You know, there's a few things going on this week.

One is, in fact, the city of Chicago is up for grabs with the election for mayor and

alderman, and the future is being established, and a bad leader selected now will make it

worse to turn things around.

Also the Super Bowl is going on, and everyone's going to be cramming their faces with steady,

greasy foods, chips, and cramming their arteries with all these fatty foods and tasty

delights.

And the third thing is that I'm still stuck in the hospital.

I mean, at Shirley Ryan, these people are great.

They saved my life.

I had a quadruple bypass, open heart surgery, a stroke, and they saved me.

But here's the thing.

You don't sit around watching bad sci-fi ads cable.

They're up in Adam, and I'm up in Adam with all these bulkieries, and one bulkier guy,

who I'll tell you about someday, and they're working my ass off.

So we break up in the groups, and one group I'm in that's me, and four other guys who are

my age, the African American black guys, and they're all grumbling that we're not going

to be able to eat barbecue anymore, and that our wives are going to tell us what to do,

and that our wives are over because no more barbecue.

And then I got to thinking, if they had help like I did, they wouldn't have ended up in

this place.

And so many people wouldn't have ended up, and so many people die, particularly black men

...