Kanye Dropping Giannis Bars
Kanye West’s new album Donda came out this week, and on the song “Junya” he hit the people with a rhyme about our championship winner: “Let me be honest / I won with the bucks, boy / Let me Giannis / I won with the bucks, boy.” It’s a fun line, sure, and we appreciate to shoutout to Giannis, but let’s admit the truth. It still doesn’t stack up to the hardest bar Kanye has ever spit.
Summerfest is Back
September Summerfest kicked off this week with opening performances from a young fellow guy and some ladies and all of the other folks. I’m sorry. I don’t care that much about Summerfest. I’m still mourning the loss of my favorite festival – Festa Italiana, canceled brutally this year. No number of Dave Chappelles or Megan Thee Stallions can replace the mandolin players and bocce ball. With no Festa, I’ve had no outlet to express my Italian heritage, and now it’s starting to come out in weird ways. Just the other day, I tried ordering gabagool at Olive Garden. The lady just stared at me, and I told her she’d be hearing from Don Scabini, if she didn’t wise up and treat me with some respect.
Summerfest Fireworks
Only two months ago, we were mourning the cancellation of the Fourth of July lakefront fireworks. Well look at us now. Summerfest brought fireworks back to the lake Thursday, and it was a sight to see – all the boats on the shore, the Summerfest crowds together again. It’s like my Great Uncle Jerry used to say, “If you’re ever going to murder a man, do it during fireworks. That way people will say, ‘Was that a gunshot, or a firework?’ And then they’ll be like, ‘A firework, obviously.’ And you’ll get away with it scot-free, little buddy.” And I would say, “Great Uncle Jerry, what’s wrong with you?” And he’d say, “Gonorrhea.”
I miss him so.
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The Harley-Davidson Founder’s Home is for Sale
William Sylvester Harley, born in 1880, founded Harley-Davidson along with the Davidson brothers. He lived in a Mediterranean Revival home in Washington Heights that just hit the market for the first time in 45 years. You can snag the place for a listing price of $399,000. I wasn’t sure whether to put this in the Up or Down column. Who knows what’s going to happen with the house now? Maybe a couple will buy it, spruce it up and raise eight lovely children there who grow up to be geniuses who save this nation from its gradual decay into decadence and despair. Or maybe someone will tear it down and build another Zielinski house. Could go either way. So I just decided to go with “down.” Because, if you learn nothing else from this column let it be this – things can always get worse.
More Construction on the Highway
“My pain is constant and sharp, and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape. But even after admitting this, there is no catharsis; my punishment continues to elude me, and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself.”
– Patrick Bateman
Pretty much sums up dealing with the constant interstate construction in Wisconsin. This week, The Department of Transportation started preparatory work on I-43 between Glendale and Grafton to expand the highway from four to six lanes. The construction is expected to last two whole years. That’s longer than my first marriage.
The Farmer’s Almanac Promises a Frigid Winter
This week, the Old Farmer’s Almanac released its prediction for the winter ahead, and it says we’re in for a real, real cold couple months. Worse than usual. Historically, the Almanac has an 80% success rate with its predictions, which is better than my success rate with marriages so I’ll give them credit.
Apparently they have a whole method for predicting these things that involves the sun and other weather science type junk, but I’d prefer to think it’s just one old farmer living somewhere in Georgia. His name is Tobias. He chews tobacco and stares at the sky and says things like, “You lose two steers in poker. Fella only takes one steer. That’s a kind man. You lose two steers in poker. Fella takes both. Now that’s a man you can trust with your checkbook.” He has a tragic backstory, but he never talks about it, and if you walk by his farm at night and look closely, you’ll see the red glow of his cigarette, as he smokes on the porch. Every year, the Almanac staff swings by, and they say, “So what’ll it be, Tobias?” And he says, “Cold as all hell.” And that’s where we get these predictions.
