loganandliz.com: the mishaps of the mr. and mrs.

While we both enjoy blogging, our contributions have become more and more sparse because of lack of time for updates. We’ll be taking down LoganAndLiz.Com in the near future.

Life | 1 Comment »

There’s nothing quite like waking up next to the one that you love. Whether I’m awake first, or wake up to catch Liz staring back at me, it’s great to start your day together. We have our little morning rituals, of course. One of which revolves around what we’ve coined “poop breafs.”

Now, you may not know it as poop breafs, but you all know what poop breafs is. Poop breafs is that not-so-fresh tasting, even-worse smelling breaf that you get in the morning. No matter how dilligently you brush, floss, mouthwash, bleach, etc. the night before, there’s no kicking the kick of poop breafs.

And so, we have a daily contest. We each try to catch the other off guard, and then attack with a huge burst of poop breafs in their face. The victim of the attack usually mock faints from the smell for dramatic effect. It varies day to day as to who wins. It just depends on who is functioning best at 5 a.m. And on the weekends, we actually base it on smell alone. In which case, there would definitely be a clear winner…

Tito. No crap.

Life, Tito | 1 Comment »

Ah, Thanksgiving. A time to gather with loved ones and give thanks. And a time rich with family traditions. Breaking the wish bone. Watching football. And our family’s favorite, intensely competitive board games, culminating in a life-or-death game of Pictionary. The gameplay is so intense that you truly have to experience it in order to believe it. The origin of this tradition dates back a few years.

When we were young, my cousins Tom & Rachael and my brothers and I used to play games against our parents. We’d have to wait for hours to get our turn at playing a special game where it was both kids AND adults. And when that time came, let it be known that some participants (cough * Aunt Robin * cough) were highly competitive. There was no mercy shown against us, despite the gap in age.

Fast forward fifteen years or so. Board games were re-introduced at Thanksgiving with the “kids” (who were now adults) taking on the adults (who were now–well, 15 years older). And despite the gap in age, we didn’t have any mercy on them. This was especially true in Pictionary, where it was sometimes hard for certain members to read the game cards.

The intensity was taken to new heights in 2006 when the “kids” had made it all the way around the game board in a single turn. We were on the final, salmon-colored All Play square. Representing the “kids” was my brother Brent; Aunt Donna was representing the adults.

After the “kids” correctly guessed from Brent’s drawing, Aunt Donna contested the win. She called Brent out on drawing an object from another category. In actuality, Aunt Donna had looked at the wrong color and accidentally drawn the incorrect item. She demanded requested a do-over, much to Brent’s chagrin. Brent ripped into her, explaining that it wasn’t his fault that she couldn’t read the right f$#%ing color, and that if she was incapable of playing correctly, perhaps she shouldn’t play at all. After deciding that we should cut them some sort of a break, we let them have the do-over. I think they may have moved a few spots on the board, but we basically owned that game.

Since that incident, the battle lines were drawn. We had a rematch in 2007, and this year attempted to do the same. However, the adults refused to play unless the teams were split differently. I guess in our old age, we’ve grown a bit of a soft spot in our hearts. We obliged their request, and split “kids” between the two teams.

I feel like it was an attempt to drive a wedge between the members of the “kids” team, breaking down our alliance. And to steal a legal strategy from the game Pictionary, “Sounds like…dullshit.”

Fun, Family | 3 Comments »

…for being relevant.

Family | 1 Comment »

We were recently invited to our friends Robert and Georgia’s daughter’s 9th birthday party at the “Inflatable Party Zone” Pump It Up. And, might I add, it was quite possibly the raddest party ever. Since we more closely match the “parent” group vs. the “children under 12″ group, we got to play for free with Georgia’s party purchase. And play we did.

There were bouncy houses, obstacle courses, giant slides–even an indoor rock climbing wall. There were strict rules about the number of people allowed within or on each attraction, no wrestling, no sliding down the slides head first–all of which were broken by the adults in attendance. Hannah’s friend Caroline ratted me out to the Pump It Up official, who took my word over hers. Luckily, I was still allowed to play.

I talked to Marshall, who runs the Pump It Up that we went to near Lincoln Park, and he confirmed that it’s rent-able for adult parties, too. Only, no alcohol allowed on the premises. He did, however, point out the location of the nearest bar, within the block.

And now, some pictures from our inflatable adventures:

Because no birthday party is complete without balloons.

Being so into extreme sports, I had to give rock climbing an attempt.

I’m such a big kid.

Georgia and Liz could use a hand getting back up after taking each other down. Video clip of Liz vs. Georgia posted here at our Flickr album.

Fun | 1 Comment »

“If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.

It’s the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches in numbers this nation has never seen; by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the very first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different; that their voice could be that difference.

It’s the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Latino, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled – Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been a collection of Red States and Blue States: we are, and always will be, the United States of America.

It’s the answer that led those who have been told for so long by so many to be cynical, and fearful, and doubtful of what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day.

It’s been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this day, in this election, at this defining moment, change has come to America…”

-Barack Obama
Grant Park Election Rally
11/4/2008

Life | 1 Comment »

Election day is here, so if you haven’t already done so, go vote. You can find your local polling place with some easy help from Google.

One of my favorite election season traditions is the Presidential Cookie Poll by Cincinnati’s very own Busken Bakery. It began in 1984, and has continued with every Presidential Election since. All of the area Busken bakery locations sell cookies bearing caricatures of each Presidential Candidate (and now, via Internet and phone orders). Busken tracks sales of the cookies to determine the Cookie Poll winner.

While this may not sound like the most scientific poll, it seems that Busken may, in fact, have a recipe for accurately predicting the winner of the race. As Ad Age cited, since its “inception in 1984, it has accurately predicted the winner of the presidential election every four years and never been further than 4 percentage points from the final popular vote tally nationwide.”

So, who is Cincinnati sweet on this year?

As of 11/4/2008, Senator Barack Obama leads Senator John McCain, 12,719 cookies to 5,564 cookies. Now that’s what I call sweet. I just hope that Busken’s prediction holds true tonight.

Fun, Food and Drinks | 2 Comments »

For those who have never ridden the Metra let me give you the scoop. Cranky old business people with a pissy attitude toward life. That being said, they pretty much suck the joy out of a potentially cool sitation. The train could be the raddest thing ever. The problem is people push you over like it’s a riot, eyeball the crap out of you when you’re just looking for a seat, and–in general–look like their lives are completely wretched. As Logan discovered last week, there are some unspoken rules of the Metra. Thou shalt not talk on your cell phone. Thou shalt not listen to their iPod at a level that’s too audible. Thou shalt not put their bookbag on the seat, even if it’s just to get their monthly pass out. You get the idea.

Well, I’m just not having any of this. It’s way too serious, and I’ve gotta let off some steam and sillies, especially on the way home. In the morning I can at least appreciate the rules as I snooze in to Union Station nearly every day. But on the way home; you think you’re gonna put me in a train car packed with old, grumpy, serious people for a 50-minute ride and expect me to behave? I don’t think so.

One day when I was feeling particularly feisty, I invented a game that we later coined “Name those Tracks”. I’ve found that it’s more fun (and less embarrassing) when Logan plays along, mostly b/c people look at you kinda funny if you’re breaking it down in the middle of the train and you’re doing it alone.

So by now you’re probably wondering how to play. Here goes.

• Step one: Set your iPod to shuffle.
• Step two: Look at the song title, and try to get your partner to guess what song is playing.

It’s that simple. It can be done in one of two ways; you can play charades with the song title or parts of the song (I’ve found that the chorus typically works best), or you lip sync and seat-dance wildly to the beat. The only rule to this game is that if you’re gonna do it, do it up BIG. It really gets people going. Sometimes the game even continues through the Route 59 tunnel and out into the parking lot. Apparently, that’s when you really become the center of attention.

The first time I introduced this game, Logan was completely and utterly embarrassed. He tried “the look,” the gentle nudge, the knee slam…anything he could do to get me to stop without making a scene. But alas, my silliness persevered, and by the end of the ride, he was happily playing along, despite the rotten looks. Speaking of those rotten looks, we’re getting less and less each day, which I suppose is a good thing. Let’s just say Logan and Liz officially rock the Metra’s post work party–even if we are the only two attending.

;)

Work, Fun | 2 Comments »

Last night, our neighborhood had trick or treat (this was the first time in my life I’ve ever had a trick or treater!) followed by a costume parade and Halloween party in the town square. Did I mention we live in Pleasantville? Being new to the neighborhood, Liz and I decided to get costumed up and mingle with the other residents. We dressed up as The Spartan Cheerleaders, which went over really well with the crowd. At one point, we even busted out our own “Perfect Cheer.”

Our candy. We went cheap, but gave multiple pieces. Quantity over quality.

The adult treat bucket.

Liz as “Arianna.”

Logan as “Craig.”

Warming up the crowd at the Town Square party.

Fun | 3 Comments »

I briefly mentioned in our last post that we moved on October 4th. We’ve given up the luxurious city life for Chicago’s suburbs, complete with parking spaces, fine dining establishments like Chili’s and a Macy’s grouped by type of clothes (i.e. men’s jeans) vs. by designer collections. And we couldn’t be happier.

One of the biggest adjustments to our move is the fact that we’re now using the Metra commuter train to get from the Route 59 stop into downtown Chicago. In order for Liz to get to work by 7:15 a.m., we catch the 6:18 a.m. inbound train. Our train arrives at Union Station at 7:02 a.m., and she walks a few blocks to work. I either walk or use public transportation (depending on the degree outside and degree of my personal laziness).

Today I deemed it too cold to walk to work. The CTA’s 157 Streeterville bus picks up right outside Union Station’s doors and drops off right at Wacker and Dearborn. So when I opt for public trans I log approximately 54 steps on my pedometer.

As we approach Union Station, I checked CTATracker.Com to see the approximate arrival time of aforementioned 157 bus. Its estimated arrival time is 6 minutes. And we’re at least 2 minutes from pulling up to the platform to disembark. I began to worry, knowing that the unloading and filing through Union Station is a process that I can liken only to a stampede, making it nearly impossible to get out in under 5 minutes.

Liz and I decided to take to the aisle at an attempt to get a head start. As we begin to unload, I notice that everyone is stopping to let the people in each row out as they make their way towards the exit. What is this a wedding? It’s not like we have ushers that are dismissing us. I’ve got places to go, people. If I miss this bus, the next one will be between 20 and 25 minutes later. By then, I could already be at work–even by foot.

As I approach the seats in the next row, I decide that there’s no more Mr. Nice Guy. I continue forging ahead without making eye contact with the people in that row. I don’t want to give them a false acknowledgment that says ‘Yes, you can cut in front of me. I’m in no hurry.’

A tall, slender middle-aged woman with librarian-style glasses, driving gloves, a cheap promotional give-away (the ones that say–like–National City Bank) messenger bag and big (not in a good way) hair steps out in front of me and then immediately stops. There’s apparently congestion at the exit door. Quite the opportunist, the woman that was sitting next to her is trying to force herself in front of me. I cut her off. She clears her throat. I don’t acknowledge her, but I do put on my gloves. I continue to avoid eye contact altogether and instead decide to look straight ahead at the back/side of the big-haired lady. She looks at the opportunistic woman while condescendingly saying, “He obviously doesn’t know the rules of the train.”

Now, I’m relatively new to this Metra gig, but I did my homework. I read through the New Riders Guide and there is nothing that says that when departing the train one must stop and let every single person in all rows between one and the exit out in front of them. If such a rule existed, I certainly wouldn’t stand up before we’ve even reached Union Station to try to get off of the train more quickly.

I like to think that I’m a polite person. I open doors for women. I hold elevator doors when I see people sprinting to try and make it. I even bring co-workers their print jobs from the printer to their cubicle. And on most days, I wouldn’t care to let someone out in front of me. To me, it’s similar to when you’re in congested traffic and are merging: you go one and one, like a zipper. But to let every single person out? That’s a bit ridiculous.

And it’s one thing for this woman to be frustrated, but entirely different to personally call me out as if I had committed a cardinal sin because I didn’t follow the etiquette of the Elite Metra Commuter crowd. I felt like Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter; I thought she was going to give me a giant red A to wear around on the train, only mine would stand for Asshole.

I missed my bus. And as I suspected, the next one was 24 minutes away. So I walked to work against the whipping wind of Chicago. What a way to start off the week. This incident has totally derailed my start to a great week.

Life | 2 Comments »