Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Golf Cemetery
I was reading the Chicago Tribune’s daily email and they had an article on things that makes Chicago weird. One of the things they listed was the Ahlgrim Family Funeral Services and Miniature Golf Course. Here’s what they had to say:
Where else can you pay your final respects to a loved one,then play nine holes of mini-golf? Answer: Palatine. About 40 years ago,Roger Ahlgrim installed a mini-putt course(now called "Ahlgrim Acres") in the funeral parlor's basement, mostly for private use. Now, the public comes to play past red-eyed skulls and tongue-in-cheek coffin obstacles, but only during non-service hours.201 N. Northwest Highway
I can’t explain how excited and surprised I am by this. I’m excited because I love mini-golf. I don’t play very often because, well, I never think of playing. It’s also an incredibly stupid game. Yet, it’s very enjoyable because of how stupid it is. It takes little skill, which is just the right amount for me. And yet it’s incredibly enjoyable sinking a 5 foot putt, as if I were on The Price is Right playing “Hole in One” and I just won the car.
The surprising thing is that I hadn’t heard about this place before. I’m generally pretty hip when it comes to the northwest suburbs of Chicago. I spent virtually my entire life living in them. So imagine my shock when I heard about this place. It’s so odd, yet somehow it escaped me all this time. Rest assured, though, I will be playing golf at this place because it comes so close to doing what I’ve always wanted to do: link death and golf together.
I know what you’re thinking. Golf is boring. But do you think it’s deathly boring? I sure do. (Well, to watch anyway. Or to hear other people tell stories about their games. Playing is fun. If you call 4 hours spent looking for my ball in the woods “fun.”) Anyway, golf courses and cemeteries are the biggest waste of real estate ever. My idea was to combine them into one multi-purpose Golf Cemetery.
I know you’re thinking it’s completely disrespectful. There’s no way your grandmother would want people driving carts over her or shanking their drives off her tombstone for the rest of her, um, “eternal slumber.” I couldn’t agree more. But, maybe your grandfather golfed. Maybe he golfed too much. Maybe he’s senile and won’t know that you’re going to have him interred on a golf course. Either way, it’s great business.
My Golf Cemetery won’t be built over an existing cemetery. Instead, we’ll take a golf course and start filling plots ON the course. We can probably get it started cheaply with the aforementioned senile people. But I’m sure golf fans would line up to be planted on the 9th tee box or near the sand trap on Hole 17. In fact, a sand trap would be the perfect place to have my brother buried. He spent so much of his life in them anyway, why not stay there in death too?
If the Golf Cemetery is a success, we can expand our services to include other non-traditional funerals. For example, cremation is becoming more and more popular. Well, what if we filled the sand traps with ashes? Talk about killing two birds with one stone. And raking the sand after you hit out would have a more profound feel to it.
We could also do burials at sea, though that would require having access to a larger body of water than I think we could get. But if we dug a big lake in the middle of the course, we could do it there. We could also float bodies down a river. We could have funeral pyres on the river/lake. The hardest ritual would be sending old Eskimos out on ice floes. But I’m sure we could work up something with a snow machine and a leaky inflatable raft.
Where else can you pay your final respects to a loved one,then play nine holes of mini-golf? Answer: Palatine. About 40 years ago,Roger Ahlgrim installed a mini-putt course(now called "Ahlgrim Acres") in the funeral parlor's basement, mostly for private use. Now, the public comes to play past red-eyed skulls and tongue-in-cheek coffin obstacles, but only during non-service hours.201 N. Northwest Highway
I can’t explain how excited and surprised I am by this. I’m excited because I love mini-golf. I don’t play very often because, well, I never think of playing. It’s also an incredibly stupid game. Yet, it’s very enjoyable because of how stupid it is. It takes little skill, which is just the right amount for me. And yet it’s incredibly enjoyable sinking a 5 foot putt, as if I were on The Price is Right playing “Hole in One” and I just won the car.
The surprising thing is that I hadn’t heard about this place before. I’m generally pretty hip when it comes to the northwest suburbs of Chicago. I spent virtually my entire life living in them. So imagine my shock when I heard about this place. It’s so odd, yet somehow it escaped me all this time. Rest assured, though, I will be playing golf at this place because it comes so close to doing what I’ve always wanted to do: link death and golf together.
I know what you’re thinking. Golf is boring. But do you think it’s deathly boring? I sure do. (Well, to watch anyway. Or to hear other people tell stories about their games. Playing is fun. If you call 4 hours spent looking for my ball in the woods “fun.”) Anyway, golf courses and cemeteries are the biggest waste of real estate ever. My idea was to combine them into one multi-purpose Golf Cemetery.
I know you’re thinking it’s completely disrespectful. There’s no way your grandmother would want people driving carts over her or shanking their drives off her tombstone for the rest of her, um, “eternal slumber.” I couldn’t agree more. But, maybe your grandfather golfed. Maybe he golfed too much. Maybe he’s senile and won’t know that you’re going to have him interred on a golf course. Either way, it’s great business.
My Golf Cemetery won’t be built over an existing cemetery. Instead, we’ll take a golf course and start filling plots ON the course. We can probably get it started cheaply with the aforementioned senile people. But I’m sure golf fans would line up to be planted on the 9th tee box or near the sand trap on Hole 17. In fact, a sand trap would be the perfect place to have my brother buried. He spent so much of his life in them anyway, why not stay there in death too?
If the Golf Cemetery is a success, we can expand our services to include other non-traditional funerals. For example, cremation is becoming more and more popular. Well, what if we filled the sand traps with ashes? Talk about killing two birds with one stone. And raking the sand after you hit out would have a more profound feel to it.
We could also do burials at sea, though that would require having access to a larger body of water than I think we could get. But if we dug a big lake in the middle of the course, we could do it there. We could also float bodies down a river. We could have funeral pyres on the river/lake. The hardest ritual would be sending old Eskimos out on ice floes. But I’m sure we could work up something with a snow machine and a leaky inflatable raft.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
This Is Scary (And I Shouldn't Be Telling The Wife)
I just stumbled across this on the internet:
Recruiting a new generation of fans
Michael Eisner's Team Baby Entertainment plans to make videos to introduce tiny tots to NASCAR, pro basketball, and Major League Baseball. Before former Disney chief Eisner bought the company last month, it focused on college sports, aiming to make boosters of children ages 6 months to 5 years. The college DVDs feature kids in football and cheerleading outfits dancing to school fight songs. "We are raising that next generation of fan," said Team Baby founder Greg Scheinman. (Los Angeles Times, free registration required)
The Wife is a big University of Illinois football fan. Lord knows why. They’re absolutely terrible. But it’s fun going to games and a few years ago (when we first started dating), they went to the Sugar Bowl. We both want Luke to be an Illinois fan, but that’s mostly because it’s a state school and we want him to go there because tuition will be (relatively) cheap.
That and I want to come down to U of I every other week to tailgate. It’s a great excuse to grill and drink beer. And honestly, I look for any excuse to grill and drink beer. Now, there’s probably something wrong with me that I’m planning almost 20 years in the future. For all I know, Luke will be a janitor and he’ll be sweeping the halls of U of I, not attending classes there. (I’d still be fine with that because I could come down and tailgate.)
The other sick thing about this is that I want him to be an Illinois fan. Nobody in their right mind should be an Illinois fan. They’re horrible. And only a masochist would want his children to be Illinois fans as well. Of course, I also plan on raising Luke to be a Cubs and Bears fan, so he’s completely screwed.
Recruiting a new generation of fans
Michael Eisner's Team Baby Entertainment plans to make videos to introduce tiny tots to NASCAR, pro basketball, and Major League Baseball. Before former Disney chief Eisner bought the company last month, it focused on college sports, aiming to make boosters of children ages 6 months to 5 years. The college DVDs feature kids in football and cheerleading outfits dancing to school fight songs. "We are raising that next generation of fan," said Team Baby founder Greg Scheinman. (Los Angeles Times, free registration required)
The Wife is a big University of Illinois football fan. Lord knows why. They’re absolutely terrible. But it’s fun going to games and a few years ago (when we first started dating), they went to the Sugar Bowl. We both want Luke to be an Illinois fan, but that’s mostly because it’s a state school and we want him to go there because tuition will be (relatively) cheap.
That and I want to come down to U of I every other week to tailgate. It’s a great excuse to grill and drink beer. And honestly, I look for any excuse to grill and drink beer. Now, there’s probably something wrong with me that I’m planning almost 20 years in the future. For all I know, Luke will be a janitor and he’ll be sweeping the halls of U of I, not attending classes there. (I’d still be fine with that because I could come down and tailgate.)
The other sick thing about this is that I want him to be an Illinois fan. Nobody in their right mind should be an Illinois fan. They’re horrible. And only a masochist would want his children to be Illinois fans as well. Of course, I also plan on raising Luke to be a Cubs and Bears fan, so he’s completely screwed.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Hey Jealousy!
Last week, The Wife started working part-time so she could stay home more and take care of Luke. We discussed this for awhile and we both decided that it was a good idea. It wasn’t that hard of a decision to reach either. She missed her son. She hates her job. I hated being pestered to do household chores. And here’s a solution to all the problems.
The Wife makes a much better stay-at-home parent than I did anyway. In case you forgot, I was practically a stay-at-home parent while I was in school. It wasn’t what I’d call “fun.” This probably has something to do with my parenting style. I’m very high-energy and I like to have fun. But I can only do that for a limited amount of time. And if the kid isn’t in a “fun-having” mood, then we’re going to have problems. So I was thrilled to be working full-time and pretty darn happy that The Wife wanted to stay home and take care of Luke.
The only problem is that I’m finding that I’m quite jealous of the situation. It’s very odd because I hated staying at home when I actually did. But on Friday, The Wife took Luke to the Brookfield Zoo. This morning, she took him for a walk and then had some other kids over for a playdate. And really, it’s not that exciting of stuff (believe me, it’s not). And yet when I look at my alternative, going to work, having a bunch of kids over terrorizing the house actually seems quaint and peaceful.
Sure, that might have something to do with how much I hate Mondays. And it might have something to do with me not having much to do at work. But I think a large part of it is jealousy. Not necessarily jealousy about what The Wife is doing, but jealousy that she doesn’t have to go to work. Because that’s every American’s dream. And that’s why I’m committed to playing the lottery. I don’t want to work any more. I just want to be filthy stinking rich. And if I understand the lottery correctly, it’s the single best way to get filthy stinking rich without having to work. And there are so many winners! Why it seems like everyone BUT me has won the lottery. And you know what that means, right? I’m due. And so when I’m in the poor house, selling my body for some scratch and win tickets, I want you to know how it all started. Because I was jealous of my wife not having to work on Mondays and Fridays.
The Wife makes a much better stay-at-home parent than I did anyway. In case you forgot, I was practically a stay-at-home parent while I was in school. It wasn’t what I’d call “fun.” This probably has something to do with my parenting style. I’m very high-energy and I like to have fun. But I can only do that for a limited amount of time. And if the kid isn’t in a “fun-having” mood, then we’re going to have problems. So I was thrilled to be working full-time and pretty darn happy that The Wife wanted to stay home and take care of Luke.
The only problem is that I’m finding that I’m quite jealous of the situation. It’s very odd because I hated staying at home when I actually did. But on Friday, The Wife took Luke to the Brookfield Zoo. This morning, she took him for a walk and then had some other kids over for a playdate. And really, it’s not that exciting of stuff (believe me, it’s not). And yet when I look at my alternative, going to work, having a bunch of kids over terrorizing the house actually seems quaint and peaceful.
Sure, that might have something to do with how much I hate Mondays. And it might have something to do with me not having much to do at work. But I think a large part of it is jealousy. Not necessarily jealousy about what The Wife is doing, but jealousy that she doesn’t have to go to work. Because that’s every American’s dream. And that’s why I’m committed to playing the lottery. I don’t want to work any more. I just want to be filthy stinking rich. And if I understand the lottery correctly, it’s the single best way to get filthy stinking rich without having to work. And there are so many winners! Why it seems like everyone BUT me has won the lottery. And you know what that means, right? I’m due. And so when I’m in the poor house, selling my body for some scratch and win tickets, I want you to know how it all started. Because I was jealous of my wife not having to work on Mondays and Fridays.
We Are the Champions!
I’m so proud right now that I can hardly even contain myself. My country just won the World Cup. I’m bursting. I’ve been following the Italian soccer team for what seems like decades, and it’s so great that my devotion has finally paid off. Of course, it only seems like decades. In actuality, it was closer to 3 hours. But soccer is so boring that it felt almost interminable.
I’m not a soccer fan. Not in the least. I don’t get it. I don’t understand the appeal. I don’t understand how every other country in the world thinks it’s the greatest game ever. I just don’t get it. But I’m Italian. And Italy was in the finals. So I had to watch. I had to cheer on my country-mates. Of course, I’m only half-Italian. And I have to go all the way back to my great-grandparents to find someone in my family who was actually born in Italy. And as The Wife pointed out, I’m actually part French too. So really, the final match was win-win for me. Except that I like to pretend that I’m not French at all.
(By the way, at what point does one stop being of a different nationality and start being an “American.” I ask because Luke is ¼ Italian, ¼ Czech, 1/8 Polish, 1/8 German, 1/8 Swedish, 1/16 French, and 1/16 Irish. That’s 7 European nationalities, which is actually more than the European Union and the United Nations. Combined. Okay, I exaggerate. But Luke ought to just be able to say he’s an American, right? And on International day at school, he can show up with cheeseburgers and fries from McDonald’s. Anyway.)
Given my strong allegiance to Italy, I watched the finals and was completely underwhelmed. I played soccer for a year or two as a kid. I never really understood the game. It’s a bit moronic, if you ask me. I can accept the no-hands rule. (Though, the ability to use our hands to hold a ball is the one thing that separates us from animals.) But I can’t for the life of me understand the offsides rule. I understand why it’s called, but I don’t understand the point of the rule. Are they actually trying to keep scoring down? In a sport where 2 goals scored is a lot? Huh? That’s like playing baseball with a superball. Or playing football on a field that’s a mile long. Why on earth would you do that?
I had a bunch of laundry to do yesterday, so it was perfect for sitting in front of the TV to watch the game. I hate folding laundry. It’s one of my least favorite activities in the world. Right next to watching soccer. So I figured, why not combine the two? To my surprise, the game turned out to be moderately exciting. Not exciting enough to make me stop folding clothes, but exciting enough to make it so I wouldn’t mind folding clothes. (That should be the slogan for the World Cup.)
So, the game was tied and went into overtime. France’s biggest star then head-butted an Italian dude and got a red card. The announcers were talking about how reckless that was. The guy was retiring and this was his last game. How dare he sully his image by doing that? Meanwhile, I thought it’s exactly what I would have done. You’ve got 5 minutes left to play for the rest of your life and some guy’s pissing you off. Take him out. What are they going to do? Suspend you? Who cares? It reminds me of when I was at Wash U and went to a Candlebox concert. They were a very terrible band, but they had two songs on the radio at the time. Shockingly, they decided to wait until the encore to play them. As if anyone cared about the other songs. Anyway, I’d been crowd-surfing throughout the show and the bouncers told me that if I did it again, I’d be kicked out. So, there I was, at the front of the concert as Candlebox launched into “Far Behind.” Knowing they were going to wrap up the show soon (and wanting to beat the other 1500 people out of the show), I crowd surfed and got kicked out. I knew I was going to get kicked out. I just didn’t care because I’d seen everything I wanted to. I felt exactly like the French soccer player. (And that’s probably the last time you’ll ever hear me say that.)
Finally, the game was decided on penalty kicks. Basically, everyone scored except for one French dude who hit the crossbar. That’s going to be a tough one to live with. By the way, I’m not certain that’s exactly what happened because my TiVo got all screwed up and wouldn’t stop fast-forwarding for some reason. So I watched most of the shootout at 2x speed.
Anyway, my darling Italian team won, and I honestly feel proud about it. I’m not very nationalistic. I forget that I’m Italian most of the time. Sure, I liked traveling in Italy and I like Italian food, but that’s about it. I don’t have a picture of the pope hanging on my mantel. Not yet anyway. (I’m still working on The Wife. She’s resistant for some reason. Stupid Lutherans.) And I don’t wear gold chains. So really, I don’t celebrate being Italian. But for a country that’s best known for Benito Mussolini and cars that don’t run well, it’s nice to know that they’re also going to be known for winning a soccer tournament that everyone in the world but us cares about. Now there’s an Italian national pride slogan if ever I’ve seen one.
I’m not a soccer fan. Not in the least. I don’t get it. I don’t understand the appeal. I don’t understand how every other country in the world thinks it’s the greatest game ever. I just don’t get it. But I’m Italian. And Italy was in the finals. So I had to watch. I had to cheer on my country-mates. Of course, I’m only half-Italian. And I have to go all the way back to my great-grandparents to find someone in my family who was actually born in Italy. And as The Wife pointed out, I’m actually part French too. So really, the final match was win-win for me. Except that I like to pretend that I’m not French at all.
(By the way, at what point does one stop being of a different nationality and start being an “American.” I ask because Luke is ¼ Italian, ¼ Czech, 1/8 Polish, 1/8 German, 1/8 Swedish, 1/16 French, and 1/16 Irish. That’s 7 European nationalities, which is actually more than the European Union and the United Nations. Combined. Okay, I exaggerate. But Luke ought to just be able to say he’s an American, right? And on International day at school, he can show up with cheeseburgers and fries from McDonald’s. Anyway.)
Given my strong allegiance to Italy, I watched the finals and was completely underwhelmed. I played soccer for a year or two as a kid. I never really understood the game. It’s a bit moronic, if you ask me. I can accept the no-hands rule. (Though, the ability to use our hands to hold a ball is the one thing that separates us from animals.) But I can’t for the life of me understand the offsides rule. I understand why it’s called, but I don’t understand the point of the rule. Are they actually trying to keep scoring down? In a sport where 2 goals scored is a lot? Huh? That’s like playing baseball with a superball. Or playing football on a field that’s a mile long. Why on earth would you do that?
I had a bunch of laundry to do yesterday, so it was perfect for sitting in front of the TV to watch the game. I hate folding laundry. It’s one of my least favorite activities in the world. Right next to watching soccer. So I figured, why not combine the two? To my surprise, the game turned out to be moderately exciting. Not exciting enough to make me stop folding clothes, but exciting enough to make it so I wouldn’t mind folding clothes. (That should be the slogan for the World Cup.)
So, the game was tied and went into overtime. France’s biggest star then head-butted an Italian dude and got a red card. The announcers were talking about how reckless that was. The guy was retiring and this was his last game. How dare he sully his image by doing that? Meanwhile, I thought it’s exactly what I would have done. You’ve got 5 minutes left to play for the rest of your life and some guy’s pissing you off. Take him out. What are they going to do? Suspend you? Who cares? It reminds me of when I was at Wash U and went to a Candlebox concert. They were a very terrible band, but they had two songs on the radio at the time. Shockingly, they decided to wait until the encore to play them. As if anyone cared about the other songs. Anyway, I’d been crowd-surfing throughout the show and the bouncers told me that if I did it again, I’d be kicked out. So, there I was, at the front of the concert as Candlebox launched into “Far Behind.” Knowing they were going to wrap up the show soon (and wanting to beat the other 1500 people out of the show), I crowd surfed and got kicked out. I knew I was going to get kicked out. I just didn’t care because I’d seen everything I wanted to. I felt exactly like the French soccer player. (And that’s probably the last time you’ll ever hear me say that.)
Finally, the game was decided on penalty kicks. Basically, everyone scored except for one French dude who hit the crossbar. That’s going to be a tough one to live with. By the way, I’m not certain that’s exactly what happened because my TiVo got all screwed up and wouldn’t stop fast-forwarding for some reason. So I watched most of the shootout at 2x speed.
Anyway, my darling Italian team won, and I honestly feel proud about it. I’m not very nationalistic. I forget that I’m Italian most of the time. Sure, I liked traveling in Italy and I like Italian food, but that’s about it. I don’t have a picture of the pope hanging on my mantel. Not yet anyway. (I’m still working on The Wife. She’s resistant for some reason. Stupid Lutherans.) And I don’t wear gold chains. So really, I don’t celebrate being Italian. But for a country that’s best known for Benito Mussolini and cars that don’t run well, it’s nice to know that they’re also going to be known for winning a soccer tournament that everyone in the world but us cares about. Now there’s an Italian national pride slogan if ever I’ve seen one.
