In which the blogger vows to never, ever, under any circumstance, swim in the river

Alligator found in Chicago River
June 20, 2008

FROM STNG WIRE REPORTS
An alligator was found in the Chicago River on the South Side Friday afternoon, police said.
The alligator, which is about 5 1/2 to 6 feet long, was found near 37th Street and the Chicago River about 2:15 p.m. by a citizen who called police, according to police News Affairs Officer John Mirabelli.

The city’s department of Animal Care & Control, 2741 S. Western Ave., took the alligator, which was alive, and no injuries were reported, Mirabelli said.

Animal Care & Control spokesman Mark Rosenthal said they responded about 1:30 p.m. to 1200 W. 37th Street after a worker, possibly from Midland Steel, contacted them when they saw the reptile in the water, near the river’s bank.

“The suspicion is that it’s someone’s pet that was released at some point in time and obviously, was able to survive and did quite well,’’ Rosenthal said.

The alligator has teeth, but is not an adult. It is about 4 or 5-years-old and is about 4 feet long. They eat fish are unpredictable around humans. The alligator was found in an area called Bubbly Creek where large carp were also swimming nearby.

“We had great assistance from a member of the Chicago Herpetological Society, the group that studies reptiles,” he said.

One member of the society was able to use a noose-type rope and was able to “snag’’ it and safely bring it in, Rosenthal said. The society is in charge of finding a proper home for the alligator.

“It’s an exotic animal that should not be swimming around the river,’’ according to Rosenthal, who said no one was hurt in the incident or capture.

In which the blogger finally, after months of procrastinating, begins an exhaustive list of what he's reading lately

Books > Amazon Kindle.

I read constantly. I'm picky, but I'll try anything. I'm judgy, though there's always something redeeming in any book. Even in Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. I'm a geek for fantasy, and not just the kind where I get hazed into the frat (Hi honey!). I like 'em big, small, long, short, hardcover, paperback, no cover, dog-eared, bookmarked, coffee-stained, creased, highlighted, old, new, trashy, dramatic, dry, relevant, irreverant, dirty, full of lessons, nice, mean, double-spaced, shiny, dull...

What follows is my constantly updated and I'm sure schizophrenic list of reads, beginning a few weeks back, for the purposes of archiving the millions of words that I experience. Suggestions welcome.

5/14 - 5/21: The Brother's War, Jeff Grubb; "It was the night before the end of the world..."
5/21 - 5-25: Planeswalker, Lynn Abbey; "A man descended..."
5/25 - 5/30: Time Streams, J. Robert King; "Urza says he's sane. Perhaps he is."
5/27 - 5/29: The Orchid Thief, Susan Orlean; "In the case of the orchid story I was interested to see the words "swamp" and "orchids" and "Seminoles" and "cloning" and "criminal" together in one short piece."
6/1 - 6/7: The Sex Lives of Cannibals, J. Marten Troost; "One day, I moved with my girlfriend Sylvia to an atoll in the Equatorial Pacific. The atoll was called Tarawa, and should a devout believer in a flat earth ever alight upon its meager shore he (or she) would have to accept that he (or she) had reached the end of the world."
6/3 - 6/8: Starless Night: The Legend of Drizzt Book VIII, R.A. Salvatore; "The mercenary leaned against the pillar anchoring the wide stairway of Tier Breche, on the northern side of the great cavern that housed Menzoberranzan..."
6/8 - 6/17: I Am Not Myself These Days, Josh Kilmer-Purcell; "Things in New York sparkle a lot longer than you'd expect before they burn out."
6/17 - present: Jemima J, Jane Green; "You don't need to know much about my background, suffice to say that my childhood wasn't happy, that I never felt loved, that I never got over my parents' divorce as a young child, and that now, as an adult, the only time I feel really comforted is when I seek solace in food."

VIDEO: "Get Me Bodied (Extended Mix) #3 - The Sims 2

Shut the fuck up.

VIDEO: Cause the Gays Are Getting Married

I'm with Marc Felion: this is old, but brand-new to me, and, um...hilarious. Also: true.

In which the blogger fights with the voice in his head, which sounds much more fun and far less exhausting than it actually is

I keep asking myself, "What do you want?"

Frustrated, myself answers, "When has anyone ever known the answer to that question?"

Me: "Everyone else seems so...mobile. Moving in a direction. They have momentum. I, on the other hand, feel like I'm burning up all my fuel spinning my tires."
Myself: "You just made a car reference."
Me: "I know. Ew. But you get what I mean."
Myself: "Sure."
Me: "Why does it feel that way? Does everyone else have this built-in capacity to confidently move in their respective directions that I lack? And, if they do, why do I lack it?"
Myself: "You're younger than most of those people, for one, and need I remind you-- you were immensely successful once. It doesn't mean you're done. You've always worried about this."
Me: "Yeah, and look what it's gotten me. ADD; a very serious anxiety issue; a solid track record of hurt; an acute inability to trust; this sense of stalling in so many things..."
Myself: "A bottomless potential for creativity; an ability to see through the bullshit; the ability to love someone deeper than most; talent; intelligence; a mystique."
Me: "A mystique?"
Myself: "Yes. I also doesn't hurt that you have a tight ass and flat stomach."
Me: "Okay, fine."
Myself: "You're in a holding pattern right now, and that's okay. You really think you're the only one who hasn't figured all this stuff out? Please. Listen to those people sometime, will ya? It's okay to maintain stability while finding the answer to that question up there. "
Me: "What if I don't?"
Myself: "What if you get hit by a train??"
Me: "I really don't like you somedays."
Myself: "But some days you see how luminous I really am."

VIDEO: Get Me Bodied (Extended Mix) #2 - Big Girl Remix

A few points, before we begin:

1. I've seen amateur drag queens who know their words better than these two.
2. Some of the things executed in this video were non-consentual. I did not ask for them. I needed to exfoliate after my initial screening.
3. When all else fails, swing your weave.
4. One of the performers is named "Ton". Oh, and she has a YouTube channel.
5. I can't help loving it when big girls own it for themselves.
6. The end of the video is like a Bizarro-world Maya Angelou card.

In which the blogger shares an IM conversation with his childhood friend, the girl next-door

Felix Bedingfield: Now you're trolling for interwebs sex instead of updating your blog!
Felix Bedingfield: Sex > blog
Gail T Kismet: Doesn't matter. I can't masturbate anyway.
Felix Bedingfield: Girl, you got a broom.
Gail T Kismet: Ew.
Gail T Kismet: ...and what's that going to do for clitoral stimulation, gay boy?
Felix Bedingfield: I don't listen to hip hop.

VIDEO: Bea Arthur's Sex and the City

...starring Bea Arthur, Charlotte Rae, Sally Struthers, and Katherine Helmond.

Food Thoughts: Vol. 1, Butternut Squash Risotto

My boyfriend the gourmand has generously thrown his lot into my little blog experiment, penning this, the first installment of his semi-regular segment, "Food Thoughts". Listen to him. He knows what he's talking about. His food has inspired tears. And he has a really cute butt.

Really cute.

-------------------------------------------------

My name is Alan and I have a cookbook problem.

No really. I love ‘em. I buy more than I could possibly use. I have fully replaced the need for fiction authors in my life with Mark Bittman and Alice Waters. I value the real CIA (Culinary Institute of America) more that phony front in Quantico, VA. Seriously. It’s an issue.

The good news is that I’m not content to let all the culinary knowledge go to waste. Every weekend I hunker down in the kitchen to try to craft something delicious for Felix and the rest of my taste-testing panel (or “friends,” as some prefer to be called).

So you’ve already read about Felix and my experience at Flub a Dub’s. And yes: it was very good. Between the food and Sam, it’s a must visit in Lakeview. But it was exactly heart healthy…not that I care. But it was the best excuse I could come up with to try out my newest acquisition, Vegetable Love by Barbara Kafka. Now, I’m not a vegetarian (“Not that there’s anything wrong with that!”), but growing up on a farm does give me a soft spot for all things flora. So I skimmed through the chapters, offering suggestions:

Me: “What about cucumber soup?”
Felix: “No soup. Are you mental? It’s summer in Chicago.”
Me: “But it’s a chilled soup!”
Felix: “Ew.”
Me: “Ok, what about lamb and beet stew?”
Felix: “Stew is a soup.”
Me: “Well, no actually. A stew is much more…”
Felix shoots his patterned cold, blank stare
Me: “Fine. What about butternut squash risotto?”

Hence, dinner was conceived! I bet this is how Thomas Keller sets all his menus…

So here we can see the opening credits for this dish.


Nothing too crazy or out of the norm for a risotto: onion, garlic, olive oil, aborrio rice. The usually cast of characters. The next step was prepping things. I have gotten pretty good over the years at chopping garlic and onions, so no worries there. However, I don’t deal with squash on a regular basis. The first step was to skin the little bugger. You start by lopping of the top and the bottom…just to square the thing off and take some of the roly-poly out of it.


Next run your chef’s knife down the sleek curves of the squash, taking off the skin but as much flesh as possible. Squash skin is pretty tough stuff, but you don’t need to be Lou Ferrigamo (or the newly buff Ed Norton) to pull this off. Then, simply half the thing and remove the seeds with a spoon.

The next step is grating the squash. This can get ugly in a couple ways:

1) Make peace with the fact that your going to get squash goo on you. However, here’s a tip for keeping things fairly clean: always place your box greater in the middle of larger plastic cutting board and simply grate onto that. This will allow the slim to fly on an easily cleanable area and avoid the whole pressure of having to get the squash to land in a bowl.

2) As with anything involving a box grater, you have to try not to be mesmerized by the grating action. It’s tempting to space out a little once you get on a roll, but resist. Your knuckles will thank you.


So, as you can see, I grated a bit and cubed a bit.

Next we bring on the heat. There was no pan specified in the recipe (“large” and “shallow” where the best describers I had to go on) so I just grabbed my 11” sauté pan and went to work melting butter with oil olive.

Then you throw in the rice and cook it with the butter for a couple minutes. I’m not sure exactly what this step does, but every recipe for risotto calls for it. Maybe to toast the rice to deepen the flavor? No clue. Maybe one of you foodies could help me out…


Add the onions and garlic and cook until they smell amazing.


Next, we introduce the title character: the butternut squash. Dumping in the grated orange goodness...NOW!


At this point, everything looked good. Nice color; good smell. Once the squash is heated through, you start with the part of risotto that everyone hears about and runs from…the stirring. I’ve read a couple varying opinions about how necessary the stirring actually is, but I, for one, thing this probably pretty important.

First add some wine. (Oh, most of the recipes we do involve wine/beer/vodka. What? You have your hobbies...) And stir. Once that’s gone, add some beef stock. And stir. Once that’s cooked out, add some more beef stock. And stir.

It’s really not as arduous as it sounds, but it takes a while. That’s the way with good food…no matter what Ms. Ray tells you.


Once all the requisite liquid is absorbed, add the cubed squash, a shake of nutmeg, and a little more stock. Let that cook through, and finish by mixing in some grated Parmesan.

Let’s talk about my lazy choice in Parmesan. Usually, I buy a nice block of the stuff and happily grate away. This time, however, I was a dope and used the pre-shredded parm. Sadly, this not an acceptable substitute. It’s dry and melts (not to mention tastes) more like shards of plastic than delicious cheesy goodness. Live and learn.


Voila!

Overall, the dish was a solid risotto. I’m not very good about self-rating my food…I’d say maybe 3.5 out of 5. It’s not main-course-worthy, but would make a killer side to some pork chops.

VIDEO: "Get Me Bodied (Extended Mix)" #1 -- Mr. Beyonce

I'm fascinated by the phenomenon of homemade "Get Me Bodied (Extended Mix)" dance videos on YouTube. I have no idea what causes this. My odd curiousity regarding the uber self-confident? A morbid fascination with the strange? A voyeurism that extends to poorly decorated row house bedrooms?? I logged onto WebMD and everything, and I still don't know what it is about these that demands my attention.

I can't hold it inside any longer. There's beauty in release, and it is in that spirit I bequeath these oddities to my readers, beginning with the man(?) we lovingly refer to as Mr. Beyonce. Please...SOMEONE explain the costume and lighting choices. WHO IS HOLDING THE CAMERA?!

I urge you, reader, to watch 'til the end -- the "Naomi Campbell walk" is without parallel. Shout out to Aisha and Tamiyah!

In which the blogger regrets circumstances of the weekend, leading to an essay on the physicality of anxiety

I want to explore what a panic attack feels like for me.

It begins with mile-a-minute images and ideas that strobe through my mind. They’re centered loosely around something I can’t control: emotional pain, social discomfort, distrust. The sensation is very frontal, as if the synapses are more than electrical impulses surging through my nerves. It’s tangible, this jerking knot of thoughts, shreds of words, little shards of worry and self-doubt. I feel it right behind my forehead, loud and insistent. It’s frustrating that once I clue in to this sequence, I’m already late to the party. These thoughts liquefy and seep down my spine. Muscles along the way tense. My arms begin their lockdown procedure against my sides, each fingertip tingles and freezes. I’m sure my palms sweat. At this point, I try to evacuate a room.

The feeling of emptiness, hollowness in my organs, is extremely disorienting. Each fiber of muscle empties itself, so the tightness feels fragile. I experience my esophagus and the top of my stomach. All the while, the tangle in my brain is crystallizing, encoding itself. I’m suddenly unable to focus on anything beside my object of perseveration.

This is when the “panic” starts. My lungs deflate and desperately begin trying to fill themselves. Hyperventilation. I hate the sounds my throat makes as I attempt to contain this. Fear settles in because of the lack of oxygen, and the worry becomes laced with real terror. My body rebels against itself, seems to deny its natural processes. Heart races. Abdomen constricts. Knees wobble. Ears ring. I’m shaking and I know it because the concerted gasps for air are quivering.

The solution lies in distracting my body from it’s manifestations of my anxiety. Usually, I snap a rubber band against my wrist or pinch my inner arm. These little pains are things my mind can’t deny, so a shift in focus slowly starts to occur. Most times, I’m on the phone at this point, having asked a friend to talk to me about anything, everything, allowing me to focus on their stories instead of my own. I’m walking, too.

It’s over in a matter of minutes, and the resulting gush of adrenaline makes me hyper-aware of my body. I’m immediately hungry, or thirsty, or hot, or cold. It’s like my mind snaps back into shape and is taking inventory. The best times see me returning to work, or a room, with a kind of chemical buzz. The worst are when a fight ensues over the very thing I was worried about, or I have to try to explain to someone who has never had the experience what it’s like. How do you explain how it feels when your body physically rejects your thoughts? How it feels to be a mere spectator to the whole event? In writing this, I’m hoping I can find an answer to that.

Restaurant: Flub A Dub Chub's Hotdog Emporium

They're phallic. They're juicy. They're steaming hot and anthropomorphized on the storefront.



Owned by Sam Giarratano, among the more personable and friendly guys I've met, Flub A Dub Chub's is a bit hard to find. Look for it hidden below street level, wedged into the tiny space next-door to La Tavernetta, beneath Monsignor Murphy's and an astrologer's studio. One walks down a narrow set on concrete steps, past the window that today was hand-painted "Congradulations, Gay Pride!" (the misspelling made it all the more sweet), and hangs a right to enter a dining room no larger than a Lakeview studio apartment. The entire place is finished in glossy red and white, with the iconic plastic ketchup and mustard bottles bookending black vinyl napkins dispensers on high tabletops. It's all American, from the chrome stools to the vintage posters on the walls. There's even a stack of newspapers and a magazine rack (Vogue, Chicago Social, Southern Living), just in case you want them.


Sam greeted us on the street, a big "Hi fellas!", and led us into his space. We ordered, Alan choosing The Ultimate Mr. Big (a Vienna beef frank covered in chili, cheese, and raw onions), and me picking The Speiser (hot dog, chili, cheese, jalapenos). Sam even personally set up the patio table out front for us, asking us what he should be expecting from this year's Pride parade (the first since the restaurant opened five months ago). Alan suggested hosting a hot dog eating contest for the event. Sam just kept talking up the passers-by.


Now, it must be said: these portions are huge. Both our lunches arrived in plastic baskets with plastic silverware, accompanied by fat, greasy fries and a stack of napkins. It's simple...dog, chili, cheese, and lots of it. My arteries are still crying out, but I almost emptied my basket.

I realize it's no gourmet entree, but places like this, with owners like Sam, deserve mentioning. Check it out.