September 5th, 2016 § permalink
It was a party. Friends and loved ones and a cake so heavily candled that it looks like wildfire in the photos popping up on Facebook this morning.
It was the first part of a weekend that’s taking me away from this city, this weird addictive city that can’t decide if it wants to treat us well or shoddy hour by hour.
I don’t know where I’m going. » Read the rest of this entry «
September 2nd, 2016 § permalink
I was 23, driving back from a building that was at the time pushing 80. » Read the rest of this entry «
August 31st, 2016 § permalink
“First thing he said to me was, ‘Who’s your Chinaman?’”
“Jim Ryan was the laziest person to ever draw a state salary.”
“My family bribed Otto Kerner.” » Read the rest of this entry «
August 29th, 2016 § permalink
The crumbling plaster of the ceiling has been preserved mid-crumble.
It’s been lovingly repaired, restored, captured in a moment of time as an image of something half-falling, the old textured plaster preserved in decay.
It’s a touching detail, really. A nod to the decades this South Shore bank fell into disuse and disrepair, but one made into something lovely. Its age and wear is the beauty.
It’s as good a symbol as any for the Stony Island Arts Bank on the border of the aged, worn and disrepaired neighborhoods of South Shore. » Read the rest of this entry «
August 26th, 2016 § permalink
He got up, drink in hand.
He told his piece to the crowd thick like lichen on every free surface of the tiny tavern. He gave stats on Latinos with PhDs. He talked about dodging gunfire the night before he defended his dissertation.
He backtracked and repeated himself. He laughed at his own jokes and sometimes talked so close to the mic I couldn’t understand him. He was unpolished and unprofessional.
It was the greatest storytelling event I’ve ever been to. » Read the rest of this entry «
August 24th, 2016 § permalink
The button on my phone that snoozes the alarm.
The button again. And again.
The switch on a rotary fan. A window pane. Light switches, hangers, a plasticized book cover I brush against when reaching for a shirt. A plasticized business card that flutters out from the pocket.
…
Here’s everything I touched that was made of plastic one lazy August morning: » Read the rest of this entry «
August 22nd, 2016 § permalink
“I’ll fuck you up, don’t think I won’t. I will fuck. You. Up,” he said, inches from my face, his breath tasting of sweet liquor and decay. » Read the rest of this entry «
August 19th, 2016 § permalink
For the last several months, I’ve been going to baseball practice.
Each Tuesday night, I would hop in the closest available Enterprise Car Share car and take off for the suburbs, where a friend who coaches Little League prepped me for throwing out the first pitch at a Kane County Cougars game.
The coaching was needed, as most of my childhood was spent talking about dinosaurs and trying to convince my parents that reading a Star Trek: The Next Generation novel in my room was a perfectly acceptable way to spend a summer day.
The pitch was last night. Quick verdict: Passable enough to be ignored by the crowd on dollar beer night.
But now the commute is done. No more hopping in rush hour traffic. No more subjecting myself to the vocal onanism of self-amused local radio DJs.
No more light curses when startled by a guy in a T-shirt zaggling through traffic on a crotch rocket motorcycle.
My commuter summer is over. Here are a few things I learned: » Read the rest of this entry «
August 17th, 2016 § permalink
In 1969, a speech was written that, thankfully, no one ever heard.
It was a contingency speech written by White House staffer William Safire, to be read by President Richard Nixon in case Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin were stranded to die on the surface of the moon.
Tomorrow night, Aug. 18, 2016, I will be throwing out the first pitch at the Kane County Cougars Political Corruption Night in my role as arch-dictator and creator of the Chicago Corruption Walking Tour.
What follows are my own contingency speeches for when a pudgy writer with spindly little scarecrow arms tries to do something physical before a large crowd of people. » Read the rest of this entry «
August 15th, 2016 § permalink
The 606 is a biking/walking/jogging/strollering/cute puppying/sitting/reading/teen flirting/old couple laughing/sunset meandering path along a converted train line through Chicago’s Near West Side.
I had a book. And an empty spot of bench. And a summer night where the weather was so perfect air conditioning felt like sin.
So I combined the three. » Read the rest of this entry «
