See you in June

That's probably the next time you'll see a post hereabouts. In the meantime, we're packing like mad in anticipation of pulling up stakes and heading for Seattle. Thanks for everything Chicago, but it's time to make westing.

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Photo above via laflaneuse who merits watching.

Adventures in Dogwalking

The Path Less Shoveled
Originally uploaded by leespeaks.

The length of unshoveled sidewalk between us had been tromped into single-file trench. The other guy and his dog stood at the other end waving for Gordy and me to come on through. Back at my end of the trough, I was thinking about crossing the street, but Kenmore was looking pretty slushy and full of melty chemicals that are unfriendly to dog feet. So I took the other guy's offer.

Gordy is in most respects an upstanding animal, but he does tend to lose his cool around other dogs, complete with the apeshit yapping and even the occasional throat lunge. We used to have a big dog, three times Gordy's size, who thought this was a blast. Most people and dogs you meet out on the street are not so understanding.

So halfway through the trench, I scooped Gordy up and prepared my usual explanation: "This one's a troublemaker," or words to that effect. As we passed, the other guy's dog rose up tentatively on its hind legs for a polite sniff, and I said something like, "Well, aren't you a cutie," because it was indeed a cute dog, a tawny mid-sized whippet-pinscher mix. I was about to turn and say thanks to the other guy when he erupted.

"You're not even gonna say thank you? What an ASSHOLE!"

With that, he stomped off down the little snow ditch, yanking the whippet-pinscher mix behind him. The next words from me were the thanks he was apparently so in need of, but his reply was to yell, "Fuck you, man!"

Like the first thing he said, this came out sounding so wounded and plaintive and out of proportion that I was trying not to laugh when I called out another thanks and added a wish for a good evening. Still clomping away, the other guy hollered back another F bomb, adding his hope that Gordy would someday get hit by a car. I called back another wish for a good evening and closed with a "God bless!" that I'll admit strayed into Jerry Lewis territory.

As Gordy and I went on up the street, I tried but failed to maintain any sense of offense as the whole business quickly transmuted into satire. Sure, my mind churned out the usual sarcastic things that tend to come to you after such an encounter, but it was also turning every "fuck" the other guy said into "flurg," making it even more difficult not to laugh, because to me, "Flurg you, man!" is pretty fucking funny.

Of course, I still feel sorry for the other guy's dog.

Can I get an amen?

Overheard in Chicago: A man on his cell phone in a cafe.

"So you think that your praying got me fired? Well... that's a god I want no part of."

Show: Ringo and Friends

WITH LOVE FROM ME TO YOU | Ringo Starr
Originally uploaded by talented flickr user Leo Reynolds.
Used under a Creative Commons license.

You've got to love Ringo Starr. Seriously. He insists on it. But don't worry that things will be one-sided. Oh, no. The 68-year-old former Beatle loves you right back. Seriously.

Ringo and his All Star Band brought the 2008 incarnation of the Peace & Love Tour to Chicago's Charter One Pavilion on a beautiful summer evening (last Sunday) riding a groovy wave of audience love. The concert may as well have been staged on Ringo's lawn. This was the first time I'd seen Ringo live, but I was clearly in the minority. Tee shirts from Peace & Love Tours as far back as 1999 were sported on many a proud middle-aged torso.

It's a testament to the power of Ringo's personality and reputation that he can front a band composed of people known for fronting bands and do it with such casual grace. It's not bursting any bubbles to say that Ringo is not a dynamic live performer. But he doesn't have to be. He's Ringo, after all, one of the last remnants of that golden, pre-InterWeb age of Superstardom. It's a status that he's all the more deserving of because he doesn't seem a bit concerned by it. The first song of the evening -- "It Don't Come Easy" -- could have been a gentle reminder that there was cost to being Ringo, but if so we were all too beered up and blissed out to take the hint.

It's also a testament to Ringo's self-assessment that, despite recently putting out a solo album (the nostalgia-tinged Liverpool 8 - video), he bypassed the solo tour option in favor of another All-Star expedition. Even Ringo knows that it could be hard to draw a crowd for just Ringo. Plus, why not bring your friends along for the ride?

The All-Star lineup changes from tour to tour, even from date to date. The crew I saw was comprised of Colin Hay (Men at Work) and Billy Squire ("The Stroke," etc.) on guitars; Hamish Stuart (Average White Band) on electric bass mostly; Gary Wright ("Dreamweaver") on keyboards; Edgar Winter on keyboards, percussion and sax, and Gregg Bissonette (Santana, ELO, Joe Satriani, etc.) on drums. (Ringo's Ludwig drum kit had pride of place at center stage, but he sat behind it less than half the time, generally letting the terrific Bissonette shoulder the rhythm load.)

The mix speaks to Ringo's magnanimity but it also kept what could easily have been An Evening with the Old Farts into a eclectic and satisfying musical experience. After three quick numbers with Ringo out front, ("five minutes to love me") they proceeded to "go around the band," as Ringo put it, with each performer taking the spotlight for a song before introducing someone else. Both Hay and Squire also performed solo acoustic numbers. Ringo disappeared backstage for a few numbers, presumably for a quick kip and a nice sandwich.

Colin Hay's solo show at the 300-seat Lakeshore Theater in May was a thoroughly charming and delightful experience, but his presence was muted in this larger setting where he was largely consigned to rhythm guitar. (Coincidentally, one shared theme of both that show and this one was smacktalk about Sting. Introducing "Yellow Submarine," Ringo announced, "If you don't know this song your probably at the wrong venue," adding under his breath, "you're probably here to see Sting." This was greeted by guffaws from everyone on stage.)

Although all the players were in fine form, especially for a lazy summer night, Billy Squire and Edgar Winter really stood out. I admit to not having given a thought to Billy Squire since I was in high school, so it wouldn't have occurred to me that he'd have great chops. In addition to doing great work on his spotlight numbers, he contributed solid lead guitar work on everything from rock to country to blues and even played bass on "Pick up the Pieces."

And then there was Edgar Winter, who seemed to be enjoying himself more than anybody. He's still every bit the freakazoid mystic depicted on his classic album covers, only grown more Gandalf-like with the passing years. I got the impression the rest of the band got to Chicago by plane, while Winter had dinner with Sun Ra on an astral plane and then arrived at the gig by spaceship.

Still, he proved to be an excellent sideman whether it was keyboards or one of his silver saxes. He was a little late joining the ensemble on "Who Can it Be Now?" and then got so into it that he prowled the stage like something out of Jim Henson's Creature Shop. His second turn in the spotlight, a Ringo-less "Frankenstein" (check out the video from 1973) was the evening's showstopper, provoking great jazz-like combo work from Hay, Squire and Bissonette. Ringo, returning to the stage, declared, "That's what I'm talking about!" It was indeed.

Winter goes on tour later this year in support of a new solo album, so expect to hear multiple reports of a wild-haired Wildman loose in the land.

After the 24th number ("Oh My My"), Ringo announced that rather than going back to hide in the dark ("I know it's tradition, but I just don't see the point"), the band was going to move forward with the encore. And just to keep things off balance, he called "special guest" Richard Marx to the stage to help with the obligatory "With a Little Help from My Friends." He then kicked off John Lennon's "Give Peace a Chance," which also gave him a chance to disappear back stage and presumably into a waiting limo.

Did we mind? Of course not. He's Ringo, after all.

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Set List (Ringo lead unless otherwise noted)
It Don't Come Easy
What Goes On?
Memphis In Your Mind
Lonely is The Night (Billy Squire)
Free Ride (Edgar Winter)
Down Under (Colin Hay)
Dreamweaver (Gary Wright)
Boys
Pick Up the Pieces (Hamish Stuart)
Liverpool 8
Act Naturally
Yellow Submarine
Are You Lookin at Me? (Hay - solo)
In the Dark (Squire - solo)
Frankenstein (Winter)
Never Without You
Choose Love
The Stroke (Squire)
Work To Do (Hamish Stuart)
I Wanna Be Your Man
Love is Alive (Wright)
Who Can It Be Now? (Hay)
Photograph
Oh My My
With a Little Help from My Friends
Give Peace a Chance


IterWeb bonus
Ringo snaps at Larry King a few days before the show (for mentioning his age 12 times).

Seen from the El

One of the many advantages of our recent move from Oak Park to the Edgewater neighborhood in Chicago proper has been the accompanying switch from the Blue Line to the Red Line for the bulk of my public transportation. The Blue Line runs along the Eisenhower Expressway before going underground as you hit downtown and the Loop. The result is you have a view of cars racing (or often inching) along on the surrounding lanes. It's like riding in a ditch.

Much of the Red Line is truly elevated, allowing for some treetop views and world-class eavesdropping on lives near the tracks. But near the Fullerton stop, as you're passing through DePaul University's Lincoln Park campus, you might get the feeling that someone is looking back at you...



That's Frances X McCabe Hall which (literally) overlooks DePaul's Wish Field and Cacciatore Stadium, and nosy subway riders.

www.transitchicago.com/

Reunited

Sometimes it's the little things.

We just spent six months camping out in a rented place in Oak Park. It was less than half the size of our place in Kansas City but had a full basement. The idea was to put most of our stuff down there and unpack minimally so as not to get too comfortable there while we learned our way around Chicago. The plan worked, almost too well. (I'd forgotten how much I hate camping.)

So now, more than six months after packing them, most of the boxes are coming open and it's like Christmas everyday. Pictured above is some of the beloved crap that will once again clutter my workspace:

• A rubber Snoopy, prone (acquired in grade school)
• A Mr Creosote action figure (when you squeeze him a green goo protrudes from his mouth)
• A weird ceramic kangaroo caddy that used to sit in my dad's office
• A rubber chicken Tootsie Pop holder (still, for some reason, in its original packaging)
• An Abe Lincoln beanie doll, purchased at Mount Rushmore
• And behind them a yard stick from Jay Egge's service shop on East Highway 38 in Sioux Falls (now the site of a Wal-Mart, I believe).
  

I also moved some dumb stuff...

So long, Spindle

I've seen Stonehenge and the Eiffel Tower. I've been to the top of the Empire State Building and I used to spend part of every summer near Mount Rushmore. Now I'd never suggest that "Spindle" (a.k.a., The Car Kabob) in Berwyn, Illinois, was on a par with any of these monumental structures, but I will confess to feeling a thrill when I discovered we were living a short hop away in Oak Park.

I'll also confess that I owe much of that thrill to Spindle's appearance in Wayne's World. Not a great film but WW did rise above its SNL spin-off cohort thanks to the ridiculous, pneumatic optimism of Mike Meyers' character and to some fine second unit photography of Spindle and other bits of suburban Americana. The two reverberated against each other, elevating the end result clear of the realm of cornball sketch mishagas. (The less said about Wayne's World 2, the better.)

When news of Spindle's demise surfaced last year, a local group tried to save it. They raised donations but not enough. Last week, the mall owner tried to sell it on eBay but there were no bids. So last Friday night, Spindle came down. Instead, the Cermak Plaza shopping center will get a new Walgreens. Doesn't seem like much of a trade.

And now the Chicago Tribune reports that Spindle may return, somewhere, some day. We shall see. All I know is that I'm even more motivated than ever to see Carhenge - before it gets replaced by a Bass Pro Shop.

City folk

I've heard it said that Chicago is like New York but with nicer people. Having lived in both places and approaching the six month mark of my Chicagoland residence, I'd say that in general the description fits. (There are assholes everywhere, after all, and, yes, I am talking about the pituitary case who manages that motel just off I-80 in Youngstown, Ohio).

As an illustration, take the image above, the snapping of which required me to stand in the middle of a busy sidewalk in the Loop and strike a number of modern dance poses. Most of the passersby gave me what felt like a polite berth and kept moving. In New York (by which I mean Manhattan), I would have expected to get an aggrieved berth accompanied by an annoyed grunt or possibly a remark.

I loved living in New York, but I always suspected that people occasionally stepped in front of cabs so they could let loose with a Ratzo Rizzo "I'm walkin' here!" My own crackpot theory about this is that there's something about the crush of humanity on the island combined with the awareness that so many people want your space (despite the fact that their space is probably so much better than yours ever will be) that results in a kind of neurotic territoriality.

One time I took a date to a movie on the Upper West Side. The place wasn't even a quarter full when my companion and I arrived and we were standing near the back trying to decide how close to the screen to sit when a woman in her 60s approached us and barked, "Excuse me!" I moved aside so she could enter the empty row I had been unintentionally blocking. We watched her shuffle along that empty row (one of at least a dozen on that side of the theater) until she got to the center aisle, which she then followed to the treasured and magical seat down front, the one she had earned by asserting hierarchy over me and my date. We shrugged. The movie looked fine from where we sat.

Snow crazy

Today's big dump of snow made Cyrus very happy. It always does. Little Lady, the dog next door, did not approve.

Autumn Leaves (and what to do with them)

Greetings from "Chicagoland" (gag) where the autumn leaves have begun to fall, avec gusto. Two thoughts entered my head when I saw the stately maple in front of our rented bungalow in Oak Park.

- "Ooo, fall colors. Pretty..."
- "God I hate raking leaves."

Actually the raking part isn't so bad. It's the bagging and disposing part that frosts my tomato blossoms. At least it was in Kansas City, where I would invariably not get everything bagged by the time curbside collection (literally) rolled around.

Not a problem around here, where they invite you to just rake your leaves into the street (within certain guidelines). Then throughout October and November the diesel equivalent of a broom and dust pan roam the side streets looking for piles (see above).

This is thanks not only to the sheer volume of deciduous leaves dropping hereabouts but also a level of municipal services that no doubt boils the blood of guys over at Americans for Limited Government. But then I'm not sure the Sierra Club is thrilled about the exhaust either.

SWAK

Bye bye, Lee!
Originally uploaded by DBasci.

My last day of work at KCUR was last Friday. It was also the last day of the fall membership drive and I'm pleased to say I helped to raise around 15 grand on my way out the door. Apparently some persons were so moved by my fundraising prowess that this picture of my head was defaced (a pun, at last!). If memory serves, the pink is a favorite shade of Program Director Bill Anderson's. Thanks, big guy! And thanks to Danielle Basci for snapping the image.

Anyhoo... I cleaned out my desk and headed for home around 3 PM. About 18 hours later, two sleep-deprived people and two frazzled dogs arrived in Chicagoland.

And so I promise more pictures, more posts and puns. In the meantime, there's unpacking and laundry and other fun things to do. See you (here) soon!

Going to Chicago

Going to Chicago, sorry that I can't take you.
Going to Chicago, sorry that I can't take you.
There's nothing in Chicago that a monkey woman can do.

When you see me coming, raise you window high.
When you see me coming, raise you window high.
When you see me passing, hang your head and cry.

If you love your baby, tell the world you do.
If you love your baby, tell the world you do.
There's coming a day your baby really learn to love you too.

- "Going to Chicago Blues," Jimmy Rushing & Count Basie

Thanks to everyone who made the last four years in Kansas City such a treat - and to hell with the rest of you. :)