As I write this, I am in the midst of my new procedure for what used to be a mere phrase-worth of activity: going to work.

It used to be, long ago, as simple as getting in the car about 15 minutes before I needed to arrive, getting annoyed when my car was covered in snow, and then arriving, parking, and going inside with time to spare.

Then, it got a little more tricky: working dowtown, the whole idea of parking has been usurped as a business plan (which, in turn, can take up to $20 a day out of your pocket). So, the CTA it was. But I never really thought of the 15-minute train ride as a “commute”. It was always just “going to work”.

I remember at one point someone asking me, in an attempt to strike up some polite small talk, “So, how’s your commute?”

I looked at him like he was wearing a suit made of tofu and stammered, “Commute?”

“How long does it take you to get here?” At this, the poor guy began to believe that I really *was* as dumb as I look.

“Ohhhh, yeah, you mean *going to work*. About 20 minutes.”

Oh, how things change. I have learned today what it means to truly commute. Today, my morning has been:

5:30am: alarm beeps
5:50am: start car
6:10am: discover that there are people who get here before God wakes up to fill up all daily parking spaces (just to spite me, those bastards)
6:18am: park at remote parking lot
6:21am: climb aboard Pace bus to take me back to the train station
6:30am: exit bus. Begin waiting for actual train
6:37am: climb aboard train with all the other poor fucking lemmings that go through this every day
7:15am: begin this blog post
7:35am: arrive at Chicago, begin walking to office
7:50am: arrive at office, start the day.

So here I am, travel mug of coffee and messenger bag in tow. I am a real, honest-to-God commuter. I have *commuted*.

Luckily, I have also discovered through intense preparatory research that for $5, the bar at Ogilvie Station will happily pour a nice glass of Jameson into a styrofoam cup so as to make it portable onto the train for the ride back home. This, I have concluded, will be a key discovery on the road to mastery of the commute.

Yep. A commuter.

Occasionally, I am called upon to drop off or pick up Katherine at her daycare. I gallantly accept this task, in a new-millenium-dad kind of way. It generally means I’m a few minutes late to work or have to leave a few minutes early, but that’s alright - my schedule is flexible enough for that. It’s also about two miles out of my way.

But for the joy of the few extra minutes with my daughter, the light of my life, it is worth it. I enjoy the humility of performing a task that previous generations’ fathers probably would have considered beneath them. I like that the last person my daughter gets a hug and kiss from, on these special days, is me.

But mostly I like the cute redheaded daycare teacher and the hoochie-mama who shows whale tail whenever she bends over to pick up her son.

Think I’ll be assigned to daycare duty more, or less, after today?

I bought a new car.

It’s purrrr-ty

In order to get what I wanted (color, trim, all-wheel drive, etc) I had to order the car from the factory. It costs the same, but I have to wait until mid-March to get the thing. That’s fine, it’s only the second new car I’ve ever owned and I’m really excited about it, so I’m willing to wait.

Here’s the problem. My current car, a 1999 GMC Jimmy, is offended that it is being replaced, and has retaliated by developing a wicked shimmy/rattle/grinding noise in the rear wheels or brakes. Believe me when I tell you that this is the most technical description I can give - I am not a car guy. I can put gas in the tank, fill up the windshield washer fluid resevoir and check the oil, and that’s really it.

My total lack of expertise notwithstanding, I’ve come to the conclusion that my current vehicle is not only damaged, but potentially dangerous, in a flaming-ball-of-steel-glass-and-rubber kind of way. And I know enough about cars to know that it is going to be VERY expensive to fix.

So, do I: A) Blow the couple of grand to fix the car for the purpose of keeping me alive for the next four to six weeks, or B) don’t fix the car, and pray the rosary while I drive?

Update: Turns out the problem was in my right rear brake. It only cost $371 and took half a day. The lesson, as always, is I’m an idiot. (With apologies to The Sports Guy.)

A - Accent: The golden Midwestern neutral - if I were better looking, I could be a national news anchor.
B - Breakfast Item: Fat-free plain yogurt with frozen berries and a packet of Splenda.
C - Chore you hate: Putting things away. I like CLEANING things, but I hate putting them away.
D - Dad’s Name: Peter.
E - Essential everyday item: Pants.
F - Flavor ice cream: Rocky Road or Cherry Garcia.
G - Gold or Silver: Plastic, baby.
H - Hometown: Sheboygan, WI
I - Insomnia: I have a six-month-old. What do you think?
J - Job Title: Continuous Improvement Manager
K - Kids: One daughter, Katherine.
L - Living arrangements: Living in a great old farmhouse that is being redone, room by room.
M - Mom’s birthplace: Sheboygan, WI
N - Number of pets you have: One - a Greater Swiss Mountain Dog named Lindy.
O - Overnight hospital stays: Not that I can recall.
P - Phobias: Spiders and culinary stagnancy.
Q - Queer?: Straight but not narrow.
R - Religious Affiliation: Luthalic. (Roman Catholic belonging to a ELCA church.)
S - Siblings: Rebecca, four years younger, and Peter, eight years younger.
T - Time you wake up: 5:45 a.m. Because I have to.
U - Unnatural hair colors you’ve worn: I let some girls in college give me highlights - they looked silly.
V - Vegetables you refuse to eat: REFUSE? None, but I’ll pass by Brussels sprouts.
W - Worst habit: Being a humongous fatass.
X - X-rays you’ve had: Just dental.
Y - Yummy: Sushi, prime rib, damn near anything I make myself.
Z - Zodiac sign: Picses.

With apologies to Luna.

Days in which I have successfully avoided going to McDonald’s for breakfast: Two.

Mood: Raving homicidal lunatic.

Weight Watchers-approved fat-free yogurt breakfast: Not nearly adequate.

Weight: I don’t know. I smashed the scale into a thousand tiny pieces just to watch it die.

I hate them. Hate, hate, hate.

I hate the way people describe them as “crunchy” or “crisp” when in fact those adjectives are best applied to thick-cut potato chips and properly-cooked bacon, respectively.

In the same vein, I hate it when people call carrots “sweet.” Creme brulee is sweet. Ice cream is sweet. Fruit is (sometimes) sweet. Carrots taste like carrots, which is to say “like ass.”

Yesterday morning I made scrambled eggs for breakfast. On Weight Watchers, eggs are okay. However, plain scrambled eggs are kind of boring. Scrambled eggs are better when they’re cooked in butter, sprinkled with cheese and served with bacon. I said to the beloved, “Every way I can think of to make eggs better isn’t allowed.”

She suggested fat-free cheese.

I hate fat-free cheese.

I hate sugar-free chocolate, butter-free butter and skin-free chicken.

But I hate being fat more.

I think.

On Monday night, for the first time in five weeks, I prepared to cook dinner.

You see, our kitchen has been undergoing renovations since the day after Thanksgiving. Down to the studs. Finally this past weekend it was mostly functional, so I thought I’d celebrate by making a favorite meal - filet mignon and pomme frites. I was VERY excited to finally use the Viking range.

The recipe (tried and true in my old kitchen) says “place a heavy-bottomed traditional (non-non-stick) skillet on the stove over high heat until very hot.”

“Very hot.”

So I throw the pan on the stove, turn the burner on high and go about prepping the steaks and getting other things ready. I’m in no particular hurry. I throw the potatoes in the deep fryer and then grab my tongs to put the steaks in the pan.

I wonder, for a moment, why the pan has turned from its normal stainless steel color to a kind of golden-bronzey hue. I stop wondering and throw the lightly oiled steaks into the pan.

Suddenly, I can’t see. I wonder why I can’t see, and then it strikes me that the reason I can’t see is that I am completely enveloped in a cloud of thick white smoke. The smoke has completely filled the kitchen and is seeping into the rest of the house. Back a minute ago, when I mentioned that the kitchen was “mostly” functional, the one thing that wasn’t ready was the range hood. No range hood = no ventilation.

I consider the notion that perhaps the pan is a smidge too hot. I pull one of the steaks out of the pan and look at the underside. It resembles nothing more than a blacktopped driveway. I pull out the other steak and, lo and behold, it is the same.

The whole process from “smoke filled the room” to “driveway steak” lasted about 20 seconds.

Luckily, the frites were delicious.

In later consultation with a friend who is a fellow food-lover and a much better cook than I, he said when he makes steak in this fashion, he normally lets the pan heat up for about four minutes.

“But that’s on a normal stove. Not on a rocket engine.”

Lesson learned.

P.S. After the pan cooled down enough to handle (about an hour later) I was able to clean off the blackened fond. I wore my fingers to the bone to do so, but I couldn’t bear the thought of trying to convince the beloved to let me replace it. Talk about guilt and shame.

1. What did you do in 2005 that you’d never done before?
Had a child.

2. Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
No. I am fat again. The beloved and I begin Weight Watchers this weekend. Wish me luck.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Yeah, a couple of people, first among them my beautiful wife.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Yes, me. Or at least the “me” that didn’t have kids.

5. What would you like to have in 2006 that you lacked in 2005?
A pregnancy-free year. And a new car.

6. What countries did you visit?
None.

7. What date from 2005 will remain etched upon your memory, and why:
7/2/05 - KJ’s birth.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
See above.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Not having a boy, though I suppose technically that’s a failure of 2004. (Oh, hi honey, I was just kidding, I SMACK SMACK SMACK ow! SMACK SMACK SMACK)

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
I needed a root canal and had the usual assortment of debilitating headaches.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
A new kitchen. Specifically a Viking 48″ dual-fuel range with six burners, two ovens, a griddle and a partridge in a pear tree.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
The Beloved’s. She made it through a pregnancy, 12 hours of labor, an unplanned C-section, and me.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
My mother’s. ‘Sigh.’

14. Where did most of your money go?
The kitchen and the baby. Which of the two was more expensive might surprise you.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
See above. Mostly the baby.

16. What song will always remind you of 2005?
Gwen Stefani’s “Hollaback Girl.”

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
i. happier or sadder? Happier.
ii. thinner or fatter? Fatter.
iii. richer or poorer? Richer.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Taken half-day vacations to spend with my daughter. I ended up with 9.5 vacation days left over. Jeez.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Gained weight.

20. How will you be spending Christmas?
Asserting my new-found status as head of my own little family.

21. There was no #21. I don’t know why there was no 21.

22. Did you fall in love in 2005?
Yup, twice.

23. How many one-night stands?
When you have an infant, they’re all one-night stands, because you can hardly believe it’s happening and you have no idea when it might happen again.

24. What was your favorite TV program?
Jeopardy!

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
Al. Just kidding.

26. What was the best book you read?
Hmmmm. Toss-up between “I Am Charlotte Simmons” by Tom Wolfe and “The Man Who Ate Everything” by Jeffery Steingarten.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
iPod!

28. What did you want and get?
Kitchen and baby.

30. What was your favorite film of this year?
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you (optional)?
I don’t remember exactly. (Oh, hi, honey… SMACK SMACK ouch! SMACK SMACK SMACK)

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Having the kitchen done by Thanksgiving as originally planned.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2005?
Khaki-centric.

34. What kept you sane?
Smiles from my daughter and kisses from my wife.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
I don’t know.

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
The death tax.

37. Whom did you miss?
My Chicagoland friends. It’s hard with the baby, but that isn’t an excuse.

38. Who was the best new person you met?
My daughter.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2005:
Never change a diaper after the first toot. There is always more coming.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
“Life’s gonna suck when you grow up/when you grow up/when you grow up/
Life’s gonna suck when you grow up/it sucks pretty bad right now.”

-Denis Leary

(SMACK SMACK SMACK have mercy! SMACK SMACK SMACK)