Sounds About Right: My 1st Comic Strip

I've been inspired by friend & fellow comedian Dale Zawada to use the simple yet direct Rage Maker comic strip template. Dale's 'Adventures in Comedy' is personally one of my favorite things that is done weekly by a comedian. I hope to follow suit with my own comic. "Sounds About Right" is an expression my brother and I would say constantly growing up when life basically punched us in the face. Perhaps, "Sounds About Right" is the rich man's "it is what it is" in regards to surrendering to some absurd B.S. I hope you enjoy it, share it and come back for more personal stories drawn out.

Pan-handled in the Loop

I've worked in Chicago going on three years now. Some of my fondest moments are of helping others in this city. However, let's be honest making the same commute and seeing the same pan-handlers in the same spot for years is an odd social commentary.

The best pan handler out there is the musical pan-handler. Now conventional wisdom says, if one is going to show they're really seriously in need, forgo the string section and hit up the brass or woodwind section. I fear that someday I may be a father and my child will want to have music lessons. No problem as long as they stay away from the saxophone. There seems to be only 2 paths of the saxophone; jam band member or headlining during rush hour on a bridge or under it for that matter.

I walked by a guy jamming the 'Bear down Chicago Bears' song on the sax and it was a nice touch to a long work day. It was getting cold as the sun set but no excuses, he did stumble a bit. Now he's telling us that not only does he need cash, a job, and a warm place to stay, but some lessons wouldn't hurt either. By far, the best musical pan-handler in Chicago is on the Madison Street bridge from about 4-6p. He rocks out on a couple drums. Seeing the state of our economy, I will never judge one's perspective on what qualifies as a legitimate 'investment opportunity.' Odds are his returns will be ten fold to any social security for my generation.

Yesterday I found myself in an odd position. I was cashing a check. I went in to a bank and felt like it was 1997 again. The 'personal bankers' at Chase are pacing around worse than a shady car salesman. As I am endorsing the check I am approached by an elderly woman who rocks my world. 'Can you spare a dollar?' Wait did I just get pan-handled in a bank? In a bank? Either you're oblivious or an innovator. It makes perfect sense to me. Everyone says 'sorry, I don't have any change.' When you ask them right at the ATM what else can we say besides 'I'm sorry I don't have...well I guess I don't care.'

Stronger than Volcanic Rock

Yesterday I took up the offer of an very expensive tennis club to let me join morning cardio tennis class for free. What a work out. I know I'm in need of cardio help when the warm up cashes me out. I had a blast and did pretty well I must say.

During the session we did drills and some basic games that were flashbacks to high school tennis. What's great is that the rest of the regulars know each other and may be able to out skill me most of the time. Enter my overhead smash. Nothing like seeing older people take steps back as I wind up to make them dance like a cliche western movie scene.

The end of the class had the pro paired with me and I smashed the winning point. Don't worry I'll told my parents already of my awesomeness. I was happy to end on a winner but then looked to see that I have cracked/bent my racket on both sides of the face. I'd like to think the good people at Wilson make quality rackets at all levels and that I perhaps am too strong for "volcanic formula" rackets. Where do I go now? What's stronger that a composite from magma? Maybe Wilson is making rackets out of recycled spaceships? I could certainly take Apollo rackets to new levels on the amateur scene.

I am in awe that such physical domination was displayed at 8:00am after Christmas, without my sweatband set. I and my ego now look for the next challenge to break us. Not likely knowing a "Wonder Years" marathon is out of the question.

Adults for Sledding Equality

I am entering my third consecutive year where I see myself leading a cause that many ignore. Typically every January I gather about a 6-10 friends to go sledding at a big ol' hill. Sounds pretty great? Yeah it's something amazing. See the beauty about sledding as a kid is the thrill of hitting a bump catching air but there's was a problem for my generation. We were not fat kids.

Now that I have more than a healthy body mass I can pick up speeds that rival my 4th grade fastball speeds. I'm talking some sick speeds. I hear kids wishin' they could ride like me, be heavy like me, wipe snot on their gloves like me. Fools.

The problem is that my friends and I are always the only people who can drive themselves to the hill without any kids. Who needs kids to have a good time? Huh? When did we get to a point in our lives where we said you know what would be great about this nostalgia? Throwing in some little money pit that hounds attention worse than I do. Not on my watch. When the AWOKs (Adults With Out Kids) go out we know how to steal the show.

Kids want to be us, parents want to be with us.

Sh!t or Get Off the Pot

One of the wisest things ever said to me was my dad once saying "if you don't make a decision, life will make it for you." Pretty impressive seeing as his advice while growing up seemed to be peppered like Leap Year. I push onward through the final days of me being a socially screw up. The 20s are all about making mistakes so adults say. That being said, on behalf of my generation I feel it's safe to say we're screwed.

I have a friend that I swear is my personal Benjamin Button. I don't get to hang out much anymore with him and the stories I hear are regressing in the social norms we used to reach to do. I won't be surprised if I get to see photos on Facebook of his fort made in his parents' basement with bedsheets. I would also be the most jealous of that nonsense.

My family is molting layers of responsibilities worse than the tragic night scene in Gremlins. There comes a point where the adult table of life thins itself out and there's room to bring in a newbie. Someone that will refresh the cycle of errors and give the sigh of relief to the predecessors for they weren't wrong, it's a right of passage.

That's what maybe is the toughest pill. Failing to follow the path worn by other is a mistake, for whom I won't know until I admit I'm done.

Sweet Sweet Music

There is something special when it comes to those that are unfortunately down on their luck. They have most likely gone through some of the toughest things I can only imagine. I really wish I had the time to understand what happened but to be frank, that's just too idealistic and we all know that only works on English class essays.

What is it about while losing it all that we grab one thing to be the cornerstone of our new foundation? If your house were to burn down what would you grab? So to speak. Outside from my dog, an tangible item I would take from my house? Probably a copy of my home owner's insurance policy.

When you walk the streets of a major city in the winter time it's depressing at times. There are so many people on the streets without a place to turn. However, there are people in this situation that have a sense of humility that is just fantastic. The homeless musicians of America.

Is the saxophone the unofficial instrument of the homeless community? Perhaps people should be a bit more leery when their kid is in jazz ensemble. You know sweetie, if you hit the bricks, the rush hour commute sure will love to hear this alto sax. I guess that's the thing being said when your kid picks an instrument;
guitar- "I need all the help I can to get laid."
piano- "I can't say no to you mother."
saxophone- "isn't it cool under this viaduct?"


As much as people in Chicago rave about bland groups like Wilco, I'd much rather spend $20 and see the kids outside the Art Institute rock on with the drum buckets.

Where's the Love?

It's that time of year again where we all bundle up next to each other as we walk by the homeless guy with the Starbucks cup. I like the holidays, kind of. There used to be a time where they were a lot of fun. Then I became the one who doesn't have kids and now I shuttle all over to view the effectiveness of fertility in my family.

Kids are great*. What is magical about kids is that they don't care if they are playing with an expensive toy or shooting rubber bands at each other they just want attention. What is really magical about kids is how they bring out the compromises in their parents. As an innocent bystander I realize that when you're a parent you give everything you can for your kids, otherwise you're an asshole. No really, I believe that if you go to bed at night thinking "wow, that wasn't too bad" while raising kids you probably aren't raising them. There is a nice trade off about having the kids and that's training them to be little house cleaners.

As I go to half a dozen homes this holiday season, I know there will be one key question on everyone's mind. "Where's the ring?" See, people are happy to see people together but like a tv show this shit has to keeping progressing. I am at the point in my relationship where people are wondering...well...when...Settle down people. The way that it's not cool to ask a fat lady when she is due or an old person if they have chosen their retirement home, don't ask when a couple is getting married.

Some may look at it with a BS sports metaphor of talking to the pitcher during a no-hitter. No. It's just none of your damn business. Since when are people excited to put sack up $150 for a country club dinner. The best person asking me about my relationship is my dad. I am almost thirty and he still hasn't given me "the talk." So when he wants to know if I am to sh!t or get off the pot he just asks "So how's that goin'?" Effective in his own way.

Another field condition is the blocker. I lost my blocker. The blocker is the couple in the family who is "ahead" of you in the line of engagement/marriage. You can tell they are doing a great job when you get out of a family outing only hearing about it once or twice. Who runs out of a single back formation? A jackass that's who.

It's going to be hard to not get knocked on my ass.