It’s one of those arctic days in Chicago where the mercury just drains out the bottom of the thermometer and birds freeze in midair. Right now it’s –4 degrees. It’s the kind of mind numbing cold that makes you paic if you can’t find your car keys instantly. The kind of cold that makes the river smoke. The kind of snowy blizzardic nightmare that coats your satellite dish with two inches of frozen snow and kills reception so you can’t watch American Idol or 30 Rock–and that makes it an emergency.
I called customer assistance early today because our satellite was out. AFter several minutes of the usual unplugging and replugging the guy says: wait, you live in Chicago? Is your Dish covered with snow?
I walk out into my frosty yard, look up past the ice encased fortress of solitudesque tudor roof line and lo, the Dish, she is deeply besnowed.
Well there’s your problem.
I stood there on the sidewalk staring at this little frozen lozenge while my kneecaps froze in place and wondered how the !@#%# do you clear snow off one of those things! Jesus Haploid Christ–I’M GONNA MISS THE NEWS! I’M GONNA MISS 30 ROCK! OH MY GOD–I MIGHT MISS PSYCH!
Now, I am not an educated man. But I do know that one way to solve a problem is to set it on the back burner and go do something else, let your mind do the work behind the scenes. I did dishes. I fixed something. I made chili. Then the dog brought me his favorite drool soaked tennis ball and DING! I was out the front door in Full-On Homer mode. I threw the ball at the dish and hit the neighbor’s dining room window.
So we’re eating the chili and staring out the window as the sun goes down (4:17 pm) and eating this awesome, ungodly delicious garlic and serrano pepper corn bread ala Jacque Imo’s, when I remember the airsoft pistol I got the boy sometime last year. DING!
This time it’s really cold so I put on my big boots, my black jeans, my blood red hoodie, and a black leather jacket–and the gun–then go out and stand in the open end of the alley between my house and the neighbor’s holding a pistol and peering up at my roof.
Now, the world is bright, glaring white in all directions and I’m dressed like a gang banger and aiming a gun at my house.
Did I mention I live on a street populated mostly by cops, retired cops, a detective, a fireman, and a cop? Did I mention that every window on either side of the street has a “WE CALL POLICE!” placard in the front window?
The airsoft comes with a little fake laser scope and I peg the dish with the little red dot and squezze off a couple of shots. I think I brought down a plane. I definitely missed the dish. I think. Maybe I hit it. All I know is the snow is still there and I’m still going to miss 30 Rock–and my neighborhood watch program sucks.