Pork Chop Sandwich

Up until last night, I was pretty sure I was going to write about how my dad used to torture us.

Well - I mean to say one of the ways he used to torture us.

It went something like this:

On a Saturday afternoon without much to do, I'd be sitting on the couch watching TV.  I don't know what I'd be watching.  Maybe it was an old movie or an episode of M*A*S*H or something.  Nothing that interesting, but still, I was watching it.

Dad would walk into the room and sit down in his La-Z-Boy and switch the channel.  He didn't say anything.  He didn't look at me.  Just switched the channel.  If there was no sports on, he'd leave the room with the channel on a different station than the one I was watching.

We never said or did anything about it.  At least not after the first time he did it.

The first time he did it probably went something like this:

Dad turns channel.

I say, "I was watching that."

Dad goes into a screaming fit about how everything in the house is his.

The second time (and every time after), I remained silent.

But the second time probably went something like this:

Dad turns channel.

I turn my head nearly imperceptibly in his direction.  But there is no imperceptive to my dad.  A master of the "bar fight."

"What?" He'd say.

"Nothing."

"Why'd you look at me?"

Ok, at this point I should mention that I realized on the second time that dad did not care if he watched TV or not.  He was impossible. He wanted to pick a fight.

"I didn't look at you."

"Yeah - you gave me a dirty look."

"No, I didn't"

"Oh - now you're going to argue with me.  I guess I'm just a fucking idiot who imagines shit!"

"Bingo," I would think.

Sometimes he would just go into an absolute rage and send me to my room. That's when I would give him a look.

But that was small potatoes.  After a few times, there would be absolutely no reaction whatsoever when he came in and changed the channel.

If anything I became less animated than before he walked into the room.

Of course it didn't matter.  It was always the same sequence.

He'd change the channel and pick a fight.  I think I just figured out why this scene always reminded me of home:

I started asking him if I could just go to my room now and cut out the middle-man.

Nope.  Not until he was done yelling at me for no reason whatsoever.

After a while, I was completely emotionless when this routine went on, so dad had to spice it up a little.  Make it fresh again.

He would yell for a while and when he saw that he was not getting any crying or fear or anything, he'd say, "I WAS going to take you to the movies, but not now.  Not after what you did."

By the way - as I write this, I realize it might seem absurd.  It is 100% true and verifiable.  There were witnesses and other victims, etc.

I'd say the first 4 or 5 times he pulled the "I was going to take you to the movies ..." bit, he really got what he was looking for.

I'd plead.  Beg forgiveness.  Promise to never do it again.  If he'd just please please please take us to the movies.

After those first few times, I realized he had never intended to take us to any movie. He was just trying to get a rise out of us.  It's funny  - because I thought it would be fun to go see a movie even if I went with a raving lunatic.

I was thinking about all of this Monday.  Monday was a holiday.  I got up early in the morning and checked out the movie times for "Tomorrowland."

This is not a movie I particularly cared to see.  I wanted to see Mad Max.  But I thought the kids would really want to see Tomorrowland, so ...

Anyway - I looked at the times and went in to ask my kids if they wanted to go see a movie.

But when I went into the room, they were looking at me funny so I gave them a piece of my mind and stormed out.

Just kidding.

I said, "Hey.  You guys want to go see a movie?"

When I was a kid, I would have said, "Heck Yes! Let's go!"

They said, "Which one."

I was thinking, "What difference does that make?" but I said "Tomorrowland"

Then Jack said, "Not really."

Wow.  Impressive.


So that's the story that I thought I'd blog about.  Up until last night.  After last night, I decided to blog once again about the completely boring topic of the Wednesday night Trek Store ride.

This year has been particularly weird for me in terms of that ride.  I have been going to the ride knowing full well that I cannot hang for even a little bit.  I have told several people to please not wait for me.  I'm too slow and I can find my way.

But I've gone 4 of the last 5 weeks and am in slightly better shape now.

Last night there were several people on the ride I could hang with.

Once we got to Highway 36 and the first or second climb, there were a few struggling to stay in contact.  Strangely, I was not one of them.  I felt fine at the pace we were going. It was considerably slower than previous weeks.

Then my rear wheel went flat and I stopped pedaling. I was near the back, but not at it.

A few people went around me as I slowed to stop and the whole group kept going.

I know that most of the people didn't see what happened.  But some did.

Apparently nobody said anything or nobody cared.  Also, I didn't say anything because, fuck those guys.

At the end of the season, I was thinking about taking them all to the movies, but not now.

So while I was standing beside the highway, fixing my flat, I remembered something I hadn't thought about for a long time.

The cars and trucks zipping by just a few feet away.  My tire was slightly torn through on the side and I only had a $20.  No way I was putting that in the tire.  If I had another flat on the way home, I'd have to call somebody to come and get me. So it would be best to just go home.  Yeah  that's it.  Ride on up to 72nd and head home.  If another flat happens, I might have been close enough to walk the rest of the way.

But then my old friend I haven't talked to in a while stopped by.  His name is "V" and he always says the same thing: "Harden The Fuck Up."

Thanks V, I needed that.

I made it my new mission to try to catch the group resting at Ft Calhoun.

I didn't catch them.  When I headed east toward Boyer Chute, I could see them way up the road.  I timed my distance from them when they made that first right turn.  It was about 2 minutes.  I knew I'd never catch the main group, but I was hoping to reach a straggler or two.

Nope.  Well, I did catch Andrew Keffer near Dodge Park, but I knew nobody would wait for him (like they wouldn't wait for me - but I don't want them to - unless I had a flat or something).

I talked to Andrew for a bit, but he was in full on "Chill" mode. He wanted to go around the airport.  I didn't. I went home and made a pork chop sandwich.  I mixed a little mayo with some sriracha and spread it onto some toast.  I put a thick juicy pork chop in the middle and ... yum.

In summary.  Fuck those guys.  But yeah - next Wednesday.  Sounds good.