One of the benefits – the *only* benefit, really – to staying home is that you feel awful. And feeling awful breeds food creativity. I know that I have one can of condensed cream-of-chicken soup in the cupboard, and I would prefer not to venture into the snowy outdoors to get more chicken soup, but I had a vision in my NyQuil-induced fog: I also have a chicken breast in the freezer. And vegetables. And noodles.

I was in business.

This may be old hat to those of you who are, say, Depression-era cooks, creating dinners out of necessity and maybe an old shoe, but for bachelors in the 21st century who enjoy cooking occasionally – but more often than not order in – this was a discovery on par with cold fusion.

Thus was born the Beatnik Industries Chicken-Noodle Soup Recipe. Gather:

• One chicken breast, frozen
• One can condensed cream-of-chicken soup
• Assorted chopped vegetables: carrots, onions, green peppers, et al.
• Noodles of some sort
• Pepper and basil

Boil the chicken for an hour or so, covered, on low heat in about six cups of water. After 30 minutes or so, add the vegetables, pepper and basil. Don’t add salt – the prepared soup will be more than enough. After an hour, pull the chicken out and rip it apart with forks for that ‘I made this on the farm without using a knife’ feeling. Add the condensed soup to the water and vegetables before adding the chicken again, as the meat makes it difficult to stir. Put the chicken back in and drop in some noodles.

Don’t add too many noodles, though, because they’ll soak up all your water. Cover and cook for another 20-30 minutes on low heat.

Eat it and marvel at how good a 19th-century nanny you would have made.

This really happened, I swear. It even says ‘The Associated Press contributed to this story’ at the bottom. Seriously.

Bret Stieghorst was watching an adult movie … His downstairs neighbor … heard a woman screaming … ran up the stairs and broke down the door, all while brandishing a three-foot long military-style sword.

Read it all here. Only in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin. Of course.

Link the first.

I was searching for a ZIP code aggregator, and came across this fun piece of coding out of MIT. Go ahead, play around with the ZIPDecoder. Put in your ZIP and watch the map constrict to show your area. No matter what anyone says, there is some logic to the post office.

Link the second.

And, very quietly, Google Maps has added the Chicago Transit Authority stops to its repertoire.

Link the third.

I use a Mac at home but I use the Autumn picture on many of the Windows PCs I work with. It’s simple, it’s not tacky, and it reminds me of, well, autumn.

But where can one find Autumn? Luckily, Vanity Fair is on the case.

I’ve been training for a year of running - the Shamrock Shuffle, the Chicago Distance Classic, the Chicago Marathon - and my trusty iPod shuffle finally crapped out on me.

It was time, I suppose, for my little guy to meet his maker after logging hundreds of miles with me and putting up with rain, sweat and snow. In fact, I’m having trouble throwing him away: there was that much of an emotional attachment. And by ‘emotional attachment,’ I mean ‘odd feelings of familiarity for a stick-of-gum sized piece of plastic.’

So I decided to move into the 21st century with its flying cars and its meals in pill form by joining the Nike+ running community. After purchasing my entry ticket in the form of an iPod Nano and the Nike+ sensor, I was jazzed. My new toys would record entire workouts for me, tracking mileage, time, pace and calories, and would automatically upload that information to the Nike site where I could see my progress graphically and compete against other runners.

it would be like a video game. And we all love video games.

There’s only one problem: the thing’s a piece of shit. Witness:

Sunday’s run, according to walkjogrun.net: 7.49 miles.
Sunday’s run time, according to Nike+: 61:03 (assuming accuracy).
Thus Sunday’s pace: 8:09 per mile.

Sunday’s run, according to Nike+ and the iPod: 4.83 miles.
Thus Sunday’s pace: 12:37 per mile.

On Sunday, Nike+ underestimated my workout by 36 percent, or 2.66 miles.

Monday’s run, according to walkjogrun.net: 4.4 miles.
Monday’s run time, according to Nike+: 34:22 (again, hoping this is right).
Thus Monday’s pace: 7:48 per mile.

Monday’s run, according to Nike+ and the iPod: 2.69 miles.
Thus Monday’s pace: 12:45 per mile.

On Monday, Nike+ underestimated my workout by 39 percent, or 1.71 miles.

And before you ask, yes, I calibrated the thing. I’m thinking of removing the calibration to see if it gets any more accurate.

Moral of the story: Stick to old school tech, such as digital watches and Google-Maps distance calculators, when training.

This was forwarded to me yesterday, and I found it funny and poignant for little Billy, given my previous posts here and here on the topic of astronaut interviews and subsequent buffoonery.

With much respect to Mr. Fish.

I really, really enjoy a good Bill Simmons column. He’s one of those hyper-pop-culture-literate, funny writers that knows how to turn a phrase AND make you say ‘yep, that’s pretty much how it is.’ He’s just like Chuck Klosterman - who, incidentally, is another Page 2 columnist, whose book Killing Yourself to Live: 85% of a True Story felt like something I would have written after a two-week-blackout mescaline binge and immediately forgot I created - and his blog work on Sunday night’s Grammy Awards was spot-on.

I don’t, however, read his stuff all that frequently; while I get all his music and pop references, I don’t follow arcane sports references like ‘I have a new favorite player: Chase Budinger, the Arizona freshman best described as a taller Thunder Dan Majerle with a 45-inch vertical leap,’ which is in his current column.

A few notes on his annotated notes:

8:22 — The Black Eyed Peas come out to introduce “Best R&B album.” I saw Fergie at the Celebrity Go-Kart Race last week and she was so unimpressive, my friends and I argued about whether she was one of the top 1,000 attractive famous females on the way home. I’m not making this up. (Note: I was in the “there are definitely 1,000 female celebs who are prettier than her” camp.)

We’re not going to play a game called ‘I said the same thing in late 2005.‘ We’re just not going to do that. Amen, my good man.

8:34 – It’s a tie between Justin Timberlake and Chase Budinger for “white guy who does the best job transcending his whiteness.” Justin Timberlake is performing right now, although he made the tragic decision not to sing “D*** in a Box.” Hey, it’s OK to think he’s talented, right? Two hit albums AND he’s one of the best SNL hosts ever AND he sold at the highest point possible on Britney’s stock AND he wrote the best revenge song ever (the “Cry Me A River” song that pretty much murdered Britney’s soul) AND he’s plowing through every hot female in Hollywood right now. He’s a hero, I say.

Ditto. Justin’s my new non-sexual man-crush.

9:58 — Sports Gal’s take on Rascal Flatts: “I don’t get it. I don’t get it at all. I hate everything about them. I hate their name. I hate their music. I hate the lead singer’s voice. I hate his hair. I hate his leather jacket. I hate everything. What are they? I wouldn’t even hire them for a wedding if I only had $15,000 to spend on everything.” She’s not a fan.

Again, ditto. Does anyone - anyone? - like this band? Anyone?

10:26 — “Thursday on all-new CSI: Bloody decomposing hookers! You hear us??? Bloody decomposing hookers!”

This is why I don’t watch TV. I prefer to make snide comments from the sidelines.

A few weeks ago, the Chicago Transit Authority - the agency responsible for the el and the bus system - announced major delays in its service that would be taking place for the next two years. I can see the utility in upgrading a system that’s been in existence since 1947 and, according to a documentary I briefly watched last week (’Connections,’ and no, don’t ask any more questions), still using track switches that are more than 30 years old. But while the system is talking about making an upgrade starting this April, it began pushing my buttons as soon as the announcement was made.

Annoyance the First. My normally 45-minute commute to work stretched to more than a hour and a half on one of the coldest days of the year. Sure, there are delays, and I can accept this. But this fact, coupled with Annoyance the Second below, was too much.

Annoyance the Second. My new RFID-equipped fare card stopped working abruptly … and was promptly confiscated by CTA personnel. Instead of sending it in, however, the attendant merely held on to it, forcing me to go all the way to transit headquarters to get a new card. My appearance even caused the worker in customer service to remark ‘He took your card? I wish they would stop doing that.’

Yeah, me too.

While I was taking this trip in the snow this morning, though, and interesting piece caught my eye about simply streamlining existing processes in an effort to reduce the current (and pending) congestion. A rider took some ideas from the Parisian transit system and came up with 12 ideas for the CTA.

In the meantime, though, looks like I’ll be getting even more reading done than usual on my soon-to-be-really-long trips to work. The next two years are going to be fun.

An item in the paper today pointed me in the direction of the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration - let’s ignore for a moment that I previously had no idea such a division of the government existed, but hey, someone has to study substances and mental health - and the Chicago metropolitan area was given quite the superlative. Quoting the agency’s ‘Substance Use in the 15 Largest Metropolitan Statistical Areas: 2002-2005′ report:

Among the 15 largest [Metropolitan Statistical Areas], the Chicago (25.7 percent) and Houston (25.6 percent) MSAs had higher rates of binge drinking than the national average (22.7 percent). … binge alcohol use is defined as drinking five or more drinks on the same occasion (i.e., at the same time or within a couple of hours of each other) on at least 1 day in the past 30 days. [italics mine]

Read the rest of the study

The responsible, rational part of me wants to decry these results, calling them ‘irresponsible’ and ‘reprehensible’ and other such pejorative terms, but another part of me wants to take at least partial credit for such a momentous achievement. To be called be called dedicated imbibers of adult beverages is one thing, but to be the absolute top of the charts in terms of per capita consumption should get me a gold medal or a blue ribbon or something. Just how much of that ranking am I responsible for, I wonder? Hmm …

• 2005 Chicago census: 9.4 million residents
• Incidence of Chicago binge-drinking: 25.7 percent
• Thus, number of Chicago binge-drinkers: 2,415,800

So at one of 2,415,800 people, I’m 0.0000414 percent of the binge crowd. I’m making t-shirts. Go team binge-drink Chicago!

So … the ‘Intervew with the Astronaut’ post from last week? Apparently he’s at the center of a NASA love triangle.

Since I’m in the middle of publishing an interview with him, I won’t comment further. But still … wow. This one has everything: BB guns, pepper spray, diapers. Yes, diapers. Read it.

[Update, 11:02 a.m. Apparently the brits have even more information than Fox News. They’re reporting on love letters.]

The problem with the RedEye is that its covers give the inside content a hype that the stories just can’t uphold. I’ve been tempted by stories promising sex and rock ‘n roll, only to be greeted by 200 words on common-sense ‘Are you serious? Of course going to bars to find long-term relationships isn’t fulfulling’-style writing.

In any case, the RedEye did a good job today. It doesn’t get much more understated than a lone lowercase ‘finished,’ showing just what the city was thinking last night. Click the thumbnail for a larger shot.

Finished.

(sigh)

I was sent the following Japanese lyric poetry by a friend earlier today, in her effort to convince friends and coworkers to watch the big game at her comfy, green-couch-featuring apartment. However, due to the brilliance of her creation, I asked her for reprint permission. And I’m sure if you’re really that interested, you could watch the game at her place.

So today, I’m pleased to present Beth Herbert Brings Us Super Bowl Haiku:

‘Why Big Screen TVs Are Stupid’

ahhh! ahhh! ahhh! ahhh! ahhh!
why are those players gigantic?
scary big t.v.

*I realize I cheated with eight syllables in the second line, but I
think I got the point and artistic vision across.

‘Why Watching the Superbowl in the City Could Potentially Be Dangerous’

bears win but watch out
drunk fans riot in the street
garbage can on fire

‘The Superbowl is the Happiest Day of the Year, and Therefore Should Be Spent in the Happiest Place on Earth, Which You Would Think Would be Disneyworld but is Actually My Living Room’

here since eleven
want to take a nap but the
bar floor is sticky

green leather heaven
crescent hot dogs plentiful
not a stupid bar

And there’s more shocking news from the world of Rowling. Not only - as I mentioned yesterday - is Daniel Racliffe getting nekkid, but, according to the Wall Street Journal, the list price for ‘Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows’ is $34.99. From the story:

Scholastic Corp. scheduled July 21 for the release of “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” and set a cover price of $34.99 for the novel. The price is $5 higher than author J.K. Rowling’s most recent book, and a sign that Scholastic is intent on maximizing its profits on what is expected to be the last in the Potter series.

Rest of story [subscription required]

Forbes already lists her as the second-richest woman in entertainment, just behind Oprah, so I really don’t mind paying the extra cash.

Time to start saving now …

Looks like Bears supporters are few and far between. Screenshot from the current ESPN.com voting:

But then again, the official line has the Colts taking this one, so I could see this. Too bad there’s going to be a lot of surprised people come Sunday night …

Daniel Radcliffe, better known the actor who plays Harry Potter, went ahead and got his bad self naked for a stage production of Equus. I’m going to withhold commenting since I’m such a nice guy. Not that I would say anything about his ‘magic wand’ or ‘isn’t he still 17?’ or ‘is that girl who plays Hermione Granger 18 yet?’, but I think you’re following me.

At least the final Harry Potter book is coming out July 21, so that’s something to look forward to.