laced pillow.

"Whatever happens though, we'll always have SXSW."

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Monday, April 10

Aidan Lucas

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- First there were six consecutive nephews. Then there was a run of six straight nieces to even the score. Statistically, that's pretty rare.

Nevertheless, my family and I knew that the tie would be broken when my sister-in-law Kim gave birth today. Unless, of course, she popped out boy-and-girl twins.

I'm very proud to welcome my newest nephew, Aidan Lucas, into this world. He's 20 inches long, 8 lbs 6 ounces and both he and his mother are doing great.

My brother Jeff just called with the wonderful news and to tell me that he named his son after me. I am flattered and honored at the partial naming rights.

So will this start another streak of boys for the Penca family? Only God knows but as the only sibling yet to fire up the baby factory, let's just say that I'm keeping an eye on the situation.

I welcome Aidan for another reason: thankfully, he'll run interference on my parents. I figure that he'll save me a few years of their scrutiny and questions as to when I'm getting married.

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Friday, April 7

Plasma Envy

CHICAGO (SNARKY) – I held out for as long as I could, I swear. But today I finally broke down and bought a plasma television, thereby joining the ranks of those who possess the latest wonder of technology.

Count my closest friends, at least those who aren't Luddites, among this group as well. Of course, their first question put to me was: what size? To wit, I could go on and on about HDMI (high-definition multimedia interface) and 1,000-to-1 contrast ratios and no one would give a shit. All they really want to know is the unit's length.

It's a modern day virility test for men as if it somehow correlates to their penis size. We've been there before: a snicker or hearty harrumph at the mere mention of a 32-inch screen, meanwhile at the other end of the spectrum, the back-slapping boasts of anything over 50 inches.

Maybe there really is a correlation, albeit an inverse one. I can't help but suspect those in the market for LG's massive 71-inch monitor (pictured) have some sense of inadequacy. And I bet they drive a Hummer as well.

I won't disclose my unit's vital measurement in this blog, however. The reader will just have to come over to my place and see it for herself.

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Tuesday, April 4

Cubs on Pace to Score 2600 Runs

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- With their 16-7 drubbing on the Cincinati Reds yesterday, the Chicago Cubs are on pace to score 2592 runs over the course of a 162-game season.

Batter up!

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Wednesday, March 29

Time Not Kind to Aging Rock Stars

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- This just in, 60s rock stars haven't aged well at all. Take for example Tom Jones' face, I've seen better looking leather in beat up saddles and old catcher's mits. Good lord, that Vegas sun has made a goblin out of the 65 year-old Welshman. Looks like he could have used some lotion to go along with medal he received during the Queen's knighting ceremony earlier today. "It's not unusual to be leathery..."

And don't even get me started on Phil Spector's hair as it is beyond my comprehension. It looks like the ballyhooed rock producer is shocked out of his goddamn mind. Of course, allegedly putting a 12-guage shotgun in some girl's face at point blank and pulling the trigger will do that to a person from time to time.

And then there's Gary Glitter, no current photo available. This guy's so howling detestable that he had to molest two Vietnamese girls, ages 10 and 11. He's looking at a three year sentence at Phuoc To prison.

Phuoc you, Gary.

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Monday, March 27

Friend Rues Decision to Forgo Cubs Tix

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- In a surprise move this off-season, avid Cubs fan Zoom B. decided to let his season tickets lapse. Even before the first pitch of the season, his decision has already bit him in the ass.

"I just got an email from my boss at work asking for tickets," said a dejected B. "Coming through with them would have been huge for my career."

Undoubtedly, the Chicago man's choice was not taken lightly. The cost overruns on his perennial home renovation and with his first child due later this year, B. had to make the difficult decision to bypass the season.

"Frankly, I was shocked," said Luke Penca who previously shared tickets with B. "While I may understand his life situation, c'mon, we're talking about the [expletive] Cubs."

B. will miss out on a season of games with his buddies as well as the intangible effects of gifting tickets to his colleagues and friends. But the greatest indignity will come when the Cubs make the playoffs and he's forced to pay market rates, thus, off-setting any financial aspects of his frugality.

Furthermore, B. has lost his rights to subsequent years as his roster spot was filled by a recently repatriated Chicagoan and fervent Cubs fan. John H., who only recently returned from San Francisco, is expected to regain his midseason drinking form by the end of April.

"I immediately jumped at the chance to drink on a Tuesday afternoon," slurred an incoherent H. sitting in Lincoln Town Gyros at 3:00 in the morning. "Gonna eat those cheese fries, man?"

H. has been on a strict alcohol imbibing regimen during spring training to ready himself for the 81-game season afforded by the tickets. Indeed, it will mark something of a homecoming for H. as his first liver was enlarged at the friendly confines some years ago.

Meanwhile, B. will be at home watching the games on his brand new plasma television that cost more than his portion of the season tickets would have in the first place.

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Thursday, March 23

Man Installs ATM in Living Room

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- A Chicago man has pierced the last bastion untainted with automatic teller machines: the home.

Luke Penca, of Wicker Park, and his friends were always stopping at an ATM before heading out for the night on the town. But when the time and energy of that additional stop had gotten to be too much, Penca took matters into his own hands.

"It's right next to the front door of my place," said a proud Penca. "Saves me the inevitable detour and all the trouble associated with getting cash. Plus I'm making money off my buddies through a surcharge on withdrawals."

In keeping with the prevailing local custom, the ATM located in his Milwaukee Avenue apartment only dispenses $20 bills, better known as "yuppie food stamps".

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Saturday, March 18

'Loose Change' Between Couch Cushions



CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- It's official: I'm a full-blown crackpot, nutjob and conspiracy theorist now. This "Loose Change" movie has been swirling around the Internet lately and it's pretty easy to tell why: "Change" conjectures that the American government carried out the September 11th attacks on itself.

Whoa! How's that again? No, no, no ... it's unimaginable to think that a government would self-inflict such a wound, right? Ummm, no, not really: see the Reichstag Fire that swept the Nazis into power in 1933. What's the adage I'm looking for here? "Those who don't remember history are doomed to repeat it." Yes, that'll do just fine.

Please watch the movie and let me know what you think. The official site can be found at: http://www.loosechange911.com.

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Buzzerbeater Sinks Hawkeyes, Sobriety

CHICAGO (SNARKY) – My beloved Iowa Hawkeyes were upset on a last second three-point shot. I immediately felt as though I had been shot. I ordered a Jager shot. Oh, and did I mention that it was just past noon on St. Patrick's Day?

Emails, text messages and voicemails went unheeded the rest of the day as I, awash in an ocean of anguish, submitted to the salve of drunkenness and let it wash me clean.

I awoke this morning with the all-too-common refrain, "I've got to make some changes in my life."

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Wednesday, March 15

Razor Accident Claims Beard, 'Stache Clings To Life

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- In a freak quintuple blade accident, a Chicago beard's life was cut short, figuratively and literally.

Luke Penca, 30, was trimming the underside of his beard when he lost control of the unwieldy five-bladed Fusion razor, manufactured by Gillette. The tragic slip caused massive hair disfigurement claiming the brief but promising beard's life.

"It's this fucking Fusion, the damn thing is 'ginormous'. I'm lucky I didn't lose an eyebrow," said a tearful Penca. "Why, oh why, are there so many blades? It's too much."

Penca tried valiantly to save the beard entertaining several different looks including mutton chops and a goatee but in the end was unable to resuscitate it. Through Herculean efforts though he was able to amputate the beard to produce a fledgling moustache that is barely clinging to life.

"It's too blonde, it doesn't show up in daylight," said Penca. "I might have to surreptitiously buy some Grecian Formula to help see it through these early days."

A memorial service for the beard is planned.

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Tuesday, March 14

Pal Pissed-Off About Personal Post Paucity

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- A Chicago man's web log has upset another one of his friends. Again.

However, this time is different; instead of a friend getting angry over something that was written, the author now has to deal with the ramifications of when something has not been said.

Luke Penca writes the insanely popular "Lukateake" blog which examines his life's minutiae. He also regularly casts his friends into the fray through preposterous quotes which he falsely attributes to them.

Unfortunately, these references have not been equitable according to Thomas S., who like every other friend of Penca's also has a nickname, in this particular case, "Cott".

"I've known the guy for more than six years and I can't even get a [expletive] courtesy reference somewhere in the first 60 posts? Good Lord, who do I have to kill around here to get some damn publicity?"

Furthermore, the two friends have plenty of shared experiences and opportunities in which to draw upon from softball to socializing to the Iowa Hawkeyes.

"Cott is just quiet on the email threads, sort of laying in the weeds," said Penca. "While I might send out dozens of messages that amount nothing more than drivel, he'll save it up for one perfectly timed quip. My quantity versus his quality, I guess."

Being quoted on Lukateake does have it's drawbacks though.

"I just know he's going to fake some [expletive] expletives in my pulled quotes," said S. "And I don't even drop the word [expletive] that much really."

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Heart Attack Downgraded to Pneumonia

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- A Chicago man's perceived heart attack was downgraded to pneumonia following a visit to his doctor.

Luke Penca, 30, had been complaining of chest pains since late last week when he finally sought medical advice this morning. As it turned out his walking pneumonia, while not as sexy as the heart attack he had hoped it was, can be just as lethal when left untreated.

"I've been burning the candle at both ends and everyone at work is sick as well," said a weary and contagious Penca. "Furthermore, our cheap sick-day policy doesn't help because it encourages the bedridden to drag themselves into the office."

Penca has always been overly concerned about his health even during childhood.

"My brother's a hypochondriac because he was always complaining about some ailment or another," said older sibling Michael. "I think he just want to wow us with his medical knowledge but we knew better. For example, at one point when he was 10, he claimed he needed a hysterectomy."

Doctors expect Penca to recover from his pneumonia in a few days. However, the heart attack possibility still remains unless he takes dramatic steps to remove stressors from his lifestyle.

"Starting this weekend, we'll be in full-swing March Madness and that dovetails right into the start of the Cubs season," said Penca, devouring a Whopper from Burger King.

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Friday, March 10

Karma Doles Man His 'Just Deserts'

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- A Chicago man and his blog have been duped. Again.

Luke Penca, the author of "Lukateake", failed to grasp the whole picture when he bit on Ms. X's brilliant opening move yesterday. In his haste to blog the episode, he outplayed himself to the delight of X.

"I achieved much more than what I set out to do," said a confident X. "Instead of a simple email response or even a single 'reply all' to the group, I got a dozen messages and a goddamn blog post! Who's the 'hotness' now, bitches?"

Penca's snarky blog post about the incident offset the karmic equilibrium of the universe, building up a debt that would ultimately have to be paid back. His cock-sure announcement of the post set off an avalanche of emails with many coming to the defense of X. Moreover, the silence from some recipients was damning of his rashness.

In turn, this spotlight on X. was exactly what she wanted originally and reinforced her belief that all men are predictable in every way.

"I got worked and she knows it," said a contrite Penca. "This is my just deserts."

However, Penca cautioned X. to not be too confident of herself because "karma is a fickle mistress."

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Thursday, March 9

Cold Shouldered 'Hotness'

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- A Chicago woman was abruptly excoriated today when she miscalculated her sex appeal while asking a group of her male friends a simple question.

With the group planning to meet at Sedgwick's the following day for the Big Ten tournament, Ms. X. sent what she thought was a benign email that read in its entirety, "where is sedgwicks?"

However, certain individuals who received the message felt X.'s question was a breach of email etiquette.

Immediate email responses intimated that she could find the information for herself, directing her to a search engine or other online resources. One terse response simply read, "On Sedgwick," referring to the street on which the appropriately-named bar can be found.

Recipient Andy H. was incredulous at the posed question saying, "Seriously, look it up. I did offer her Google.com in my response but I didn't go as far to make it a hyperlink. I'm friggin' 'Crafty' and I don't do shit like that."

Additionally, the distinction was made that only those who are utterly gorgeous can blithely ask such easily-answered questions.

"She's no Angelina [Jolie] so she can't pull a bullshit maneuver like that," said Luke Penca, an acquaintance who also received the email. "X. can look it up just like the rest of us because she's not the 'hotness'."

X. doubts Penca's assessment of her appeal, however.

"One of his friends made out with me just last week," exclaimed X. "So something of mine must be working right."

To which Penca responded, "Yes, I do have to give X. some credit I suppose; she's got some undercover titties."

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Wednesday, March 8

iTunes 6.0.4...3.14159 Released

PALO ALTO, Calif. (SNARKY) -- Fresh off their billionth download, Apple has made available what geeks call a "point release" of their popular iTunes software. A point release is usually a bug fix for some of the features and results in a numeric change after the decimal point. Unfortunately, this is about the 93rd time Apple has done so in the last month it seems.

I suppose I could live with all these incremental changes if there was an automatic upgrade but why do I have to download the whole 35 Mb each time? Then I have to run through a separate installation process that is tedious and bland while my computer spins.

It all seems like a tremendous waste of time and bandwidth. And if you've been reading Lukateake lately, you know that I could use a little more time and bandwidth.

Anyway, the word on the street is that these upgrades from Apple have to be done in order to thwart those would-be hackers who want to circumvent iTunes' embedded D.R.M., a violation of the D.M.C.A. Those fancy acronyms mean that you can only use your purchased iTunes and other digital content only for certain purposes that the company specifically allows.

Music revolution, my ass, it's more like consumer subjugation.

In a related development, New York State Attorney General Eliot Spitzer, (Jesus, who isn't that guy suing these days? Political ambitions, anyone?) believes that the major record labels illegally colluded during last year's negotiations with Apple. Goodbye, flat 99-cent pricing! The next Top 40 tripe from Hollywood could wind up costing you a lot more.

Spitzer is investigating one of my favorite words: payola. It's just fun to say and reminds me of peyote (but that's a blog for another day).

Oh, now I've gone too far. I should be served a subpoena in three... two... one.

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Oil, Social Security Equals Reader Boredom

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- Can the news media pick something else to yammer away on, please? I am tired of reading about high oil prices and the under funded social security system.

There are more important issues being left off the broadsheets because these two issues dominate the headlines. What's really galling to me is that these two items can be solved rather easily anyway.

Oil: I keep reading about how a litany of factors from "peak oil" to political insecurity and terrorism has driven up the price of a barrel of oil with little hope of a price correction ever again. A simple way to solve this is to give every American an S.U.V. and mandate that they drive 400 miles per week. That would be about a barrel per person per week.

Under that plan, we'll run out of oil so quickly that we can leave the Middle East in less than a generation, which is nice because they don't want us there in the first place. And, being the Americans we are, we'll adapt because we always have before. I'm holding out for that hover car George Jetson promised some forty years ago.

Social Security: If I read about one more Baby Boomer retiring and the burden he'll place on the already taxed system, I'm going to wring some editor's neck. Jesus, is this really news to anyone anymore?

We've been reading about it for decades now and there's a simple solution to this pseudo-problem! Have some damn children already and ensure the next generation of workers to pay for your retirement. Under my intellectually-sound plan, you'll already own a vehicle large enough to transport around the dozen little scamps it will take to fund your retirement.

Incidentally, Catholicism would be a nice start here because of its anachronistic approach birth control but that wacky religion is a story for another day.

So these two problems can be solved using my radical platform of common sense. Now can we get back to something really important like the Oscars, Hollywood's navel-gazing love fest it throws for itself every year?

What, I missed the show already? I didn't see an Oscar story anywhere because of the aforementioned reasons. Damn you, Chicago Tribune!

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