A Suspect Folk Remedy

I was walking our chihuahua mutt around the block when a man hailed me.

"That's some kind of do you got there.  Not much hair, though.  I'll tell you what you do for that:  you take laudry detergent and motor oil, heat it up, put it on there and your dog'll get a nice shiny coat of hair.  Can't be that, whaddyacallit, HD40 stuff though, or your dog'll get cancer.  But it works."

I laughed, but he seemed to be telling me this in earnest, so I said, "You're serious?  Have you tried that?"

"Yeah, Daddy used to do that every time he changed the car oil.  He'd heat up a tub of it and dip the dog in.  That dog'd take off running from here to downtown, but when he come back, he had the shiniest coat of hair you ever seen.  I'll tell you why it works - you heat it up - it purifies it, and it's got ...that detergent...it's got that sulphur..fleas and ticks can't stand that.  You gotta heat it up though, or he'll get cancer." 

I thanked him and said I'd try it.  I'm not going to try it.

8:30 PM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Scenes from the Marietta house search
Current mood: tired

The first place we looked at was in a forgotten suburban nook of northeast Marietta, a subdivision that was appealing to prospective homeowners fifty years ago, but now stands neglected, surrounded on all sides by new McMansion communities.  The floors were covered in old, browning linoleum and musty carpet.  A few cockroaches squished here and there for effect. 

Just up the street, we entered a home with similar problems of decay, magnified to the tenth power.  The previous renters had neglected to remove old mattresses, piles of trash, and a fully stocked refrigerator with the power turned off.      Ominous stains danced with bugs on the floor.  "This is new carpet," the landlord said.  "I had it put in six months ago, but you know, the people here had puppies and babies, so…"  

We decided to pass.  Outside, we sat in our car, eyeing the map for the next winner we’d visit.  A zippy youth with dilated pupils approached our car, while his dog watched from behind a fence.  He looked a lot like Timothy Oliphant’s character from Go.  "Hey," he said.  "This is my neighborhood, and I just like to check up on anybody who stops by."  We told him we were just looking for places to rent, and he graciously pointed out a few places on the map that were far, far away. 

We found ourselves in a washed out holler of a neighborhood; brick ranch houses.  Again, a suburb past its prime.  The agent I talked to on the phone said we should just drive by and have a look ourselves.  The driveway was cluttered with some more garbage, a brand new kid’s bicycle and a rusty machete lay nearby.  We walked around to the back, checked out the yard, and tried the back door, which was open.  More trash.  I crept through the dark, looking for a light.  Turning a corner, I could just make out the form of a loveseat.  I was getting accustomed to the darkness when I noticed the loveseat contained an unconscious tramp sleeping in the fetal position.  I turned on my heels and shooed Anne outside.  We decided to pass. 

We finally found a house near picturesque Marietta square that we liked, and decided to take it.  It’s clean, quaint, and freshly renovated.  The dog has a nice yard to sun himself.  There are no hobos or meth heads on the couch. 

Our new town is quite a bit different from concrete Chicago.  There are birds and trees, and the people are much more polite when you cut them off in traffic.  That’s about all I have to say for now, but I’m sure I’ll have more stories soon.  Anne has homebuyer’s fever, and has already started looking for a new place to live. 

11:18 AM - 1 Comments - 1 Kudos - Add Comment

We are moving to Atlanta

Artist's rendering of the journey Alex and Anne will take at the end of March.

11:48 AM - 2 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Invitation to Delicioustown

Hey there!  Anne and I have moved to the Albany Park neighborhood of Chicago, in the NW section of the city.  It's very tasty here.  In fact, this item is the most delicious thing I've eaten in a long, long time:

It's called burma, and it's a little like baklava, but the pastry dough has been shredded and re-hardened with a thick mortar of honey.  On the inside are pistachios and some other nuts. 

Anyway, it's available at the Feyrous Bakery right across from our house, so I plan to get good and fat. 

Albany Park is filled with families from the Middle East, Asia, Eastern Europe, and Latin America and, as far as I can tell, each culture from those regions has conspired to open mouth-watering eateries here. 

So that's all.  You should visit.  I'm just sayin'. 

6:55 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Five Dollar Mark

Anne and I were leisurely strolling through a swap meet recently, when I heard these words: "Hey, buddy, hey!"  It was one of those moments when I knew I should just ignore the strange voice that was addressing me and keep walking, but I felt compelled to look anyway.  As soon as I did, a man in blocky glasses with a spotty pencil thin moustache and a dumpy, haggard female companion beckoned to me.  "You wanna make a quick five bucks?" 

I recoiled involuntarily.  The couple looked eerily like the same couple that had approached me in a movie theatre when I was younger.  I had stepped away from my parents for a few moments when I spotted them eyeing me.  I thought I heard the woman say, "There's one," as they approached.  They tried to engage me in some kind of conversation, but I felt distinctly ill at ease and wandered back to my parents at the concession stand. 

I had the same gut reaction to the swap meet couple.  This time I laughed, made a waving gesture and said, "No thanks."  The first query that popped into my mind was about what kind of sucker they thought I was, but that query was soon replaced by a more disconcerting question: why do I look like the kind of guy who desperately needs five dollars? 

1:55 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Suggest a Project!

I'm back in school again, hurtling towards a grad degree in instructional design through Western Governor's U.  Some of my assignments include creating  lesson plans using computer software.  Right now, I'm trying to create an interactive project using spreadsheets.  What I've discovered so far is that, if you're looking for a good way to fall asleep, try reading an entire chapter on the educational applications of spreadsheets.  Anyway, I know there's a way to make this project fun.  Any ideas?  Other programs that I have to make lesson plans with are database software and powerpoint.  Since the bulk of my experience is in theatre, I was hoping that those of you with theatre / computer experience might have some good suggestions for teaching drama lessons using any of the above programs.  Used suggestions will be forever enshrined in APA formatted citations!

9:30 AM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

TV take 2

The last time I was on the news, it was because two dogs had been electrocuted.  This time, it's because BP is allowed to dump tons of ammonia and sludge (and a couple pounds of mercury) into Lake Michigan.  What horrible occurrence will foreshadow my next television appearance? 

If you pause the video as the camera ends its pan to the far right of a group of protesters, you can see me in the back, right corner.  I'm the bald guy with glasses. 

For some reason, the video wasn't playing automatically on this page when I tried it, but you can click on the "Protesters Demonstrate..." video link in the related links section.

http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/chi-mercury_27jul27,1,141534.story?coll=chi_tab01_layout&ctrack=3&cset=true

7:34 AM - 2 Comments - 1 Kudos - Add Comment

Concrete Shoes

     It tickles me that one stereotype of Chicago (mobsters, mobsters, mobsters!) still has a solid foundation in truth.  For the past month or so, the papers here have been bubbling over with reports of the trial of a group of hit men who fulfilled their contracts throughout the 70's, 80's and 90's.  The trial has recently reached soap operatic proportions as Frank Calabrese Jr., son of Frank Sr., turned evidence against his father, revealing that he had gone so far as to wear a wire for the Feds as the two visited in a jail cell.  This testimony made front page headlines today; the Tribune focused on Jr.'s history: his initiation into the Outfit, and his journey towards turning coat.  The item in the paper which caught my interest, though, was a separate boxed and columned list off to the side of the article that provided the reader with an entrée into "Outfit Etiquette.  "DO:  Always obey your capo.  DON'T:  Talk of the Outfit to anyone outside the organization."

     It's laughable, but however unintentionally, the Chicago Tribune is actually advising the citizens of this town how to behave.  Don't fuck with your capo, Chicago.

          Anyway - the mob, gangsters, whatever, they make for exciting history.  Just down the street from my house is the Biograph Theatre, the place where Hoover's g-men gunned down Dillinger.  When I point this fact out to visitors, they don't seem to care, but it never fails to excite me when I walk by that place.  It all came to a head there, a culmination of the battle between federal government and outlaw gang leader trying to make a buck.  Dillinger's bank robbing rampage brought to a halt by the betrayal of a lady friend and a few shots in the back. 

     It's just this type of outlaw folklore that helps me get into the spirit of Chicago's urban hustle.  In Kansas City, I had all those memories of kidhood and friends to make the place vital.  When I moved to San Francisco, I had the natural beauty of the landscape to fall back on whenever I felt disoriented and sick of urban life.  But Chicago - it's made out of brick and concrete.  Built on the filled in sandy beach of Lake Michigan, even the trees are lucky they're here.  The extreme flatness of the land hinders the exploratory thrill earned from living in a spot with more topographical nooks and crannies.   It's a straight, level shot from wherever you lie to wherever you want to go.  So, to love this city, you have no choice but to love the wheelings and dealings of humanity.  The shops, the bars, the architecture, the parties, the traffic patterns, the trains and buses, the old timers, the yuppies, the frat kids, the performers, the homeless, the cops and the crooks, etc….I have a love / hate relationship with these things.  I need the folklore to make them more palatable. 

     I want to know where these mobs of humanity come from.  Where do they think they're going? Why do they build and rebuild their dreams on money, gunpowder and myth?  And how long will they stay on the right side of the concrete? 

Currently reading : The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic, and Madness at the Fair that Changed America By Erik Larson Release date: 10 February, 2004

7:44 AM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Nemesis!

I have an enemy.  He lurks near the intersection of Lincoln and Sheffield, rambling under the train tracks or sleeping on the park bench.  The first time I saw him, a few months ago, he was shuffling in his over-size coat and baggy jeans towards Anne and I,  mumbling aggressively.  As we passed, the only distinct words I heard were, "Goddamn,"  "ugly," and "fucking head like that; I'd wear a hat!"

The last time I saw him, I was crossing the aforementioned intersection and was curious to note that someone on a bench nearby was shouting crazy things.  I made the mistake of looking over and didn't realize that it was the same guy until we'd made eye contact.  This time his approach was much more direct:  "Put a Goddamn hat on, you ugly son of a bitch!"

I laughed and walked away, but I know the game is on.  I'll be keeping my head uncovered and stepping a wary step every time I walk down Lincoln Ave., watching and waiting for my nemesis.

4:06 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Hell is Other Puppets

         Geez, I've been bad about writing lately.  I plead the stress of moving and job hunting as an excuse.  I actually wrote out a whole story about my latest entanglement, being a puppeteer in a marionette production of "The Wizard of Oz" with a disco soundtrack, but reading it over just made me too sad.  I've decided to ramble about it instead, simply for the sake of having something to talk about. 

            A few weeks ago, I answered a Craigslist ad that said: 

                   Puppeteers needed!  No experience necessary.

      I'm wary of such statements, but when I found out that the puppets were marionettes, the temptation to learn about this art was too great to resist. 

     Long story short - I didn't learn much, because the production was completely disorganized.  We ran through the first act twice in four days of rehearsal and didn't run through the second act until an hour before opening.  There was one script to share between myself and the other two guys who answered the ad, and the backstage was so crowded that our puppets became tangled the moment we moved them.  I've never been afraid of being booed out of a theatre before, but I positioned my jacket near the emergency exit in order to make a quick getaway.  Fortunately, I discovered that kids just like looking at marionettes, and their parents are only too happy to distract them for an hour and a half.

     I suppose the reason I'm not typing out the more detailed story is that I feel a high level of pathos for the director.  He's been in this business for nigh on fifty years, and there aren't many marionette companies left out there.  According to him, his grandparents were puppeteers in Russia in the 1800's.  His family fled that country's troubled turn of the century and set up shop in the U.S.  He's somehow related to the Adlers, knew the Lundts and Van Johnson, and achieved a good level of success with his company in the late 60's.  I think he's been living in that golden past ever since.  All of his programs for the show were either originals or copies - old typeset, original cast and all. His pictures from that time depict him as a real impresario, suited up and sporting slicked back hair and a waxed moustache.  He must have had a good following and a good amount of funding to maintain his company. 

     These days, he's a bit confused and unfocused.  During rehearsals, he didn't know who he'd given direction to, didn't get around to assigning parts until we asked him to, and was confused as to why scene changes or entrances weren't happening during performances, even though he never delegated those responsibilities.  He wasn't sleeping, had halitosis, and received little support from his production manager and stagehands, who all smoked on stage and acted a little drunk.  So, yeah, I feel sorry for the guy.  He really wants to keep his art form alive, but it's just not happening.  He's living my nightmare scenario of a lifetime in theatre:  broke, senile, and plying a trade that no longer appeals to the general public. 

     Anyway, that's why the whole experience made me sad, but I don't want to leave you with a completely disparaging image of the director.  He really wanted to share his joy of puppetry with everyone; you could see it in his eyes when he talked about the subject.  I wish him luck in the future, and hope he gets some much needed rest.  It takes guts to stick to stick it out in showbiz, but you have to learn when it's eating your life away.         

2:40 PM - 4 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment