Happy Pearl Harbor Day! I've been laid off!

On Sunday morning, December 7th, 1941, the Japanese Navy launched an air assault on the U.S. naval base at Pearl Harbor, thrusting the United States headlong into a world war since made famous through the tireless efforts of Ben Affleck and Josh Hartnett. 

Veterans will say that the real heroes are the 405,399 Americans that died over the course of the war but we all know it was these dreamy fellows.

"Only" 2,402 Americans died in the attack that day but the damage had been done: for the next four and a half years, the United States would find itself in the lowest of lows before eventually climbing back up and achieving a bittersweet, ass kicking victory.  And it all started 70 years ago today. 

If you know a WWII vet, give him a hug.

In other news, I was given my 60 day notice last week, although--we've been informed--it might not take nearly that long for me to find my fat ass sitting on the couch every day.  We're really "working" day to day at this point.

A few years back, I found myself in an unadvance-able job at Steppenwolf Theatre Company.  I loved that job but they couldn't promote me any higher and I eventually grew frustrated and quit.  Now, lots of people have quit their jobs over the years but I was in the odd position of not having any real prospects when I did so.  I did not have a job lined up nor was I thinking of going back to school.  I just up and quit.

I wasn't at all nervous when I did so.  I gleefully drank my way through 3 awesome months of unemployment and then depressingly drank my way through 3 terrifying months of unemployment before landing my current position electronically jerking-off old dudes.  Being forced into unemployment during the worst recession since, what, the outbreak of World War II while I have a mortgage and a wife who can already do better than me?  Again, terrifying.  

When I left the 'Wolf, I considered just applying for a job at Borders for a while to take advantage of their discount or at Taco Bell for a few weeks since I thought that would be hilarious.  Borders is out now (damn you Amazon!) but I suppose Taco Bell is still on the table.  Although that won't really jive with how much weight I've gained.  What should I do in 2012?  Let's bring it to a vote:

What should Mike do in 2012 before the Mayans destroy the world?

1)  Get a job, deadbeat!
2)  Write a screenplay called "Evil Jesus" that has a tagline of "He'll convert you...straight to HELL!" (and a poster of Jesus, in sunglasses, aiming a .44 at the reader with a caption of "Nail this")
3)  Sit around and make Newt Gingrich jokes
4)  Develop a meth problem
5)  Develop a math skill
6)  Declare for the NBA Draft
7)  Launch my porn-star career under the name "Johnny Thursday"
8)  Gain 60 pounds
9)  Lose 20
10)  Work at Taco Bell.  Is it your destiny

Take the poll in the upper-right hand corner of the blog and let me know what you think.  I've even made it so you can select multiple answers.  Enjoy!

(seriously!  Go hug your WWII veteran!  You don't have much time left...)

Halloween 2012 (and beyond!)

Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays.  Oddly, I was never that big on candy when I was little but I did always like to host Halloween parties and dress up in fancy clothing.  Maybe I was gay.

Or maybe I just liked to have Halloween swimming parties at my Godparent's house.  Don and Janice had a butt-kicking indoor pool and lived in a fairly well-off section of the west suburbs.  As such, my friends and I could roam the streets of Glen Ellyn scoring free chocolate and return back to the house to consume many, many Little Caesar's "Pizza Pizza" combos and try to drown each other in a pool that was always heated just a bit hotter than it needed to be.  Then we'd eat the shit out of our big bags of candy and, I guess, throw up somewhere.

As Don was a World War II veteran, I often dressed up on Halloween as an "Army Guy".  One year, Don found an actual (hollowed out, of course) WWII-era grenade at an army surplus store and bought it for my inevitable costume.  I gleefully attached it to my army guy belt and I can still remember that the pineapple part of the grenade kept unscrewing as my fellow candy hunters and I dashed around Don's neighborhood.  I was sad, upon returning to the McCarron homestead, to find that the only part of the grenade that was still clipped to my belt was the pin and trigger mechanism...which meant that some unsuspecting neighbor went outside the next day for the morning newspaper and probably freaked the hell out and called a bomb squad, all because Don thought it would be cool to get me an actual god-damned grenade to add that special touch of realism to my army get-up.  Good times.

Over the years, Halloween went from an innocent exorcise in calorie consumption to the more adult themed Halloween my generation has grown accustomed to.  Girls pour themselves into sexy outfits and seem to be in some sort of erotic competition to see who could show the most cleavage without ending up hand-cuffed in the back of a squad car for indecent exposure.  It really is "Straight Pride Day" and I welcomed this transition with open arms and groping hands.  In my years leading up to meeting my gloriously gorgeous wife, Halloween was my favorite bar night of the year, if only for the eye candy.  Really, if a single dude can't hook up on Halloween, it's because he's already passed out due to the Jagermeister shots the chesty bartender/French Maid was feeding him all night. 

Now that I am married, I've come full circle on Halloween.  While I still fully respect a woman's right to turn me on, I don't feel the need to go out every Halloween and try to make out with a girl that won't be slutty again until next October 31st.  Krishni appreciates this.  I can't imagine Krishni and I will do much tonight--other than pass out some candy in my hood--but that's ok.  We spent Saturday night having some wine at home and watching "American Horror Story".  That was spooky enough.  And then yesterday we made our way out to "Boo!  At the Zoo!" to spend some time with my nieces and nephews and sisters and brothers-in-law at the Brookfield Zoo.  Krishni and I dressed up as Pirates (typically, we like to be a bit more clever in our costumes but we're poor and we wanted to be something the kids could recognize...that eliminated anything "ironic" or "slutty" from our cache of costume ideas) and the kids were dressed as the Devil, Jango Fett, a princess and the worlds cutest Yoda:

This may be a bit sentimental but I had more fun playing with the kids in our costumes yesterday than I probably had at any bar or party during my drunken Halloween days.  Except for maybe that one Devo party at the Sigma Nu house, like, 12 years ago.  Ho-boy.  That was a good time.  Christ, that night...

I'm sorry.  I lost my train of thought there.  Anyhow, I'm looking forward to "Mike Jacklich Halloween Incarnation III".  Krishni and I will pass out candy to kids, play with my nieces and nephews dressed as Starwars guys and, of course, we'll dress up ourselves.  Never fear; I won't go totally boring on  you.  I'm sure I'll find myself at a party or bar at some point on Hallows-Eve-future and if Krishni and I ever have a kid--god forbid--I imagine I will have a little fun with that, too. 

I may be sentimental, after all, but I'm still an asshole.

I Got Assaulted!

I loved my dear Godfather very much.  He died about a year ago and most of the memories I have of him still bring a smile to my face.  For instance, since I lived in the city of Chicago he was 100% certain that I was going to be murdered. 

See, Don grew up on the south side of the city during the Great Depression.  He spent most of his (non-army) youth getting into all sorts of shenanigans, many of them illegal.  When he returned from WWII, he opened a blues club on the south side in a predominantly black neighborhood.  Some of the stories from this era are hilarious:  he once tried to buy out Muddy Waters' contract so he could come play at The Circus (his bar) and Mr. Waters politely declined this invitation...after lots of whiskey.  Another time, he got stinkin' drunk with Dinah Washington...after lots of whiskey.  Many of his stories began or ended with "after lots of whiskey". 

Anyhow, living in the city exclusively on the south side meant that he lived in a series of ever-changing and sketchy neighborhoods.  He witnessed his home turf--around Western Ave and, say, Pershing--go from German, to black to Hispanic in a matter of decades.  He viewed this change only through the eyes of a slightly racist, old-school Chicagoan who was concerned about escalating crime.  He then extrapolated the change in his neighborhood throughout the city and, in his older years, viewed any neighborhood in the city of Chicago as a death trap. 

He was not happy when I moved to Chicago and he spent the remaining years of his life attempting to convince me to move back "home" to the suburbs.  I called him on a daily basis as I left work downtown and since I work right next to the Northwestern "hospital district", he often heard ambulances screaming by as we chatted.  As a result, I heard lots of hilarious exclamations like "GOD!  We have to get you OUT of that damn city!" and "Don't walk down alleys, Michael!  DON'T WALK DOWN ALLEYS!" 

I consider myself--as I suppose many of us do--to be pedestrian street-smart...I know what areas to avoid and how to walk defensively.  One thing you cannot take into account, however, is the wild card.  For the purposes of the following story, that "wild card" was a "drunk, crazy, (perhaps) homeless guy". 

Marc and I had consumed many, many beers at Joe's on Weed for an intense college football Saturday.  Drunk on triumphs of Notre Dame, the Big 10 and $5 Coors Light pitchers, we took the Red Line up to my neighborhood and attempted to flag down a cab for the remainder of the trip home.  Immediately, a cab pulled up at Ridge and Broadway and a shaggy, flannel-clad guy got out of the cab and started to pay the driver.  To paint you a picture, on a very busy street, this guy was paying for his cab:

I hopped into the back seat and noticed that the guy above left his bag on the floor of the cab.  I crossed back over the seat and said "Excuse me, sir, you left this in the back seat". 

I should have known something was wrong with this character by his choice of beverage.  In his hand was a Natty Ice Tall-Boy that was sort of crumpled, as if he was crushing it as he drank.

"You can really taste the goat"

He sort of stared at me for a moment, as if he was trying to process what was happening.  I was still holding his bag out for him when he sort of snapped and said "Why the hell you got my bag?!?!"  I attempted to explain to him that I did not "got" his bag...I was attempting to return his precious cargo to him (for the record, within the bag was a bunch of napkins, what appeared to be a dirty shirt--god I hope it was a shirt--and another Natty Ice tall-boy).  The next few minutes were awkward:  an increasingly nervous cab driver was reluctant to do anything, this crazy dude was trying to climb into the back seat with me and Marc was forced to sort-of stand behind our homeless friend just waiting for his opportunity to jump in the back seat himself. 

Sadly, that opportunity never arrived.  This guy wasn't going to let Marc in so I got out of the other side of the cab, watched helplessly as our cab driver peeled away and Marc and I attempted to flag down another cab while this pissed-off crazy guy was yelling all sorts of slurs at me.  I tried to calm the dude down but that just wasn't happening.  He kept jamming his finger in my chest so I finally started asking him why he was doing what he was doing.  I don't think even he knew the answer at that point.  But he was getting really scary...I had even flipped open my pocketknife in my pocket by now.  Eventually, he grabbed me by the neck--hard--and I slapped his hand off me and said "You do NOT put your hands on me." 

Eventually, he just sort of wandered away, muttering the whole time and threatening us.  Marc and I did grab a cab and make it back to my place and we went to sleep behind the safety of my locked door.  But my neck hurt all the next day.  Not cool. 

I've lived in the great city of Chicago now for 10 years, almost to the day.  I've heard gunshots and witnessed some harassment going on but never have I had any direct experience in this type of thing.  I guess I can check that one off my bucket list. 

Don would have been happy about one thing though:  Crazy Drunk James Brown up there didn't assault me in a damn alley.