City on Fire: Chicago 1871 – Chicago History Museum – October 13, 2021

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I strolled into the Members’ Opening Commemoration to the strains of Billy Joel’s We Didn’t Start the Fire playing in the background, just as I imagine it does at every meeting of AA (Arsonists Anonymous).

I wasn’t there for the exhibit (which is interesting and well done – though not as well done as the city was following the historical event), as I had already seen it a few days earlier on the actual 150th anniversary of the conflagration, but rather to partake of the refreshments in order to practice chewing with a mask on in public in anticipation of a couple upcoming dinner events on my calendar.

Though the mask wants to slip down off one’s nose, it’s definitely doable with controlled mastication. And perhaps it will even help me slow down my notoriously fast-eating habit, along with my habit of eating when I’m supposed to be fasting.

The other thing that I wanted to research was whether the inside of my mask would act as a garbage disposal of sorts, but, upon inspection after the fact, there were no noticeable remnants of the barbecue chips that the museum offered as gourmet fire-related food. So, bring on the ribs and Sloppy Joes.

The Keys to My Kingdom

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I have a couple writing projects coming up, and my 44-year-old computer is running out of memory (and I can’t remember what to do about it), so I started looking around for a certified pre-owned, more recent model with limited key strokes on it, maybe from an estate sale of someone who only used it on Sundays.

But with the chip and truck driver shortages, and shipping containers piling high in Savannah, I wasn’t the only one knocking on doors to find Windows.

Then inspiration hit me like a ton of bricks, or more accurately, like 2079 bricks, and I decided to go old school and get a typewriter, or rather build a reportedly somewhat functional one out of LEGOs.

IMG_0059.jpgI’ve forgone my previous day-to-day reporting on construction projects and am proud to announce that I’ve made it through the first four bags of pieces since I put my tunnel visor on and went straight to the object of my desire at the LEGO store, without allowing myself to be tempted by whatever other sirens within might be calling my name.

I can already sense manuscriptorial (I thought and hoped I made this word up, but, alas, found that someone beat me to it in a publication available on ResearchGate) inspiration emanating from my work now that I have the keys in place.

Chicago Marathon – October 10, 2021

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I finished today’s Chicago Marathon in one hour and ten minutes, which was far better than my previous effort forty-one years ago, and which would have been a new, unbeatable, world record if not for the fact that my time was somewhat unofficial, given that I didn’t register for the race, never approached the starting line, or the first few miles of the course for that matter, and turned around on my course-adjacent path at the five-mile mark. I did however, carbo-load last night.

In any case, there I was, just like Rosie Ruiz, among the pack of leaders for at least a tenth of a second, glowing in the cheers of the crowd lining the street, so many of them ringing cow bells that even Christopher Walken might have been satisfied.

Even though I hadn’t yet had breakfast, I resisted, because of my questionable status, the urge to partake of the snacks, like doughnut holes, being offered runners along the way by people who obviously have never experienced exercise-related transient abdominal pain (a side stitch). I may go back out later, however, and look for leftovers.

Thinking Out of the Box

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With autumn having arrived, the wind blowing at biblical levels, and fallen leaves starting to hide my errant golf shots, I turned my attention to preparing for what is to come, because, as weatherman Phil Connors so aptly put it in Groundhog Day, “I’ll give you a winter prediction: It’s gonna be cold, it’s gonna be grey and it’s gonna last you for the rest of your life.” And that was before the delta variant.

So, I visited a long-forgotten friend, my safe deposit box. Oh, sure, I knew, and mostly ignored the fact, that the bank deducted a few dollars every year from my checking account to pay for the luxury of having an uninsured place to store unimportant documents in a building that might be converted into a wine bar at any moment without prior notice, but with outdoor activities winding down, and indoor activities still borderline, at least until I get my fourteenth booster shot, I needed to find something constructive to do, so, at long last, cleaning out the box seemed like just the ticket.

As expected, most everything, except my first passport, which has a flattering picture of me, can and will be discarded, that is, shredded, giving me months of something to do that also qualifies, in my book, as exercise. But I’ll miss these decennial visits to the box. We had something special.

A Scientist (Dr. Mika Tosca) Walks into a Bar – The Hideout – September 14, 2021

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Professor and climate scientist, Dr. Mika Tosca, walked into the bar (well, really the outdoor patio of the bar) and kept talking as long as it took her to redeem the three drink tickets evidently provided to her by the establishment for her appearance. And they say teachers are underpaid.

A self-described rambler, Tosca, touched upon jet streams, jet travel, polar vortexes, hurricanes, wildfires, the ozone layer, particulates in the troposphere, and the Impossible Whopper, while noting that she prefers the term global warming to climate change because it sounds scarier.

Though Tosca, who works at the School of the Art Institute, optimistically explained how artists can generate a new vision of the future that can inspire change in the face of our present-day challenges, she also threw in the word apocalypse about a dozen times.

And, unfortunately, she didn’t offer any grand solutions, consistent with her suggestion that scientists aren’t very creative. But she did let us know where, online, we could see thermal camera videos of people farting.

Scott Turow – Printers Row Lit Fest – September 12, 2021

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I once played golf with Scott Turow. He’s a better writer. He’s also an articulate speaker, so it was a shame that only 10 percent of the 345 seats in the tent were filled to see him. (I know – half a person.)

He was at the Lit Fest pushing his most recent book, The Last Trial. The plot is about a trial.

But, he noted, when asked, that plot is character, though he forgot to attribute that statement to F. Scott Fitzgerald.

He praised Saul Bellow for his characters, but characterized the plot of every one of Bellow’s novels as “a guy wanders around and thinks.” Sounds like my last 18 months.

After the talk I stopped by my favorite Lit Fest spot, the vintage graphic art posters and magazine covers (more crowded than the Turow program), and studied the Orgy of the Living Dead movie poster.

Then I debated waiting around to hear Jeffrey Brown discuss his book, A Total Waste of Space-Time, which sounded like it was right up my alley, until I discovered that it was targeted toward pre-teens. What a waste. Still . . . .

Erwin Helfer w/ Devil in a Woodpile – The Hideout (Patio Show) – September 2, 2021

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Halfway through the band’s first set, Rick “Cookin” Sherry, the leader of Devil in a Woodpile, lamented about the omnipresence of the internet, computers, and the binary number system, informing us, as if we hadn’t already figured it out, that their music was from the analog era.

Sherry’s vocal intonations also were decidedly old, unique, and lots of fun. And his fondness of simpler times is reflected by the fact that all the instruments he plays – clarinet, harmonica, kazoo, washboard – are acoustic.

I double-checked, and even the washboard has an electric version. I need to look further into that. It would take up a lot less room than my washing machine, and have fewer moving parts to break down, except my own parts might be more likely to break down from overuse.

Sherry kept mentioning that Helfer was on his way, and, just when we thought it might be a scam, despite the sight of the piano sitting untouched on the patio stage, Erwin appeared, walked past us, and then disappeared inside for another 20 minutes, eventually emerging, and, without a single word, sitting down and leaping, or rather easing, given his 85 years, into a soothing solo.

At an outdoor show where proof of vaccination was required and seating spaced out and limited, the only thing that was contagious was the revelry, the analog version of whoop-de-do.

When You Have Eliminated the Impossible . . .

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As Sherlock Holmes, in his 2009 eponymous film, said to Inspector Lestrade, “we now have a firm grasp of the obvious.” Or so I think. I am referring, of course, to the most important decision facing humanity since Eve pondered the risk versus reward of taking a bite from that apple, that is, the selection of the next Jeopardy! host.

Eliciting memories of the way the examination of judicial nominations changed forever when Ronald Reagan put forth Robert Bork for the United States Supreme Court in 1987, we have seen, and continue to see, articles about one reason or another that has been, or should be, used to eliminate one candidate or another from consideration for the most important job on earth.

But I have not seen anyone, other than someone on Reddit, whatever that is, even mention the most obvious choice, the one that combines the greatest player with the cleanest background. Yes, Holmes, I mean the undefeated, irreproachable Watson, conqueror of Ken Jennings and Brad Rutter in their highly anticipated 2011 match.

Let the games begin.

Music by the Fountain – Libby York – Fourth Presbyterian Church – August 27, 2021

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York must not have gotten the memo that Andy Brown accompanies everyone I see perform lately. Instead she had Jeremy Kahn on keyboard.

Starting next week, the concerts are scheduled to move indoors. Shockingly, no one asked me, but I would suggest, given the current state of things, and good weather, that they stay outside for at least another month, especially if they want my continued attendance.

I admit that might throw a monkey wrench (or more appropriately a hand plane, metal plane, or doming tool) into the plans for next month, as moving the largest organ in the Midwest, complete with its 143 ranks and 8,343 pipes, into the garden might prove problematic, but I, for one, wouldn’t be disappointed if they postponed the organ concerts (indefinitely).

I might describe York’s voice as almost husky, but that might imply sultry, which it isn’t. By the way, speaking lower than your natural register for a prolonged period can cause one to develop a tension-fatigue syndrome called Muscle Tension Dysphonia, commonly referred to as Bogart-Bacall Syndrome, no kidding.

York was okay, but not my cup of tea. I wonder if she knows how to whistle.

Sundays on State – Chicago Loop Alliance – August 22, 2021

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My immediate reaction to the three-block, block party, was that it was a more organized, more sanitized, more diverse, less crowded, no Blues Brothers to be seen, cannabis vendors now legally present, new age Maxwell Street Market (which led me to learn that the new, real one apparently has reopened this summer on DesPlaines Street).

I made no attempt to see everything, and though I’m sorry I missed the Global Booty Dance, I did see some of the Hula Hoop fitness class.

I treated myself to a free copy of Fahrenheit 451, being handed out in front of a fire engine by the American Writers Museum.

And I couldn’t resist the allure of The Walnut Room’s walking pot pie, but was disappointed when, despite my urgings, it just sat there when I placed it on the curb next to me. So I ate it, which seemed like a pedestrian result.

The Ballet Folklorico de Chicago drew the biggest and most enthusiastic crowd I saw, with people (not me) jammed together to watch and snap photos of the dancers and their colorful costumes.

When a pigeon landed on my hand, I decided it was time to leave.