Joe, Get Your Axe

With Joe off work for a day, he got that twinkle in his eye which I immediately recognized.

No, not that twinkle.  Come on now, this is a family blog.

He wanted food.  The good stuff.  And once again, he suggested Cemitas Puebla (where Joey choked and had the Heimlich performed on him only weeks before).

I wasn't sure if this was such a good idea given our recent history.  I got out the Magic 8 Ball and posed the question:

Should we drive up north again for some fantastic carne asada?

The response:

Try Again Later?  Sounded like a yes to me.  We wouldn't be leaving for an hour.  That's "later," right?  Perfect.

Joe opted for an alternate route to get there as traffic was horrendous.  I wondered about Mayor Rahm's plan to crack down on "flash mobs" (these would be the beat-the-crap-out-of-you-while-taking-your-wallet variety of mob, not the fun "let's go dance Thriller at Union Station" flash mob who have had their legacy destroyed here in Chicago).  Our newly elected mayor is in for an uphill battle based on our car ride, and I felt horrible for the good law-abiding families who lived here under constant threat of violence.  I started counting how many times I saw gang signs flashed, weapons peaking out from jeans, and apparent drug exchanges during our afternoon escape.  I got to 32 before I got tired.  There was a good Journey song I wanted to sing along with instead.  Happy thoughts....happy thoughts.... 

My dad used to take us through these same neighborhoods when we were kids.  Much like Joe, my dad was always on the hunt for a great dive with phenomenal food.  Yet my dad was in law enforcement and could carry a gun.  What does Joe have?  A fireman's axe.  Isn't there something about not bringing an axe to a gun fight?

At long last, we arrived safely with Joey sleeping soundly through gunfire or possibly firecrackers (let's try to think positively, shall we?) and police sirens.  He is definitely his mother's son.  He wouldn't even wake up for this picture, which I had to take quickly before Joe realized what I was doing.  My husband's response?  You're a dork. 

Like I haven't heard that one before.

Notice the sign on the left "As Seen on Diners, Drive-Ins & Dives." Some people view the show as pure entertainment.  Joe interprets it as a call to arms.

We once again enjoyed a wonderful lunch with great service.  For the drive home, I suggested that Joe take more of a mainstream route.  I only counted 12 potential felonies on our return.  Then there was an REO Speedwagon song on.

I applaud the recent efforts of the head of organized crime division of the Chicago police department, Nick Roti. As detailed in this Chicago Sun-Times article (http://www.suntimes.com/news/crime/6123366-418/police-unleash-war-on-maniac-latin-disciples-gang-arrest-120.html), a big operation was held this week to send a message to the thugs terrorizing the city.   If I've calculated this right, the sting was held shortly after our trip to Cemitas Pueblas (is that why the Magic 8 Ball warned me to Try Again Later?). It will be interesting to see if the same brazen activities will be witnessed during our next excursion (which will probably be in a week or so given Joe's newly acquired love of carne asada).

Keep your fingers crossed!