No Turkey Legs in Chicago

Taste of Chicago will not be the same this year. Tim McGivern has been providing turkey legs at Taste since 1981.
“Over the last couple of years, I’ve had health issues; my knee and spine are not good. My doctors more or less advised against it,” McGivern told the Chicago Tribune.
The same thing happened at Taste of Warsaw and there will be no ice cubes this year.

At least those hearty Chicagoans can enjoy these pictures of me eating turkey legs.

Song of the Week

"Duke of Earl" - Gene Chandler
One of the best doo-wop songs ever and my choice for best song of 1962. This song is 50 years old. If Papa Poop ever read this blog he would feel very old.

Can't Take a Compliment, Or a Joke

Women's groups are furious over this sign at the MarketFair Mall in New Jersey. The signs says "We apologize for the whistling construction workers, but man you look good. So will we soon, pardon our dust, dirt and other assorted inconveniences."




This offensive sign makes a joke of the horrible street crime of whistling at women. I don't understand it from personal experience but I suppose I can understand how being whistled at can be annoying perhaps even offensive.
But I don't see how making a joke about something upsetting is equally upsetting. Getting whistled at by construction workers is not assault, it's a nuisance. A sign about getting whistled at is none of those.

I Almost Had to Use My AK

While driving home on my birthday I found myself in surprisingly heavy traffic on Fair Lawn Avenue. I needed to be in the left lane to make a turn at the next intersection. Traffic was slow so I weaseled my way in. Even though I had my signal on the guy behind me chose to lean on his horn. After I made my left turn, he followed behind me. So I pulled over to let him by, just to get away from him.

He stopped next to me and screamed out the window:
“What’s your fuckin problem?” (He’s screaming at me, and I’m the one with the problem?)
“We were going 5 miles an hour you could have let me in.” (I didn’t scream. I said it so quietly he had to ask me to repeat myself.)
“I wasn’t behind you, I was alongside of you, you cut me off.” (He was behind me, or else I would have hit him when I changed lanes. I do admit to cutting him off, but only because he wasn’t courteous enough to see that I was trying to get over and let me in.)
“Just go, move on with your day.” (I was done with this discussion.)
“Go fuck yourself pal.” (Then he drove away, making a u-turn, meaning he wasn’t going the same way, he purposely followed me.)


But don't worry this didn't ruin my birthday. I actually enjoyed it, for three reasons.
I enjoy new experiences.
I like having stories to tell, keeps this blog interesting for the Poopheads with vaginas who get tired of the constant sports coverage.
And the biggest reason I was happy about it, I recognized the guy. He's an annoying father I occasionally see at the playground. He saw me wearing a Syracuse shirt once (or twice, or ten times, I pretty much wear one every day) and he told me he was raised in that area but didn't go to SU. Every time I see him he chews my ear off about SU sports (I believe the first time I ever saw him was the day Fab Melo got suspended for the tournament).
And now, I won't ever have to talk to him again. And it didn't even cost me $20 ("A Bronx Tale" reference).