The Only 2011 Travelogue You will Require

People often ask me what it's like to work at the Rabbit.  The question most often asked is can I get the questioner free porn.  The answer is, of course, yes.  All you have to do is ask.  The second question I most often hear:  "Are there, like, naked ladies just running around your office?"  That answer is, "Not most of the time."  While there are occasionally scantily clad women in the office--for photo shoots and seasonal parties--I have to crush the fantasies of dudes everywhere when I tell them that this really is just an office.  My cube looks a whole lot like yours.  Only the top of my monitor is graced by one of my all time favorite Onion headlines:

It is my understanding that this is not allowed in many offices. 

Without further ado, welcome to my desk at work:

They say that a person's work space tells an awful lot about said person...by looking at my work area, you'd think I'm a sophomoric sports fan.  Can you even imagine?

From left to right as we travel across my desk:

Are you in one of these photos?  If so, drink!

No work space is complete without a series of photos of the ones you love.  Or the ones you love to drink with, as this case may be.  We have Mel and Panhandle up there sporting some nice bling after winning the Steppenwolf Gala King and Queen.  We have Brad and Nathan drinking beers at a brewery in stinkin' Boston.  We have Hank sporting a theoretical wooded spoon.  We have the last picture of my Godmother I own where she had any real dignity.  The 'Wolf softball team is present along with an underage drinking party on my Parent's back patio back in 1997.  Speaking of underage drinking...there is my sister Peggy contributing to the delinquency of a minor!  Thanks, Peg!   She's a doctor now!

I think it's important to have icons of your own personal heroes:

In that respect, I have a Geoffrey Rush action figure from the Pirates of the Caribbean, complete with sword, pistol and a juicy green apple.  He had a very nice hat a long time ago.  He (I) sadly lost it in the move from one office to the next. 

Speaking of figurines, I also have these happy little fellows that I purchased for $1 from a Michael's after Halloween two years ago:

I guess my shit job could be worse. 

You will also find a little shrine to Matt Groening:

Present and accounted for are all of my favorite Simpson's characters (Sadly, Milhouse had a full glass of ice water spilled on him.  Sniff, sniff) as well as the cast of Futurama.  Only the best show ever for nerds.

Below my cartoon friends, I have a list of dates that the Free Disney Meal plan is available at Walt Disney World.  Sigh.

I'll get back there someday...

Swinging over to the lower right hand corner of my desk, you will find a rather creepy selection of items:

That doll will murder you in your sleep.   It's why the Stormtrooper stoically stands ever vigilant. That, and he's sitting on top of a naked lady. 

I know what you're thinking and the answer is yes: those are, in fact, wind-up hopping lederhosen standing atop my novelty Benet Academy football.  Sharp eyed folks from Steppenwolf Theatre Company will also be able to spot one of those godawful oranges from that one Gala where we were apparently trying to blind our patrons. 

"But Mike," I hear you asking, "What about your gorgeous, super-smart and sexy wife?"  No worries!  She's here too.  With a pirate:

Arrrrrrrrr!

Bonus terrible fact:  the island where this photo was taken was the site of a horrific plane crash that changed the way pilots communicate to each other in cockpits across the world.  In a heavy fog, one pilot said "To hell with that tower!  I'm taking off!" and promptly flew into a taxing jet killing everyone aboard his plane and most folks aboard the other plane.

Whoopsie.

See!  Bonzer T's Home Skillet isn't just about moderately funny observances...it's also about history!

There are two diplomas I'm proud of earning over the course of my young life.  One is for graduating from Benet Academy, my scholastic home away from home.  The other is from the Taco Fu Master Program.  I graduated with honors:

Yeah, University of Tulsa.  You can go to hell.  

To achieve--according to my diploma--"Success in defending all that is taconess", you need to play this absurd game at the Taco Bell website wherein you must defend your plate of nachos supreme from a series of ginormous lucha libre wrestlers.  Seriously.  Try it out right now and print up your certificate so you can be as awesome as me (incidentally, when you go to the Taco Bell website now, there is a link that states "Made with Real Beef lawsuit dropped".  So we have that going for us.)

Posted all over my monitor, you will find a few Onion horoscopes that still make me laugh to this day.  Allow me to reprint them here because, come on, we all need a good laugh:

"While the directors of the Palomar Observatory admit the nebula had an unusual shape, they do not believe you caught God masturbating."

"When times are tough and the world around you seems grim, don't be afraid to turn to religion for a good, hearty laugh."

"Death by firing squad has a certain desolate nobility, but it will be ruined when the inept, drunken Australians fail to hit you above the waist with the first nine volleys."

"Your love of all living creatures will be on display this week when you open the world's first Animal Rescue Steakhouse."

And a new one that came off the calender today!

"Turns out your nightmarish descent into alcoholism and drug abuse will be a lot more fun than expected."

Finally, I wouldn't be a White Sox fan without some sort of way to taunt Cubs fans in the office:

Yeah, that's my 2005 World Series Champion Rally Sock.  Maybe if I started wearing those, Adam Dunn could get a damn hit. 

So that's that.  I realize that technically none of you asked to see what my desk looked like at work.  But that has never really stopped me before when it came to stupid shit like this.  Plus, I'm going to make an effort to blog a bit more seeing how my life has slowed down a bit after a frantic July. 

And not every post can be a winner. 

Let's all point and laugh at the 6' 9" amazingly gifted athlete worth 100 million dollars!

Many folks will tell you that the best baseball movie ever made was "Major League".  Those folks are wrong.  The best baseball movie ever made was "Bull Durham".  That's a scientific fact.  You can look it up.

Anyhow, many folks will still insist on telling you that the best baseball movie ever made was "Major League".  It is a pretty damn funny movie, punctuated by wonderful appearances by former Major League player and current Major League broadcaster Bob Uecker.  Uke plays a hard-drinking, semi-foul mouthed caricature of himself throughout the film.

 Pictured:  My dream job.  With bourbon!

At one point, he tells fans of a new promotion coming up for the Indians:

"Just a reminder, fans, comin' up is our 'Die-hard Night' here at the stadium. Free admission to anyone who was actually alive the last time the Indians won a pennant."

For some context, the last time the Indians had gone to the World Series--at the time of the movie shoot--was 1954.  The movie was made in 1989.  Pretty funny line, but not that big a deal, right?

Now consider this:  if the Cubs held a "Die Hard" night at Wrigley Field, any fans taking the Cubs up on this offer would be 103 years old. At least.

Now, I don't bring this up to rub salt in Cub's fans wounds.  I could do that rather easily if I wanted to.  Ok, ok...I want to:

 

No, I bring this up to illustrate a rather clever promotion that a Cubs minor league affiliate--the Peoria Chiefs--have launched called "LeBron James NBA Championship Replica Ring Giveaway night".  I gotta hand it to the promotional department down in Peoria:  this promotion is genius.  The idea is they are giving away the same ring that LeBron James "won" the other night.  Or as the article put it, "Replica rings -- also known as air".  Other activities scheduled for the evening:  "A fan will win a 'replica' of James' Finals MVP award (which actually went to the Mavericks' Dirk Nowitzki), and Heimlich maneuver classes will be offered to help prevent people from 'choking in a big situation.' "  They are also attempting to get league approval to not play the 4th inning. 

Not gonna lie:  I kinda want to go. 

LeBron's fall from super-stud status has been well documented*:  From the horrible, horrible call by his people to hold "The Decision" (his free agent announcement special) on ESPN to that godawful "Pre-Championship Celebration" they held before the season where LeBron implied they were going to win 8 championships...ugh.  Then all the old-school guys like Jordan and Barkley and Magic pretty much came out and questioned his manhood, saying they never, ever would have left their home team to join up with another top-3 player...these guys wanted to crush the best, not join up with the best.  Then come the playoffs where he dominated for the 1st 3 rounds only to completely and utterly wilt under the hot lights of the playoffs, disappearing in the 4th quarter of the last 5 finals games, ultimately losing 4 games to 2 to the Dallas Mavericks.

Let's just say it's been a tough year for LeBron James.

Now, I don't make millions of dollars playing basketball.  Yet.  Nor do I talk about basketball for a living.  And sometimes I'm so shitfaced on the couch, I can't tell if the bucket that was just scored was a black guy dunking or a white guy lay-up.  All of this is besides the point.  I know enough about basketball to see when a guy who has the physical gifts to be the best player of all time chokes in a big situation.  Or, in the case of the man nicknamed "King", chokes in 5 straight big situations. 

I'm not entirely sure he deserved all of the hate he got this year.  He really just made a career decision that any of us would have made.  However, it was the way he made all of these decisions that really rubbed folks the wrong way.  Between "the Decision" and that pre-season celebration and the way that he always seems to be just coasting through games instead of dominating the way we all know he can...in a word, he was arrogant.  And because of that arrogance, he polarized the country in a way I've never seen with an athlete.  Unless you were from Miami, every basketball fan wanted--nay, needed--the guy to lose.  I mean, come on:  he forced me cheer for a team from Texas.  I don't think I've ever done that.  Even back in 1836 I'm pretty sure I was pulling for the Mexicans**.

If you're feeling bad for the guy, don't worry, kids.  LeBron will get his rings.  And he will continue to go to sleep on top a pile of money, with many beautiful ladies. 

But for all us fans that reveled in this loss, even if it meant we had to cheer on a team from freakin' Texas, we will always have the fragile, shattered and suddenly-filled-with-humility LeBron James to keep us warm until next season:

Sad Panda

*Dude jumped ship from the Cleveland Cavaliers (his home town) to join up with another "Top 3" player named Dewayne Wade and another All-Star named Chris Bosh...screwing his home town team and pinning a ginormous target on his back at which the rest of the league would take aim.

** Incidentally, I did a quick google search to double check that date and found the official Alamo website.  There is a pretty funny video that plays at the top of the screen for about 5 seconds when you get to the page that is by far the worst historical re-enactment I've ever seen.  It's no wonder the Texans lost...they just sort of fell down when the Mexicans pushed them.  You can keep refreshing the page as long as it continues to be funny. 

I always knew Sam Adams was the right beer for me...

My wife is wildly entertained by the random grudges I hold.  Sometimes--even with the tiniest of slights--I have trouble letting go of the grudge I manage to create.  I am also willing to admit that sometimes I hold onto the silly grudges just because they are fun.

For instance, I haven't eaten at a Jimmy Johns since a stoner "sandwich artist" yelled "WE DON'T HAVE MEATBALLS AT JIMMY JOHNS!" at me a little too loudly for my liking.  Granted, this occurred sometime after 2 am after the bars had closed in Milwaukee, we were drunk as sin and--in retrospect--he may not have yelled at all.  He may have just loudly exclaimed his anti-meatball manifesto when I slurred a request for a meatball sandwich after closing out a bar with 2 of my buddies.

Whatever.  Jimmy Johns will never get my business again.

Another example:  to this day I hate a former White Sox player named Jermaine Dye.  Why?  Because he once dropped a fly ball in Oakland during the eighth inning of this game that contributed to an early season loss.  Seriously.  Never mind that the loss only "dropped" the Sox to a 16-5 record during a season where they didn't play a single game out of 1st place and eventually won the World Series.  My hatred also ignores the fact that Jermaine Dye was named MVP of that very same World Series, driving in the only run of the deciding game 4. 

None of this matters.  Jermaine Dye sucks.

Which brings me to Boston.  These friggin' guys...

Where do I begin?  Do I hate Boston because of the Red Sox?  Because of Kevin Garnett?  Because of Rajon Rondo?  Mitt Romney?  Because Fenway Park is over-priced, has terrible sightlines and was 1st runner up in the category of "Most Urine Smelling Stadium", 2nd only to Wrigley?  Is it because of a palpable  east coast arrogance that I hate?  Because I think clam chowder is gross?  Is it because ESPN sucks at the teat of the Red Sox and Yankees?  Is it because Boston College has caused my Fightin' Irish so much pain over the years?  Could it be Bill Belicheck?  Tom Brady?

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Can't it be all of the above?

Whatever the reason, hating on Boston is super-fun.  I feel that everyone needs a villain and sometimes it's important to have a better villain than Jimmy Johns.

Stupid Hospitals

I had a bad weekend, but not nearly as bad as a few people I know and love.

You see, both of my parents went to the hospital this weekend.  Different hospitals.  For 3 night stays.  Ugh.

It all started with my Mother turning orange.  For those not in the know, my Mother was diagnosed with 4th stage colon cancer back in October of 2005.  Wednesday, October 26th to be exact.  Why do I remember that date?  Because when all of my other friends were celebrating the Chicago White Sox closing out the Houston Astros in the 2005 World Series--probably with beer, champagne and hookers--I was shell-shocked with my family over this devastating development.  

That's just like my Mom...always looking to overshadow the 2005 World Series Champion Chicago White Sox with her cancer.

Anyhoo...where was I?  Ah, yes.  My Mom turned orange.  Like this:

 Seriously. 

It would appear that a growing tumor that her doctors have been keeping an eye on eventually pushed up into her liver and caused her liver to, as her doctors (probably) put it, "go all batshit wonky".  The words "draining" and "bile" were, in fact, thrown around far too frequently for my comfort.  She had surgery on Saturday and they put a stint into her liver causing it to function like it is supposed to. 

Which brings me to my Dad.  You're going to need to brace yourself for this story, kiddos.

Before this weekend, by favorite Don Jacklich story went like this: For those of you that have never met my Dad, he's not, um, concerned with his personal appearance.  Here is a pretty good representation of the way he dresses, 75% of the time:

I draw special attention to his work pants that have not been washed since the Carter administration.  Those are not camouflage pants, in case you were curious; that is years of paint, glue, concrete, spackle, gunk, goo, inflammables, snot and oil.  He is not a fashionista.

My Dad has never been one to shower.  Before you think I'm piling it on, he does bathe.  But he exclusively takes baths and never, ever showers.  A few months ago, he couldn't find any soap for his bath; this, of course, is a problem if one wants to wash off 2 days worth of concrete.  What is a man to do without soap?

Never fear, my Dad has always been great at improvising.  Take, for example, the time he attempted to cauterize a wound with Shoe Goo instead of a bandage.

 Seriously. 

Hunting around his house in search for soap, he came across what he felt was the next best thing:  Tide Detergent.  The powdered kind. 

 

Again.  Seriously. 

Powdered Tide!  Powdered Tide that he still uses for his baths to this day, by the way.

I love this guy.

Which brings me back to the new "Best-Don-Jacklich-Story".   My Father loves my Mother terribly.  He is so adorably devoted to his wife, it brings a tear to even the most cynical of eyes (ie: mine).  He dropped my Mother off at Northwestern Medical downtown, kissed her goodbye and made his way to his car.

As he was walking, he felt a tingling in his left arm.  He was carrying a heavy briefcase in his left hand so he swapped the case over to his right.  As he continued to walk to the car, he couldn't help but notice that the tingling continued, escalated to pain and he found himself with a shortness of breath.  This man needed medical attention.

Let's take a break for a poll.  What do you think Don Jacklich did?  Did he:

A)  Turn around and head back to Prentice Womens Hospital to speak to my Mother's doctor?
B)  Walk over to the Northwestern's ER and check himself in?
C)  Get into his car, make his way over to a congested-with-construction I-290, leave Chicago, drive 35 miles back to Lisle, park his car and call 911?

Anyone who selected choice "C" gets a cookie.  To recap:  My Father--very clearly having a heart-attack and with a history of heart trouble--left one of the world's best and most renown hospitals and drove home 35 miles so he could dial 911 to get a ride to another hospital. 

Jesus-hopping-Christ.

He's ok.  Turns out, he needed a stint replaced in his heart from his triple by-pass in 1997.  The day after his surgery he was his normal obnoxious self and two days later he was drinking wine and eating Bubba Burgers with us.  Not sure that is what is supposed to happen to a guy who just had a heart attack but more power to him.

Krishni, who is much smarter than me about such things, said my Mother's condition obviously is the greater long-term concern but my Father was much closer to death this weekend than Sheila.  What a dumbass.  But now that we know he's going to be fine, you can't help shake your head and laugh at a story like that.  

Incidentally, Sheila is ok as well.  She's eating again and we're looking to put some weight back on her.  She was in good spirits and overjoyed that 4/5ths of her children came back in town to visit her.  We all had a terrifying-yet-ultimately-fun weekend together.  And Krishni has been great through it all.  I do love that woman.

For those looking to help "Operation Sheila Weight Gain", she likes pie.  For those looking to help me cope with all of this, I like booze.

Specifically, Ron De Jeremy