Falling Through The Cracks

This past Saturday, I got a collections notice from an agency in Washington State claiming to work for the Clerk’s Office of Dupage County, Illinois – this, in the matter of $169.00 the agency claimed I owed them over a traffic ticket dating back to 1998.

Yes, that’s right. Nine years ago.

As soon as I read this notice, my spider-sense immediately went off.

After all, do these idiots seriously expect me to believe that—were this claim legit, and I indeed never paid my original fine—that the Illinois DMV would have renewed my license twice since ’98 without receiving any kind of notice that matters were out of sorts?

In response, thinking I was dealing with a boiler room operation, I tore up the “collection agency’s” letter. But to cover my bases, I called the local County Clerk’s office today to see what was up – if anything.

Here’s the short version of the outcome: I was told that the original check I wrote to cover the 1998 fine bounced (which is not unbelievable as I had financial troubles that year), and I had to repay the full $169.00 now.

Yet when I asked the office guy why the hell it took his office nine full years to discover this error, I was told the government is an incredibly complex machine and that mistakes do happen.

Gee, I wonder if I skimp on this fine how long it’ll take the powers-that-be to figure it out again?

Another nine years? That would be 2016. So I figure if I play my cards right, and I can stretch together enough nine-year intervals, I’ll be nice and dead before the Clerk’s Office figures out what’s happening. And if so, woo-hoo!

Eat it, suckers!

Frisbee Armageddon: The Follow-Up

Okay, so I didn’t quite crush my competition during last weekend’s Lumber Cup disc golf tourney in Joliet.

But despite falling into a muddy creek, and playing the rest of the morning round with soaked sneakers, I enjoyed a consistent run of 23 holes, and even sank a 65-foot putt with my prized tangerine-colored Innova Shark.

Afterwards, however, I declined playing the afternoon round due to a major energy deficit (having played three hours on one chocolate zinger) and a sore shoulder, so after sampling the Saturday lunch special at a local Cracker Barrel, I drove home to chip the dried mud off my body.

As for West Park, it’s a tough, rocky course but I didn’t lose any discs. I also experimented with throwing from the right, versus doing so exclusively from the left – thus, arcing all my shots from that direction.

But I have to say I’m getting drawn into the fabulous world of disc golf quite nicely. It’s a lot cheaper than actual golf, and is challenging enough to keep you interested while not being so tough that you get frustrated and quit.

I’m also getting some friends into the game, so hey, instant golf buddies!

Enough With The Zombies, Already!

This week, during my visit to my FNCS, I commented to counter clerk Dan about Marvel’s recent merchandising deluge of all things zombie listed in their current and future dockets.

Y’know, the first Marvel Zombies mini-series wasn’t so great.

Yes, it was semi-clever, but nothing impressive. But like Hollywood gutter celebs whirling in and out of rehab like a trip to Disneyland, the dervishes at Marvel's marketing crew can’t seem to flood comic store shelves fast enough with zombie-themed crap.

Inevitably, the geniuses at Marvel will realize this so-called business plan is not sustainable.

But in the meantime, we can relish the schauenfreude of watching the truth fall on their sad little heads, as warehouses full of freshly unsold Marvel Zombie merchandise sits unloved and alone.

Old Chicago Memories

It seems most every generation has an amusement park from their childhood that is no longer in existence today.

For my father, that park was Riverview in Chicago, which lasted an incredible 63 years before finally closing in 1967. But for me—and countless other suburban Chicago kids who grew up in the 1970s—it was Old Chicago, a park based in Bolingbrook, roughly 30 minutes (by car) from my home in Lisle.

An unusual mix of retail shops and traditional amusement rides, OC was a huge, square-shaped structure right off I-55, with the park in the middle and surrounded by a shopping mall with fashions, books, mini-golf, toys, pretty much everything basic malls offer today.

Not a bad idea, marketing-wise.

However, OC was sadly not destined to last, suddenly folding in 1980 due to high debts, and a management company that didn’t see the point in going forward. This is not to say that OC was unpopular; anything but. Every time I went to the park (usually for a birthday) it was bustling with kids and parents racing to keep up with them. Plus, OC had the benefit of being fully indoors, which made it a natural kid haven from Chicago winters.

Yet I can only guess the park’s management could not pull in enough revenue and chain stores to keep everything rolling.

Today the only physical evidence that OC ever existed is a street sign, which still lists the frontage road that lead into the park. Today the same area once occupied by OC—to the best of my knowledge—is used for retail car storage beside a truck stop where hookers help the long miles melt away (at $20 a pop) for so many lonesome haulers.

The rest of what OC was now only exists as scattered souvenirs, and the memories of kids who played there, speaking of which, here’s one of mine:

Remember that scene from “A Christmas Story” wherein Ralphie soberly learns the secret radio message relayed from Little Orphan Annie (and decipherable only by those with decoder pins) is just a “crummy commercial”?

Well, I learned a similar boyhood lesson on truth-in-advertising at OC, when in the late 70s, the park began a TV campaign billing a mysterious new ride dubbed The Monster of The Midway.

The reason why “The Monster” was so mysterious is that the ride was hidden in a huge, circular enclosure, and none of us chilluns knew what was inside. However, those brave enough to check it out were promised a free t-shirt which (I believe) read “I Survived The Monster of The Midway.”

That was enough for me.

As anyone who knows me can attest to, I’ll do just about anything for a free tee. I am that much of a consumer whore.

Well, long story short, after I talked my dad into going on the Monster with me one weekend, I finally peeked into the ride’s enclosure to discover it was, in fact, a Scrambler. Yes, the same basic ride native to countless state fairs and traveling carnivals: a goddamn, run-of-the-mill Scrambler, albeit here with flashing lights, sound effects, and smoke machines added for dramatic effect.

A Scrambler

Today, I have to give whoever came up with The Monster of The Midway credit.

The gag sure worked on me, and ginned up a flurry of local kid excitement (and by extension, parent-generated buckage) over something so ordinary.

At any rate, for more Old Chicago memories, click here for a solid tribute site listing all sorts of history and memorabilia.

A 19th Century Intervention

For some reason, today I recalled this scene from an early ‘80s episode of “Little House on The Prairie” in which adopted Ingalls son Albert (Matthew Laberteaux) goes into withdrawal after becoming a morphine addict.

When I first saw the following TV scene as a 14-year-old (especially the part where Laberteaux yaks up a substance that is clearly milk) I vividly recall bursting into laughter, and my mother scolding me for my lack of sensitivity.

But you know what? The scene is as hilarious today as it was back then.

Spoiler Alert: In case you're wondering, Albert indeed kicks his antebellum smack habit. But later on in the series, he dies of Scarlet Fever.

What a pisser.

The Dumbest TV Cop In History

As longtime viewers of “The Shield” viewers are aware, Strike Team Detective Shane Vendrell has a vexing habit of thinking he’s way, way smarter than he truly is, and as a result, often ends up dragging down others when the consequences of his actions arrive.

Over the history of the show, examples of Shane’s hit parade of short-sightedness abounds: Shane tries to one-up crime boss Antwon Mitchell only to become his personal bitch; Shane murders fellow cop Curtis Lemansky and blackmails Vic Mackey into keeping quiet, and; in the latest example of Shane’s brilliance: he confesses the Strike Team’s involvement in Season Two’s heist of the Armenian mob’s money train (to the current leader of the mob, no less).

(Of course, Shane was also in on the robbery, but he neglected to mention that.)

Now, “The Shield’s” latest season finale (airing tomorrow night on FX) has Shane—as a flunky of the Armenians—scrambling to protect Vic's wife and kids, albeit by placing them in the back of a truck at gunpoint.

As Shane, Walton Goggins is a solid actor, but it’s long since time for his character to pay the piper and eat a bullet for his record of stupidity.

If this indeed happens, no doubt the words: “I Never Meant For Things To Get This Bad” will be etched on Shane’s headstone.

“Oh, please please please pull the trigger!”

Frisbee Armageddon

This Saturday, I’ll be in beautiful Joliet, Illinois, to take part in my first disc golf tournament, The Lumber Cup, which I intend to hold high in victory and smash over the heads of my fallen opponents.

I got some practice this past weekend at an area course, so I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, albeit at a novice level of competition. I also have a nifty new driver disc I’m eager to test out.

Perhaps, with God’s help, I won’t lose it in a water hazard.

Pray for me.