I drove my brother Brian up to Evanston last night to get his bike out of my parents’ garage.  Afterwords we started heading back to the city when Brian asked if I was hungry.  “Mustard’s?”  I suggested.

Mustard’s Last Stand is an Evanston institution that was two blocks from where we grew up and adjacent to Northwestern’s football stadium.  Our family ate there a lot — so much that Brian developed a friendship with the grillman, Keith.  Keith seems to know everyone in Evanston and the two of them could talk sports indefinitely.

Neither of us had been to Mustard’s for probably 10 years, but Keith recognized Brian immediately, recalling his baseball days in high school, his back injury, and of course his infatuation with Notre Dame.

As we were leaving, Keith asked Brian to bring in a photo.

Keith: We’ll put it up on the wall.
Me: (Pointing to a photo of Micahel Jordan mid-layup) Maybe you can replace this guy.
Keith: You know, we have the only photo in the world of Michael Jordan not dunking.

To truly appreciate Keith’s wit and sense of humor, read this article he had in the Sun Times last year.

]]> http://evanjacover.com/archives/2008/damn-im-gonna-get-a-hot-dog-when-i-get-there/feed http://evanjacover.com/archives/2008/sometimes-its-good-to-be-the-dummy http://evanjacover.com/archives/2008/sometimes-its-good-to-be-the-dummy#comments Wed, 13 Aug 2008 14:23:16 +0000 Evan http://evanjacover.com/?p=434

Sometimes when my aunt Renee is in town she and I play bridge with my grandparents.  Neither of us understand the game all that well, but it’s fun to see my grandparents so competitive.  Even my grandfather, whose age is catching up with him, remembers every bid and trick.

My grandma (who was my partner) made some aside comments to Renee in the middle of a hand.

Renee: I think you’re trying to trick me.
(A few cards later)
Renee: You were trying to trick me.

At this point, my grandmother stood up and did a little dance on her way to making “game.”

The skill in bridge centers around giving subtle hints to your partner through bids and leads.  I’d often ask my grandma, “What do you think I have?”  As I eyed the glut of clubs in my hand she’d say something like, “10-12 points and at least 4 hearts.”  Whoops.  By the end of the night we started to get on the same page, although I spent much of it as the dummy.

Behold the launch and recovery of the RacketRocket:

After the trip, two minivans were supposed to pick us up and take us down the mountain, but only one came.  We decided all 11 of us (and our backpacks) would just cram into the car.  After all, it was only a half-hour drive.

There were three of us in the passenger seat.  I was positioned in such a way that my head was actually leaning on the windshield.  As we twisted and turned down the mountain road, a voice from the bottom of our passenger-seat pile said, “I don’t like this,” and managed to jimmy-rig the seatbelt around (at least parts) of all of us.

Seconds later we made a particularly sharp cuve and the next thing I knew the car was plowed into a tree.  There we shouts of, “Is everyone okay,” amidst the smoke.  Remarkably, everyone was.  It turns out there was so much weight in the car, one of the rear tires actually fell off of the wheel.

I remember three things from after the accident:

1. As the last person stumbled out of the van, we heard a poof.  The airbag finally went off.
2. As I stood in a daze in front of the car, someone pointed at the windshield and said, “Evan, did your head do that?”  The windshield had shattered right where my head was.  I didn’t have a scratch on me.  I have a strong head.
3. A woman ran out of the only nearby house.  “Everyone crashes into that tree,” she said.  Then she invited us in and served us lemonade.

BASSIST: We just had too much weight in this car.

They thanked me profusely for stopping — “There are still nice people in this world.” — and said they’d be fine getting into town.  That little doughnut spare tire has my sympathy.

As I took my seat in the courtroom, I saw “F– the police” scratched into the wooden bench.  That’s the kind of classy crowd you’ll find at 26th and California, Cook County’s main criminal courthouse.  I was hoping I’d spend the day in the waiting room watching The Price Is Right (Drew Carey, now?) but in hindsight I’m glad my number got called.  Serving on a jury is quite an experience.  As one of our alternate jurors put it, “It’s really fascinating and really boring at the same time.”  But she didn’t even get to deliberate, so who cares what she has to say?

The trial itself was pretty interesting, if fairly straight forward.  Our deliberation took all of 5 minutes — one vote and we all agreed on both charges.  The lawyers were all equally mediocre.  We felt like they were trying too hard to play lawyer tricks on us, all of which failed miserably.  Law & Order it was not.

During the substantial downtime we chatted about the books we were reading.  One older gentleman had the autobiography of wrestling superstar, Chyna.  “It’s a great book.  I’ve read it four times, and she signed it!  You know she used to do the Jane Fonda workout twice every day?”  When it was over we all went our separate ways with certificates of jury service and checks for $17.20.

I suspect The Dark Knight will join The Blues Brothers and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off as one of the all-time best Chicago movies. High Fidelity did pretty good too. Oh, and Stranger Than Fiction. And don’t even get me started on John Hughes. What are your favorites?

I, of course, agreed to be a speaker — can’t say no to grandma — and we set a date. Then I got a phone call telling me I had been bumped for another speaker.They must have gotten Henry Kissinger or Bono or something. We set another date and I got bumped again. Finally, last night, they settled for me. Now I know how Abe Vigoda feels when he gets that last-minute call to fill in for canceled guests on Conan.

I arrived to a multi-tiered, 20-minute argument/discussion on how to buzz into my grandparents’ apartment. Did you push pound? — I pushed three — Wait, did you dial the number? — No, I scrolled through the names? — And then pushed seven? — Someone with a dog opened the door for me — I need to call you? — Someone called — Do I need a cell phone? — Yes, then you push nine.

Eventually everyone made it inside. I gave my spiel, showed some slides, and it went over very well. I had a really great time. They even made a donation to EWB and gave me some chocolate babka, so all in all a pretty nice day.

I love the Xlerator. It’s so choice. If you have the means I highly recommend picking one up.

I was in the lower-middle class of video gamers — nothing to get excited about. I could maybe get to level 4. Last weekend, however, I found myself at an arcade filled with classic games and I owned Dig Dug like I never have before. It was beautiful.

And while I’m on the subject, didn’t old games have the best plot lines? So there’s this guy, “Dig Dug,” and he has to dig holes because there are tomatoes wearing goggles and fire-breathing alligators he has to exterminate by inflating them with a bicycle pump. Kids will love it!

Ah, weddings. Sometimes they’re a chore and sometimes they’re so ridiculously fun that you don’t want them to end. Last weekend was the latter. Apparently my camera was having a good time too as it decided to throw in some peculiar (but festive) blurring and coloring.

I played guitar and ukulele during the ceremony. I’ve played at weddings before and it makes me nervous — I worry I’m going to ruin the whole wedding and, subsequently, the couple’s lives. My brother Aric, who has played piano at his share of weddings, put things in perspective: “Don’t worry, no one is listening to you.”

The bride, Renee, was also a little jittery before the ceremony.

Renee: I’m nervous.
Me: Why? You picked a great guy!
Renee: Pfft. I’m not nervous about Nick. I know I got the right guy. It’s everyone else.

She was worried about the ceremony and the weather and making sure everyone had a good time. Thankfully, the ceremony and the weather and (if I say so myself) the ukulele all went off without a hitch. Congrats, Nick and Renee!

Outside Jellyvision on Kingsbury Street is a giant puddle — it’s practically a lake — and it is always there. The puddle amazingly resists water’s fundamental properties of evaporation and sublimation. In the winter it freezes, in the spring it swells, in the summer it smells, and in the fall, well, it still smells. Above, Steve-o sums up our general opinion of the giant puddle.

After several years, the city finally came and unclogged the sewer beneath the lakepuddle. Just as the ocean’s receding tide deposits treasures on the beach, the falling waters of our puddle revealed a cornucopia of heretofore hidden wonders. For example, these underpants.

If you live in Chicago you have to weather the weather, as it were.  I actually appreciate the variety.  Blizzards, thunderstorms, sweltering days and freezing nights are all par for the course.  Then again, sometimes you go out on your porch and there’s a rainbow.  Take it, Dean!