Dad looks at the grill. Then he looks away. It looks lonely. So he dives in, even though Father’s Day is still much more than a day away. And though dad will never get into stage diving, he might have been moved by some of the music the week before.

The band Critical Mass marches through Ziggy’s on Friday, June 11, and if you miss this music and more don’t have a cow but later maybe eat one too, as there will be another shot at all things festive this next weekend and not just Sunday. And we all know what we’re talking about here, because many dads will let it be known – then insist they didn’t.
Why this early with this post? Yes, dad can have the patience of a saint with all of us, but when it comes to grilling out, he just can’t wait another week.
And does not dad on Dad’s Day truly love a group that can swing more firmly than most through country-rock bordering regularly on classic rock and more — think La Grange for starters? (Written while popping in to see him on Grange Avenue). And those at-times progressive rants just might lead him to critical mass, as can with a certain girth, all the extras he puts on his brats when he a bit slowly works into the groove, then really hits it. Then goes bowling, but only on special days these days, to wear it all off, from the “spare” ribs anyone?
So, not to challenge your expertise – know better than that — but coming soon to these pages are some tips/musings so that you won’t be grilled by your guests with the ultimate for the same-old, same-old – ugh, another hot dog? Unless it’s a Chicago style hot dog on steroids met with numerous and creative condiment additions and substitutions –slather on more than one differing but related sauce to make it the spice of life — and also met with the many kinds of meats gleaned from the Germans. How is cheddar-wurst on for size, literally, and definitely not just on the side, for such a treatment? But I am getting ahead of myself.
So, there is a cure that includes anything you can grill and dress it up further, that’s both specific and many times over, so stay tuned.

Share the Post:

Related Posts

My mom has told me not to be a potty mouth when I write, as she certainly would not appreciate hardly any of the standup humor on say, Comedy Central Radio. SNL maybe. But after 11:30 p.m. … But there comes a time where a man must make a stand. And for this jokester, it was now when he had to choose whether to pass on the opportunity that would otherwise bite him in the butt, for in front of and behind him is the Mother Lode. Or should I say load. Or “Mothers” of Invention. Heh heh, heh heh, Butthead, look...
So the wall is down. Of letters, that is. Not down by Mexico. Cemented into the concrete. Of the Kennedy Center. Where music has sat. (Near where a now defunct wrestling arena rusts in peace. Or a bloodied White House lawn. With leftover paper cups and plates, more likely bowls and small utensils, anyone?) Or more ornate than inside? A tarp the size of Pennsylvania, the predominant battle state, covers workers as they chip. So geez, how big are the letters? Four times 50 living workers high? But now none remain, or so we are told by flunkies. Or is...
A few years back, I wrote an article about Hudson Deacon Tom Kroll and how he did so many extra dutiful tasks, his living out the Gospels tirelessly, when his wife was ill, in addition to his regular job. I was inspired at the time to pen this, about my own lovely, disabled wife — we were separated briefly but now back together with our 40th anniversary this month, as wholehearted caregiving has many strains — and how an atypical view of standard roles, out of necessity, made things work, as far as our approach to work and home that’s...
What do fishing, maybe in the dark, thus a Texas ranch, snakes of various types and do they come or stay out after dusk, eating either and only fine food or snacks, and a game of cards — likely just one each — have in common. And no strippers or Chippendales. And an only half or quarter, not full Monty. (Who is Monty anyway?) Or cowboy or cowgirl hats. Although there was some dress-up. More Barbie than boots on, I think. It’s an easy answer, connected and conflicting, but not in all or dirty ways, bachelor and bachelorette parties. One of each...
It was clear to me at the most recent Jeff Loven music show in Hudson, for Memorial Day weekend, that there has been a changing of the guard. The sword has been passed. New blood, like Yungblud, has been brought in. And, I must say, loyalty — amongst the devotees who travel frequently and all across the two-state area to virtually all of Jeff’s shows — has been rewarded. They are the royalty, in what just makes good business sense that I can appreciate. In a significant but not unprecedented altering of course, I was not one of those asked...
Trial by fire. My broiling heart in my efficiency flat still beats a bit, in concern over those boiling over in worse apartments in a Chicago tenancy, or on an ocean island instantly-burn-your-feet beach or dessert, or forced to endure ice baths just to keep cool — or simply be offered no way to maintain an ice-dripping body other than also read a non-cookbook at the library, or select not a big steak you can’t afford but a 73/27 burger from a freezer and slap it on your forehead. Just not too hard. All these things are ones where you especially today either burn or...
Scroll to Top