While Shama’s mom was showing me the vegetables she’s been growing, I saw one plant with tiny little peppers on it.

Me: What kind of peppers are these?
Shama’s Mom: They’re from Pizza Hut
Me: Pizza Hut?
Shama’s Mom: The packet of red peppers they give you with the pizza.  I planted them.
Me: Wow!
Shama’s Mom: I’m good at growing things.

I can’t believe I didn’t take a picture of them, but I swear they were real: little Pizza Hut peppers.   I do believe she could have planted a slice of pizza and grown a pizza tree.  Lady’s got skills.

While driving up the Pacific Coast Highway to a wedding in Malibu, we  saw an airplane towing a large banner.  Here’s what it said:

REGGIE MILLER STOP PURSUING MARRIED WOMEN

California.

UPDATE:  The whole story.  Meh.

My old college buddy Joe is working on his directorial debut: a documentary called LaPorte, Indiana. I can’t decide whether or not the premise is simple or ambitions.  I suppose it’s both, and that’s what’s so great about it.  I described it as “Peoples Is Peoples: The Movie.”

But don’t take my word for it.  Watch the trailer, and then, if you’re feeling moved to do so, help them finish it.

I painted my brother a housewarming present.  He went through a puffin phase as a kid, which was rekindled in Ireland when we learned that puffin is spelled puifin in Irish.  He also went through a Notre Dame phase, but I don’t think I could paint Touchdown Jesus.

My brothers used to play a game they called “Hands.”  It involved throwing a foam ball — the “Hands” ball — at each other as hard as possible and seeing who could catch it.  Whoever dropped it the least would declare that they have “The best hands in the family.”

I didn’t play the game much.  I often dropped the ball.

This weekend my family was at a swimming pool and we ended up playing yet another stupid game.  One person would jump in the pool while four others threw an assortment of balls at them.  The goal was to catch one mid-jump.  Mostly, I was just trying to protect the face.

On my turn, a basketball bounced off my pinkie leaving it freakishly dislocated.  While my parents’ friend popped it back into place I joked about how I should have caught the ball, mentioning that I certainly don’t have the best hands in the family.

Driving home that night, I got a call from my dad to see how my pinkie was healing and while we were talking I once again mentioned my lackluster coordination.

Dad: Don’t be so hard on yourself.
Evan: I’m not.  I’m just saying I don’t have the best hands in the family.
Dad: Well… you don’t.  I do.

Joanie and Jon invited us to spend a night with them at a cabin they rented in Michigan and we decided to bring some salmon up there to grill.  I made a makeshift cooler to keep the fish fresh duing the car ride by packing some ice into the Ricky Martin lunchbox I somehow acquired.  And by “acquired,” I mean “bought.”  It was supposed to be a prize for the worst jukebox abuse in my bowling league, but, amazingly, it went unclaimed.

Joanie and Jon’s daughter Natasha, however, became quite enamored with it.  (Who can resist those dreamy eyes and blond highlights?)  She started carrying it around with her everywhere, neatly packing dolls and other belongings into it.  Clearly Ricky deserved a better home than I could offer so I told Natasha she could keep it.

Tupperware: An American Musical Fable opened last week and it’s getting great reviews.  I’m going to see it on Sunday at 7:30.  You should come too.

Get tickets here.  Use the discount code “ITBURPS” to get 2-for-1 tickets.

If you can’t go Sunday, you have until August 9th.  Don’t miss it!

Arriving home from work…

Evan: Hey everyone, I’m home!  Hi TV!  Hi Computer!  Hi Guitar! Hi… Clarinet…
Clarinet: …
Evan: I haven’t seen you for a while.
Clarinet: I know.
Evan: What are you doing out here with the stuff I use all the time?
Clarinet: You moved me out here when you were looking through your closet.
Evan: Oh yeah…  So… What have you been up to the last couple years?
Clarinet: I’ve been working on some personal projects.  I got pretty good at lanyards.
Evan: That’s cool.
Clarinet: …
Evan: So… You wanna… Play?
Clarinet: I don’t know.  I was gonna watch Castle.
Evan: Come o–
Clarinet: OKAY!

I found out Claire and Dan were having a baby when Claire casually took off her sweater… revealing this T-shirt underneath:

Some news is best spread by T-Shirt, saving the awkward, “We have some news…” moment.  Maybe I’ll print up some “My grandma’s in the hospital” and “I got a good interest rate” shirts.  Place your orders now!

Okay, garden.  We both know I have no idea what I’m doing when I start digging holes and cramming plants in there, but now you’re being ridiculous.

Does anyone know what the hell this thing is?

No one in my building planted it and it keeps getting bigger and, frankly, we’re all getting a little worried.  Is it just a weed?  Do weeds do… that?

Update: It’s been identified!  My neighbor Carrie added this at the bottom of an e-mail: “In other news – our alien life form in the backyard has been identified. Apparently it wards off witches and cures ear aches so it may come in handy.”

It’s called The Great Mullein.

I wish I were more into comic books so I could be a bigger supporter of my neighborhood comic book store, The Comic Vault.  They really bring a lot to the community, including last month’s first national Zombie-Con.  I made it over for a very helpful seminar on general zombie survival, but, sadly, had to leave before the Zombie Chef and the session on how to escape Chicago during the impending zombie attack.

Shama managed to get some very important questions answered about freezing zombies, though.

Before leaving, comic writer and artist Tim Seeley drew me this zombie professor:

I don’t know if he was drawing all the zombies with bow ties that day, but  Shama and I met Tim at a wedding while I was wearing a bow tie and if he remembered that, he’s a pretty cool guy for giving my zombie a bow tie.  Either way, I think I’m going to get Tim’s book, Hack/Slash because it’s cool that there’s a comic writer in my neighborhood.  And I think I’m gonna get it from The Comic Vault because those guys are cool too.  I think I’m going to go do that right now.

Update: They’re closed.  I’m going to go do that tomorrow.

I was wandering around the neighborhood this morning taking care of some business when I saw a middle-aged man peeking into the old Villa May Pizzaria that’s been empty for almost two years.  My neighbors and I have been wondering what would eventually occupy the incredibly-convenient-for-us space.

Me: Is someone finally doing something with this place?
Man: Yeah… It’s going to be a Middle-Eastern restaurant.
Me: Great!  I live across the street.
Man: I’m Gene Shulter, your alderman.  I’m just checking in on our little projects.
Me: Oh!  Hi.
Gene: Let’s see how the other ones are coming along.

And with that he lumbered off down Montrose — to check in on the construction at Damen, I presume.

My neighbor was out of the country for a few weeks and asked me to move his cars when the streets were being cleaned to keep him from getting a ticket.

Done.

Today, for some reason, I decided to check on the cars to make sure they were okay.  They were not okay.  They were gone.  Panic.  I started calculating the cost if they were towed.  What is it, $100/day?  10 days?  2 cars?  Oy.  Well, maybe they were stolen.  Is that better?

I called 311 (useless), the impound lot (mostly useless) and my alderman’s office (very helpful!) before finally realizing I needed to e-mail my neighbor, tell him the bad news, and get the license plate numbers so I could figure out what actually happened.  My e-mail began, “I hope your trip was going well because I’m going to ruin it…”

A few minutes later I received a response.

I am sooo sorry.  We got home Sun. and I found the cars safe and sound.  I’ve been using them and completely forgot to give you a huge thank you.  I’m sorry to have put you through the last few hours of misery.  I owe you big time.

Phew.  Problem solved.

Oh wait.  Not yet.  First I need to make an awkward call to the alderman’s office and explain the situation to the nice man who was gonna “help me out of my pickle.”

There.  Now problem solved.

I was in Boise for business and after we had finished for the day I went running along the Boise River.  It’s a beautiful city with mountains and streams and all those other things Chicago lacks.

Then I ran by this and I liked Boise even more:

I’ve never seen live action role-playing (LARPing) in person before.  It looks… pretty… fun.

My dad has spent years working on a pond in his backyard.  It’s actually quite lovely.  There’s a garden train and waterfalls and all kinds of flowers.  He’s had some trouble with the fish, though.

Every year it seems like something else goes wrong.  Once the pond had a leak.  Once the heater he got to keep the water from freezing during the winter broke.  Last summer there was a big rain storm while my parents were out of town.  The pond overflowed and the fish “escaped” into the garden.

The kids who live next-door took a photo of the fish on their Sunday stroll before catching them.  If you look closely, you can see that the fish are swimming over model train tracks.

This winter, my dad decided to let the fish fend for themselves.

Dad: I’ve tried everything to keep them alive and they always die.

The pond was frozen solid for most of the winter, but somehow the fish (or perhaps their progeny?) survived.  Weird.