I Stayed at the Hotel, Motel, Holiday Inn

Chicago!! The home of the Cubs and heart attacks. I was in Chicago this week doing some research on heart attacks and this is what I found...

...sloppy second-rate hot dogs. My research indicates that heart attacks are usually predicated by getting a hot dog stuck in your jugular. How that turns into a heart attack, I don't know. It's correlation rather than causation, people. Holla back, Psych degree!

In reality, I was in Chicago for work. Actually, I was in Rolling Meadows, which is one of the suburbs of Chicago. I'm always amused when I see the signs on the highway between the airport and Rolling Meadows that mark the off-ramp to "Suburbs" and "West Suburbia". I always thought the term "Suburb" was some form of slang to describe the slushy part of a city that isn't quite in the city, but also isn't quite out. Little did I know that the term is used on signage that was created by the state government, rather than by some smart ass teenagers who hate their parents for not raising them on the mean streets of the city. Patton Oswalt has some great things to say about people who are from the 'burbs starting at 4:35 (the whole thing is funny though - I recommend you invest 10 mins and listen to it all).

While I was eating my cheese, onion and pickle encircled hot dog in the 'burbs, I noticed the restaurant's ad for their famous salads and the chopped salad reminded me of MTV Canada - it's close, but just not quite right. What's not right about the salad below? One word - Macaroni. Do not do.

Portillo's, the restaurant where I purchased and ate my death dog, was modelled after a 50s diner or the Peach Pit from the original 90210. Same same.

Portillo's had 50's memorabilia all over the walls, which included some great ads from the 50s and 60s. The one posted below caught my eye.

What the what?

I stayed at the Holiday Inn in Rolling Meadows. I usually stay at the Hyatt, so I was a bit sad to hear that I'd be slumming it at the Holiday Inn, but I was in for a surprise. The room I stayed in was pretty good as far as Holiday Inns go, but the hotel had something that I had never seen before. It had what I could only describe as a grotto in the centre. It was an indoor island oasis and it was HUGE. About the size of three high-school gyms.

Below you'll see the entrance (basketball/volleyball court on the right, lagoon in middle)

Another shot of the lagoon

From a hut on a platform

Another shot from the platform

the platform

This place was crazy, and empty, so i could explore without looking creepy. There were a whole bunch of rooms that open right into the lagoon. It would have been the perfect place for a wedding or a birthday party. I was impressed. Yes, I'm lame. If only Elizabeth Berkley could help me with my self-esteem. Wait a minute!!! She can!!!

I stumbled upon "Ask Elizabeth" the other day and sure enough...the Elizabeth to which you can ask things is the one and only Elizabeth Berkley from "Saved By the Bell" and "Showgirls" fame (possibly the worst/best movie ever made). She created a website and a speaking circuit for young women who have questions and are in need of support from a strong female role-model. There is a video on the site that shows her in action, coaching the most bored/confused-looking girls. Unfortunately, the part that the site doesn't show you is Elizabeth's final advice to everyone she speaks to - "put on a pair of really high waisted acid wash jeans, dust off your plaid flannel scrunchy and take a whole bunch of caffeine pills, 'cause you're saved by the bell" (insert sassy synth guitar riff here).

I'll leave you with another ditty by that lovely and respectful man from Brazil who recently did a commercial for Holiday Inn. I think his experience at the Holiday Inn was slightly different than mine, but I'm sure it's realistic none the less.

Roomba! Fix Me a Martini!

Sean and I recieved a Roomba (made ironically by a company called "iRobot" - do these people not read science fiction or watch Will Smith movies?) from a generous group of folks as a wedding present.

A Roomba is a robot that automatically vacuums your floors, independent of your feeble human help. You can program it to clean them a number of times a week, which frees up many hours to enjoy the important things in life, like watching season 2 of Mad Men while gorging yourself on popcorn. IMPORTANT!!

I was hoping that our Roomba would be a constant companion like Mr. Butlertron from Clone High, but I'll just have to settle for a robot that just vacuums.

Of all the things I thought I would never own, but now do, the Roomba definitely takes the cake. It blows the cell phone, the garage door opener and the time machine out of the water.

For those of you who haven't seen a Roomba in action, watch this informative and completely not entertaining video.

Then, watch this very entertaining, but not very informative video.

Woomba @ Yahoo! Video

I am confident that Sean and I have what it takes to harness this advanced techology - ability to program electronic devices, desire to terrorize our pets in new, creative ways and acute domestic laziness. That is the trifecta that drives most household innovation. To all those who doubted the Roomba, it works. It picks up cat hair and dust - the stuff that is most likely to be hanging around your floors. It doesn't pick up popcorn that you drop during shocking scenes in Mad Men, but it does pick up the dirt that your cat digs out of your large potted plant because he's a jerk and he's thinking that maybe, one day, he'll pee in said plant, but for now he'll just dig in it.

In the short time that we've owned it or should I say co-habitated with it, Sean and I have made a concerted effort to treat our Roomba with respect. We're hoping treating it kindly will ensure that no robot-led uprisings occur under our roof. Whether they be T-1000s or Cylons, a robotic uprising is never good, especially in Thunder Bay where the government has been plotting to destroy the city with lumber machinery for a century or two. I'm pretty sure there won't be a full-on sentient uprising at our place, but I can guarantee there will be a war between the feline inhabitants of the house and the Roomba.

Here's a taste of what will be in store for our cats.

I promise to post videos of our cats "interacting" with the Roomba (I'm picturing Robo riding around on it, wearing driving gloves and goggles with a white scarf that flaps in the breeze), but until then, here are some more instructional videos on how to terrorize, um, I mean, care for your cat. These videos are long, but they are VERY funny.

One last thing about Roomba! Roomba is so awesome that a sensitive young recording artist from Brazil named Pitbull who is respectful to women wrote this little ditty about it. You know you want it. It knows it wants you.

So, You Think You Can Park? Thunder Bay Edition

I ask the following question, not as a matter of personal ability, but as a matter of excecutability.

So, you think you can park?

If it's in Thunder Bay, don't count on it. A few weeks ago, I ran into two impossible parking situations that made me laugh, so I documented them for posterity.

First - isn't this just the biggest Fail-you to people with disabilities that you've seen in a long time?

Sean and I cleared the carts out of the way. For Sean, it had something to do with Ye Old Hippocratic Oathe. For me, it was just because I'm a good person. I wonder if it was lazy able-bodied folks who disposed of their carts so inappropriately or if people with disabilities were trying to sabotage their counterparts' attempts to shop? Is there a long-standing rivalry between accident victims and the congenitally disabled not unlike the rivalries between the Capulets and the Montegues, the Hatfields and the McCoys or Zack and Slater?

I kid! I kid! Disabilities are no laughing matter.

Not even an hour after seeing the disabled parking debacle, we came across this stroke of genius at the grocery store.

So many fail blog entries to link to in comparison!!! Wanted: Urban Planners in Thunder Bay. We are desperate for your degree in applied common sense that the rest of us can't seem to harness.

The Worst Job - Be Happy You Don't Have It

Picture it. You're toiling over a project that you have to complete for work. You want to impress your boss and your colleagues, but most of all, you want to impress your customers. You've added some extra details and you've perfected the finishing touches. Done and done. Ahhh - after a sigh of relief and a rush of personal pride in flawless execution, you can rest easy knowing that your project will really shine.

Now here's an interesting twist. What if someone came into the room and peed all over your work? Because that's what I did to a member of our cleaning staff the other day at work. She was exiting the warshroom with cleaning supplies in hand. I was entering with a full bladder and a hankering for relief.

Hats off to the cleaning staff in my building at work. They do a great job. I've never been reluctant to sit and relax during my private bathroom time at work. In no other profession do people literally shit all over your work (unless you have some corproreal installation art job). I wonder if our cleaning staff has a sense of pride in knowing that the next person to use that bathroom will have a comfortable experience or if there's a sense of resentment because the next person will sully your masterpiece.

I've had some interesting toilet experiences in my travels, including the most disgusting port-o-potty on the planet at an outdoor concert (I blame it on Our Lady Peace) and a shoilet in a hostel in London, England. What is a shoilet, you ask? Well, it's a shower stall with a toilet in it. Sure, the toilet would fill with water and overflow, but the seat was always clean. Not dry, but clean...with wet hair stuck to it.

The shoilet we had in our hostel room was considerably more disgusting and cramped than the one pictured above (you had to straddle the un-lidded toilet while showering), but at least you could pee while shaving your legs. MULTITASKING!!

A clean public bathroom is such a rare find. It's pure luxury in the least luxurious of places. I read somewhere that the stall closest to the door on the left-hand side of a public bathroom is always the cleanest, because that's the one that people avoid. the majority of people have a natural tendency to go to the right and want to get as far from the washroom entrance as possible. I also make a frequent habit of using the handicapped bathroom. I know - using that which was meant for the less fortunate is selfish and offensive, but...well, OK - there's no excuse, but rest assured that I make my stops short.

For all you boys out there who would like to contribute to cleaner bathrooms all over the world, I encourage you to watch this instructional video.

For all you ladies out there who want to contribute to a crazier environment all over the world, I encourage you to watch THIS instructional video.

Seriously...who let Celine out? Who? Who? Who? Who? I'm asking because I am not impressed with their Celine-sitting abilities.