What the Hell Happened Here?

Colin and I spotted a banged-up truck on Parthenia somewhere between DeSoto and Winnetka and snapped this photo on the way back to the office. From both directions (to lunch and back, that is), the appearance of the damage made it seem as though it must have been inflicted from above. I’m sure there’s some rational explanation for it, but I prefer to think a small UFO made a not-so-soft landing in the truck’s bed.

My Vice: Pizza

I wish I knew how to quit you.

For the first few years of my life, my parents ran a pizzeria. After the divorce, Mom continued to run it herself for a while. Our babysitters, who were high school students, opted to call over to the pizzeria for our dinner as often as Mom would allow. The Brooklyn-style brick-oven pizzas Mom made, as taught by her FOB Italian first husband, still exist in my mind as the model of what good pizza should be like. And the calzones… I have had good calzone since then, but never anything quite comparing to the ones I had as a kid.

This addiction has taken many forms: good calzones at Huckleberry’s in Rock Island… Chicago-style stuffed pizzas from Papa Del’s and Primetime… barely edible $5 specials from Little Caesar’s… and many others.

Maybe one day I’ll find a slice that I can say no to, but that day has not come yet. That said, my first experience with anchovies a few months ago has shown me that anything’s possible.

Let the Right One In

As silly as it feels, I’ve started using this plinky.com thing, which provides daily writing prompts, to get me back into blogging. Right now I should be finishing a book I should’ve finished weeks ago, but instead I’m watching “Let the Right One In”

I guess I can get used to doing all of my best work in the eleventh hour. The real problem comes with the overwhelming sense of obligation to spend all the preceding hours sitting with my work, watching it not get done. Sigh.

and now, a haiku:

if time management
was the basis for grading
I would surely fail