Groce, Dude

The feeling of excusing ourselves for long writing absences seems to have become commonplace. We should start every post with a Simpsons-couch-gag style apology. Today's flaky excuse? One half of the Sometimes (sadly) has left Chicago for literal pastures, but things have now settled. So, let's get blogrolling.

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Just as the Bulls and the Sheens begin to embrace the word "win", the season that starts with the same three letters is making its well earned exit. Snow is about to enter its annual "why do I even bother?" phase, and the Sun, having finally lost those extra Holiday pounds, is feeling hot again. Soon, attractive women will begin to come out of hibernation, and men around the world will rejoice.

National Geographic Presents: The Cave of Babes

Yep, everything is really coming up Derricks.

Here's usually where you'd see a negative twist brought upon by a positive introduction, but damnit all if things aren't feeling just a bit better these days.

I mean, it's almost picnic season! The time to sit in the middle of an emerald colored park, on top of a plaid blanket with frisbee in tow, is nearly here. Can't you just smell the games of pick up badminton about to end with heated arguments regarding the meritsof Pauly D's DJ certification? It's the type of family atmosphere that can only end once the cabs are, in fact, here.

In true MTV Cribs circa 2004, and even Yogi Bear fashion, let us dive into heart of our day out -- the pic-a-nic basket.

You've got your sandwiches, ranging from egg salad to chutney. Your wines, coca colas, and more wines. Your grapes, nuts, grape-nuts, and Chex Mix. Oh yeah, you've got it all.

Along with all of these delectables by your side there is, however, a belief that the food you've brought with you is going to be consumed now-ish. Fresh sandwiches don't tend to do well in the real world. Ever seen one try to do it's taxes? No? Wait one second. Oh, Tom!

Why you should always save the pickle for last

My mom has always been in charge of the picnic menu, and lately I've been missin' her kitchen. Having recently moved away from Mother Jones' fabled cooking, I've found myself in food limbo. The high quality nourishment that I'd become accustomed to has suddenly disappeared, and the old adage of working to put food on the table has become an ironic punch in the jejunum.

The circumstances have led me to my local grocery store. It is here that I've discovered something. Given a lack of unoccupied fridge space, and a weakness for gimmicks, my shopping cart mocks the world's dietitians.

Let me break it down for you, as a list of my "must buys" at the grocery store:

- Flamin' Hot Cheetos, the perfect compliment to a Subway sandwich.

- Diet Coke, all the brand name without any of the flavor.

- Scooby-Doo and/or Spongebob fruit snacks, they're gelatin free!

- Granola bars, mostly just to rationalize the rest.

That's pretty much....oh, and Pretzel M&M's...what I regularly self-checkout. (Just a quick aside, wouldn't it be perfect if all self checkouts had full size mirrors?). During the "payment method" screen, while coming to terms with the fact that secretly we all share a 3rd grader's diet, is when I made a bit of a discovery.

Peeking over, legally, I think, at what's on the conveyor belt for other shoppers, I've found that it's startlingly easy to pick out who shops for one.

Required reading for last week's rose ceremony

Dead giveaways to finding a solo shopper? How's two lists in the same blog post sound?

1) Frozen dinners. These flavorful sodium injections are a mainstay in a lonely man's cart. At least with a name like Michelina, the illusion of eating with a woman is there.

2) Giant bags of miscellaneous chips. If you're thinking that no one pony tailed man could possibly eat all of those chips in a single sitting, you'd be right. Mostly, it's for the convenience of having them Xbox-side during fictitious video game sporting events.

3) Hostess brand anything. Sure, Ho Hos and Twinkies have delightfully playful names, but the last time they were enjoyed around people, Billy Madison was trying to trade his banana for a Snack Pack.

Health peanuts of the world, I call on you! If we want supermarket sweeping change to come to our aisles, we're going to need your help. The Sometimes is making a plea to all you attractive women out there to do your part. If you see a bachelor shopping, his cart barren of essential nutrients, place your palm on his shoulder, lean in, and whisper, "you could use some vegetables." Don't be alarmed if everyone around you is aroused... you're just that good.

We're telling you, these sensual messages will be the first great stride towards a leaner country! You can do it ladies -- you have to. The fate of summertime beach bods depends on it.

Checking out,

Tapan Jones

[Art, as always, by Thomas Glass Jr.]

Click to maximize the pictures!

The Bros Ceremony

As much of the country braves the continuing cold and snow, this past weekend many hearts were warmed by the happiest, lovey doviest, most cuddly date of all - February 14th, Valentine's Day. That is, of course, if they weren't spending it with their emotions on a seemingly never ending Giant Drop of lonely sadness.

To this I say, "shake it off, towel -- you'll be alright." To copy with my single status in life, I spent most of Valentine's daydreaming (see what I did there?) about the perfect date. I went over the main criteria: face, smarts, family, booty, and monaaaay. What's that? How dare you call me Kiddy Pool Shallow Jones! We all do it! .... But anyway, the thinking led me to an interesting place.

I eventually found myself in a "The Bachelor" type scenario, with the final two contestants squaring off. I thought to myself, who in the world would I want to spend the rest of my days with? It was obvious: Will Smith or Larry David.

WWF: St. Valentine's Day Massacre 1998

On the one hand, you have a strong black man whose perennial box office championships come as the result of being charming, witty, and oh-so-mean to Carlton. On the other, you have the embodiment of everything that has ever been considered hilarious, donned in beige slacks, a uni-colored V Neck sweater, and a white undershirt. Both of them are very hard to say no to.

As the daydream continued, I immersed myself further into the world of a potential playoff, at the end of which one of them would be crowned my soul mate. In the interest of the few women reading this - yes, I have absolutely stolen this format from all of your favorite dating shows, but no, I will not give my contestants street walker nicknames.

It's basically Blacker Vance versus the Bald Buster.

For Prince, my daydream carried on as such. We went to a Philly Cheesesteak place in his hometown, and he was initially treated like Norm walking into Cheers. (Anyone reading this, that kind of reception is a lifelong dream of mine, and if you wanted to make it a reality, you too could be on this shortlist). Anyway, as the dinner went on, and my vegetarianism gave way to a French meal where little potato sticks were fried just so, the owner of the establishment started giving Hancock a hard time. Turns out there was another man. One who apparently spun him around during the opening credits. Another man with whom he'd shared a dance? I can understand Kevin James -- who could resist that piece of work -- but this? I was about ready to head back to L.A. for the rose ceremony.

More like the King of Hearts

As the thought raced through my mind, something happened. In a classic Hitch move, Will told the owner that he only conversed with civilized people not on Burn Notice, defended my honor, and apologized for the embarrassing display. Along with introducing me to Uncle Phil and both Aunt Viv's, he had redeemed himself.

Alas, there was another contender in this race. Not to be outdone, Larry picked me up at my doorstep in his Prius, and proceeded to curse every schmohawk on the road who was getting in the way of our plans. His aggressive nature and poor manners were winning me over. Anyway, after the dinner, where he got into a staring contest with the waiter - to the tune of flute music - over the Cobb salad, we went to a mutual place of interest - the driving range. We laughed as one of the balls struck Funkhouser, went home and kicked it with Leon, and decided to call it an evening.

After hours of deliberation, and countless Netflix rentals, my daydream came to a conclusion. If I can't have both, I don't want either, and I decided to return back to my first television based love - Sloan.

So the next time you feel lonely and down, observe and replicate my thought process. If you wanted to leave a comment about who your ideal candidates would be, that would be dandy like valentines' candy.

Keep dreamin' kids,

Tapan Jones

p.s. On February 9th we celebrated the One Year Anniversary of The Chicago Sometimes. Thanks for reading guys, and here's to one..no that doesn't work..five? more!