Chicago, Beer, and Jenna Fischer

Run, Tammy, Run
My wife Tammy has been on a months-long odyssey that will culminate this Sunday when she will complete the Chicago Marathon.

When she embarked on this journey, at the urging of a friend in NYC who was looking for a figurative mountain to climb, I had my doubts that Tammy was up to running 26 miles. It wasn’t her fitness or determination that I questioned, it was the not-insignificant fact that she wasn’t a runner. Swimming, ellipticalling, yoga-ing, weightlifting – yes. But she didn’t run and didn’t really like running so the idea that she would be able to run a marathon seemed as likely as me being able to sit through a James Blunt concert.

Well, I’m about to be proven foolish once again. She’s already completed a 20-mile run during her training regimen, so barring an injury or an alarm clock with a confounding AM/PM button, she’ll be crossing the finish line sometime Sunday afternoon, and most likely won’t stop until she reaches the nearest saloon.

God's Speed, Tammy and Tara!

Wo der schadenfreude ist?*
I turned to the sports page this morning to see how the Cubs fared. After reading the score, I wanted to be happy that they lost again – honest I did. But there was something missing. Where was the spite? Where was the schadenfreude? What demon had invaded my soul, leaving me incapable of finding joy in the simplest and most common of life’s pleasures?

The truth is, the Cubs two games to none deficit has left me feeling conflicted. I think of certain friends, nephews and brothers-in-law – and, yes, even Ron Santo, the poster boy for pathos – and I can’t help but feel sad that they are being denied a chance to celebrate after suffering through futility for so long. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if the Cubs finally won it all. But just once.

Imitation Friday Beer Blogging
I have an article in the Heartland Magazine today on breweriana (beer-related items) collectors. They’re having their annual show at the Signature Inn tomorrow from 9:00 am until 2 pm. As you all probably know, the Signature Inn is on Stevenson, not Dirksen, as I mistakenly wrote in the article. I’m an idiot and have no excuse.

Anyway, if any of you bloggers-of-a-certain-age want to rekindle your passion for beer can collecting (it was quite the rage in the 70s and early 80s), or if any of you younger types are ready to moth ball those Pokemon cards and want to start collecting something more adult in nature, you should head on over to the Signature tomorrow. The people I interviewed for the story are really interesting and fun. Just don’t ask if you can drink one of their 65-year-old pilsners. Unlike wine, beer doesn’t become refined with age.

Love Office Style
I normally don’t get caught up in the romantic, will they or won’t they story lines that are woven into sitcoms. I’m in it strictly for the laughs. I must admit, however, that I was a bit touched when Pam and Jim were holding hands in last week’s episode of the Office. I really hope those two kids make it.

Isn't Pam just adorable?



*This was translated using an online program and as such is probably unintelligible to our German-speaking friends.