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  • Vote early, vote often for Whiting's pierogi superiority
    If you have never eaten a pierogi, if you have never explored the magnificent taste combinations that arise when you weld a doughy dumpling to the important parts of a potato, then all I can say is that I weep for you. I weep for you nightly.
  • Jeff Vrabel: Paper vs. plastic, or, Showdown in Aisle 12
    I'm not going to name names, but I'm starting to think that a certain chain of grocery stores is getting fat kickbacks based on the number of plastic bags they get out the door every day. I have proof of this. Well, not really "proof" in the sense of evidence that can be used to back up a theory, but a vague notion, which is, I think, all I need anyway.
  • Jeff Vrabel: An elegant weapon for a more civilized 4-year-old
    Kids these days, they just don’t know how good they have it. They have the YouTubes, they have the orange and purple iPods, they have the Wii, with that little remote control you wave around to make that gelatinous snowman that’s supposed to be a tennis player on the TV do tennis-y things.
  • Lowcountry enjoying storm-related luck
    My dad's house is nestled on the edge of a picturesque little lake these days, which is unusual, since three days ago it sat on the edge of a busy two-lane road and just down the street from a CVS. This is because he lives in Valparaiso, Ind. (Official motto: "Everything is just down the street from a CVS!"), and there are no bodies of water near Valparaiso, Ind., that you can swim in without the fear of waking up to find that you have spot-evolved a dorsal fin, or have started popping off Mogwai. Northwest Indiana borders Lake Michigan, and for many centuries the steel plants that dot the edge of the lake like so many charred, rusty, pimples have discharged their wares into the water, making swimming there about as wise an idea as leaping headfirst into an oversized Crock Pot full of very old beef stew.
  • 'Ghostbusters 3' rumors create MASS HYSTERIA
    It’s not often that I find myself demanding things from Harold Ramis, but I have an ultimatum for the former Ghostbuster: STOP IT, STOP IT RIGHT NOW, OR I WILL COVER THIS ADORABLE KITTEN WITH WALL PRIMER (you’ll have to trust that I have a kitten here).
  • Video games didn't make my kid angry, but they helped
    I've never been one to equate childhood exposure to guns and video games with an eventual life of violence; I grew up splitting my time among G.I. Joe, pro wrestling and "Double Dragon II" on the NES, which is why I couldn't talk to a girl without sweating like a horse until the age of 27, yet I still turned out to be a freaky hippie who has never, to this day, made up reasons to invade another country or even hit another human, although I reserve that particular right if I ever encounter any of the New Kids on the Block, Kid Rock or anyone who appears on cable with the job title of "commentator."
  • It's perfectly OK to be afraid of a 9-year-old pitcher
    I am trying to imagine a scenario in which, at any point in my athletic history, I would have been disqualified from participating in something because I was too good at it. I am now trying to imagine bringing up this scenario to anyone I know and not watching them explode in a fiesta of vigorous snort-giggling.
  • Google is well aware of how little attention I give to my lawn
    I feel just awful complaining about the people at Google, because they have single-handedly streamlined, by an incalculably exponential margin, the amount of time I spend looking online for music to steal and pictures of Scarlett Johansson. I feel like I should send them a thankful-tasting pie or something, but I also have in my head that they're very cool people, and would graciously demur with a tap on the heart and a shake of the head like, no, dude, don't worry about it, we got you.
  • Rock-A-Fire Explosion stars in "Love in this Showbiz"
    As a rule, I generally don't look at the steady stream of YouTube links sent to me on any given day, for two simple reasons: Sure, I don't have the time, but more importantly, bosses are walking around here all the time and my desk now faces a common area instead of my old window, where I could sit and play online slot machines based in some filthy alley in Borneo and it could be weeks before anyone noticed.
  • Life is too short to feud with the vending machine
    By nature I am a happy guy. I enjoy sunrises and bluebirds and French toast, babies seem to like me, I enjoy the smell of hot fresh coffee on a sun-kissed morning, and I'm generally pretty easy-going, unless you encounter me when I'm driving on 278, when I turn into a vicious, inhuman valkyrie of destruction who chews bones and breathes hate.
  • A magical land where you can buy hundreds of Pop-Tarts, and a couch
    I am like 20 years behind the curve in writing this column, because prior to last weekend I had never spent much time in a Sam's Club store, for the very simple reason that I have never found myself in need of a 16-gallon barrel of raspberry vinaigrette anything. And see, I'm even far enough behind that curve that I think that large-items-at-Sam's-Club jokes are reasonably novel, but I beg the reader to bear with me, because I have recently returned from what I am counting as my inaugural visit to the Holy Land of Bulk Fruity Pebbles and frankly my mind is kind of sausage right now.
  • Monkeys use to learn the Force (finally!)
    I used to be one of those people who believes it's nearly impossible to improve upon monkeys, which have historically been one of nature's most consistently hilarious creatures. What can't monkeys do? They're funny, they do adorable human-like things when you throw change at them in a zoo, they're delicious, they can play boogie-woogie piano if Chuck E. Cheese is to be believed and they are single-handedly responsible for keeping the organ grinder industry alive (I read that last part in Forbes).
  • How my Uncle Jim spearheaded the green revolution
    You can say a lot of things about us Vrabels -- that we are a swarthy, Cubs-loving bunch, that our name in Slovak means "Little Bird" but we tell people it means "Ferocious Warriors With Swords Of Fire And Rage" and that most of us can make a pretty mean halupki, although we find most people who say that last thing do so immediately before making up a reason to leave the room.
  • Caffeine is good, but caffeine with nougat is AMAZING
    In my spare time, I do a fair amount of running, mostly because it is the only athletic endeavor at which I have ever exhibited the remotest bit of skill, because -- and novices may or may not know this -- the sport of running involves putting one foot in front of the other, which is not technically a "skill" so much as it is "something most people are required to do every day anyway, unless they are a salmon, or Rush Limbaugh."
  • Guns don't kill people, Darth Vader does (with guns)
    The Little Man has developed a spirited interest in gun toys these days, which is no surprise, since he's 4 years old and a boy, and at some distant point in evolutionary history it was programmed into human DNA that during their early development, boys will get really, really into gun toys.
  • Wait, a cell phone that does something superfluous? That's weird
    If you've ever found yourself thinking, "Gee, my cell phone can make phone calls, text-message people, play the YouTube, make my ringtone that Usher song, access the Internet, bake poppy-seed muffins, serve as a Democratic superdelegate, transform into Megatron and deliver babies in comical emergency situations, but when will it finally get around to doing something useful?" boy, are you going to want to hug me after this. (Note: do not actually hug me, as I recoil instinctively from human contact.)
  • It's the no-see-ums' planet, we're just occasionally allowed in
    One could make the argument that all animal bites are displeasing developments, and that if possible, it's best to avoid putting any of your valuable, delicious skin into the path of the teeth of something. It's what biologists call "evolutionary theory," and what most other people call "trying to avoid becoming dead."
  • Kids, parents apparently argue on a regular basis
    Parents and their toddlers argue an average of 20 or 25 times per hour, according to a recent study published in Child Development magazine and held by scientists who spent time in a confined space with arguing parents and toddlers. Just stop and think about the next time you're complaining about how lousy your job is. As a father of a four-year-old, I take this as an unnerving figure, because it means that Jake and I are SO ABOVE THE NATIONAL AVERAGE I think we're gonna have a cupcake party to celebrate.
  • Behold, beverage connoisseurs, the magnificent Slurpuccino
    For the most part, food is good, but on the whole, I find that food can be dramatically improved by mixing it with other, unrelated food. It is in this manner that I've pioneered some of my most ingenious culinary creations, such as Hot Dog Pudding (patent pending), Milk Loaf (patent pending), Wads Of Rolled Up Cinnabon That You Dip Into Texas Pete (patent pending), and Orange Julius (lawsuit pending, and I know I'm fighting an uphill battle here, but I think we can all agree that the massive multinational Julius conglomerate has unleashed its reign of citrusy mall-terror for too long).
  • This ain't no disco, or 'Life During Naptime'
    There are a lot of things you give up when you have children, such as going to see movies within eight months of their release dates, much of your contact with adult humans after 9 p.m. and the ability to decide what song will be playing in your car for something like 20 consecutive years. (You also forfeit the ability to ever say, "No, I don't know what the Backyardigans are," and not be lying to protect your image and, of course, claim to not have to clean pee out of things much.)
  • Important Breaking News -- the kids are cursing more
    It is generally accepted that teenagers are terrible, terrible people, at least among the groups who decide such things, which are, in order, The Media, conservative commentators and organizations with the words "Parent" and "Concern" in their titles. If you had recently arrived here from another planet, like Ralph Nader, and turned on the TV, you could very quickly start believing that all teens do is spend most of their days punching each other, listening to terrible music, manufacturing babies like reproductive tommy guns and finding new and exotic ways to alter their mindstates, most of which, since I am over 30, I have never heard of.
  • Scientists unearth the Frogger to end all Froggers
    I am something of an aficionado of fearsome, whoppingly huge ancient animals, a delightful personality trait I can trace to elementary school, when -- and I apologize for sounding arrogant here -- I was the UNDISPUTED GOD OF KNOWING DINOSAUR STUFF in all of Upland Elementary's fourth grade.
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