Just did the laundry this morning; I always try to get it done in the early morning hours, because it's cooler out, and nobody else is (usually) up, so I'm not competing with everybody else for the machines.
I've been having odd and complicated/strange/disturbing dreams of late. Like one had me in this Colonial home that had been on-site of some Revolutionary War battle, and there were these Gypsy-like folks living there, now, and they were letting people tour the house, but there was a very palpable sensation of haunting about the place, this sense of something else being there. Ghosts and what-not. The vibe was very clear and, since the place was close to a battlefield, there was plenty of emotional weight about the area. Trippy dream.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Midmorning in Chicago
I'm still musing about that movie. Beautiful morning today, mild and sunny, cool and pleasant. There's another art fair in town, and I might take the boys to that, too, see if there's anything worth seeing.
There are other thoughts percolating in my head. I'll pour'em out when they're ready, after cooking in my cranium awhile.
There are other thoughts percolating in my head. I'll pour'em out when they're ready, after cooking in my cranium awhile.
Midnight in Paris, Afternoon in Chicago
So, I enjoyed Woody Allen's latest, "Midnight in Paris." I am neither a fan nor a foe of his movies. I like some of them well enough, others, not so much, but it all kind of balances out. Anyway, I liked the movie, which followed Owen Wilson as Gil, entranced by Paris on the eve of his marriage to Rachel McAdams, yearning to abandon his (apparently highly-successful yet empty) screenwriting career for novel-writing in Paris. One line that had me scoffing a bit, when Gil scoffed about screenwriting being easy, novel-writing was hard -- I've had the opposite experience! To me, a novel is a far easier enterprise than a screenplay (although definitely a more-satisfying one). Gil begins encountering figures from the Parisian past, a feast of luminaries from the Lost Generation era of 1920s Paris, who all interact with him -- it almost seems like a ghost story, except that it's not in any way scary, but the way Gil seamlessly interacts with these figures (and it's a who's who from the era -- Cole Porter, F. Scott Fitzgerald [and Zelda], Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, Picasso, Man Ray, Salvador Dali, etc., etc.), it almost feels like a ghost story.
The core premise of it is this notion of the heart of a romantic is bound in nostalgia for the past, and a yearning for a "golden age," that was, of course, itself, not so golden when it was the present. And, to Allen's credit, Gil does explore this, with his trips to 1920s Paris, finding some of the locals there yearning for La Belle Époque (and, entertainingly, Allen has Gil make a brief trip there with a love interest [Adriana], who herself yearns for that era, and, as they sit for a bit with Lautrec, Gaugin, and Degas [and who appear to long for the era before their own]), and Gil, through his interactions with these characters, comes to value himself as an artist/writer and to ditch his fiancee and live in Paris, where he (at least for the moment) ends up with a (to my eye) rather Mia Farrowesque French babe, to turn his back on his Hollywood life.
So, it was an entertaining movie -- the pile of literary figure cameos woven throughout it do hearken to the incredible confluence of talent that was in 1920s Paris, and Allen lovingly gives them all their due, and the look is perfect, the blending of the past and present on the streets of Paris. Allen's love for this place is palpable in his filming of it, and, as a movie effort, this is one of his best (indeed, I thought "Well, if he dies before making another movie, he can at least be happy that this is his final effort, because it's a great one").
It was kind of a curious thing for me to watch, because I was heavily influenced by Hemingway, Faulkner, and Fitzgerald in my formative writing years, but I am not a nostalgic or sentimental soul, in truth -- I am a romantic who runs contrary to Allen's contention about the nostalgia in the heart of all romantics. Or maybe my nostalgia runs deeper than the 20th century. Hmm. Hadn't thought of that until just now -- I have ruefully thought a time or two that I was built for charging down Highland hillsides with a broadsword in hand or in cavalry charges with a saber flashing. Hah. And I have mourned that the industrial domination of war has robbed it of its historic glory, made it an exercise of logistics. And I've certainly mused ruefully about the incredible music of the 60s, when Rock was in full flower, and how amazing all of those bands were at the time, what an amazing confluence of talent there had been (although I never had a desire to actually live in that era, or in those earlier ages, in truth).
Hmm. Anyhow, I look at those artists not as the towering figures of culture that they became, but as human beings who simply lived and created beauty in their time, and beyond. I feel kinship with them as a fellow creator, and I suppose I do lament the slow death of culture in our age (although it's hard to look at folks living it up in Paris in the 1920s and not think that great, grave shadows were growing over them, too -- I mean, good lord, Fascism, Stalinism, Nazism -- all were awakening then, too).
I mean, I've written more books than Hemingway ever did. None of them are better than his work, but I am still growing and trying -- he had his turn at bat, before he lost his head (and he started strong and grew weaker in time, as alcoholism diluted his talent; I think my arc is going the other way), and now I am taking that swing. Maybe I'll succeed, maybe I'll fail, but I'm at least trying. And in being alive, there is infinite possibility in the here and now. The past is perfect precisely because it is dead -- the story is already written, you know how it ends. The present can challenge and inhibit precisely because of both the limitations imposed by human mortality, and by the infinite possibilities of action. That's never been a problem for me, though, because I am, and have always been, about the present. Learn from the past, sure, but don't be ruled by it. Live in the now, and enjoy the ride.
I can see these characters in Allen's movie and see them as peers to me, legitimately, certainly far more than most. I doubt anybody I shared the theater with has written more fiction than me, or even better fiction than me; that's not bragging -- it's just fact. I've worked very, very hard on my writing for a long time, and I could walk up to Hemingway (or his ghost) and if he drunkenly challenged me to a fistfight (and he does that a few times in the movie -- of course, Gil, being the proxy for Allen, passes on it), I would have totally taken Hemingway up on it, been like "Sure, Sport. Let's go." *KAPOW* What am I supposed to do, NOT want to take up his challenge? What, because he's Hemingway? *KAPOW* Give the man what he wants. Give him a bucket of ice water to wake him back up.
There was a great line from Gertrude Stein (surely Allen speaking through her) about the job of the artist being to not succumb to the dismal present (I'm paraphrasing; it was said far better in the movie), but to rise above it and create something beautiful and eternal. It was a good line. There were lots of good lines in the movie, peppered throughout. Hemingway had a good one when he said that love was the antidote to death, and that only the coward feared to love, or was so hobbled by his fear of death that he was unable to love, and in so doing, was a coward. Something like that. Again, I am only paraphrasing, but it coming from the machismo-soaked, deadpan, overly serious musing of Hemingway, it made me snicker (I have theories about Hemingway, having read his work and thought about it a great deal).
At any rate, it was a good movie, being both entertaining, funny, and thought-provoking. All of the artists in the movie had the benefit of being legends both in their own time, and over the span of time (although, oddly, the cultural ferment of the Lost Generation is lost in this day and age, really, when even reading a book is seen as somehow eccentric or laborious, in this instantaneous, tech-driven age of the perpetual NOW -- their greatness is lost in a world without readers, and they really do become ghosts of a bygone era).
The core premise of it is this notion of the heart of a romantic is bound in nostalgia for the past, and a yearning for a "golden age," that was, of course, itself, not so golden when it was the present. And, to Allen's credit, Gil does explore this, with his trips to 1920s Paris, finding some of the locals there yearning for La Belle Époque (and, entertainingly, Allen has Gil make a brief trip there with a love interest [Adriana], who herself yearns for that era, and, as they sit for a bit with Lautrec, Gaugin, and Degas [and who appear to long for the era before their own]), and Gil, through his interactions with these characters, comes to value himself as an artist/writer and to ditch his fiancee and live in Paris, where he (at least for the moment) ends up with a (to my eye) rather Mia Farrowesque French babe, to turn his back on his Hollywood life.
So, it was an entertaining movie -- the pile of literary figure cameos woven throughout it do hearken to the incredible confluence of talent that was in 1920s Paris, and Allen lovingly gives them all their due, and the look is perfect, the blending of the past and present on the streets of Paris. Allen's love for this place is palpable in his filming of it, and, as a movie effort, this is one of his best (indeed, I thought "Well, if he dies before making another movie, he can at least be happy that this is his final effort, because it's a great one").
It was kind of a curious thing for me to watch, because I was heavily influenced by Hemingway, Faulkner, and Fitzgerald in my formative writing years, but I am not a nostalgic or sentimental soul, in truth -- I am a romantic who runs contrary to Allen's contention about the nostalgia in the heart of all romantics. Or maybe my nostalgia runs deeper than the 20th century. Hmm. Hadn't thought of that until just now -- I have ruefully thought a time or two that I was built for charging down Highland hillsides with a broadsword in hand or in cavalry charges with a saber flashing. Hah. And I have mourned that the industrial domination of war has robbed it of its historic glory, made it an exercise of logistics. And I've certainly mused ruefully about the incredible music of the 60s, when Rock was in full flower, and how amazing all of those bands were at the time, what an amazing confluence of talent there had been (although I never had a desire to actually live in that era, or in those earlier ages, in truth).
Hmm. Anyhow, I look at those artists not as the towering figures of culture that they became, but as human beings who simply lived and created beauty in their time, and beyond. I feel kinship with them as a fellow creator, and I suppose I do lament the slow death of culture in our age (although it's hard to look at folks living it up in Paris in the 1920s and not think that great, grave shadows were growing over them, too -- I mean, good lord, Fascism, Stalinism, Nazism -- all were awakening then, too).
I mean, I've written more books than Hemingway ever did. None of them are better than his work, but I am still growing and trying -- he had his turn at bat, before he lost his head (and he started strong and grew weaker in time, as alcoholism diluted his talent; I think my arc is going the other way), and now I am taking that swing. Maybe I'll succeed, maybe I'll fail, but I'm at least trying. And in being alive, there is infinite possibility in the here and now. The past is perfect precisely because it is dead -- the story is already written, you know how it ends. The present can challenge and inhibit precisely because of both the limitations imposed by human mortality, and by the infinite possibilities of action. That's never been a problem for me, though, because I am, and have always been, about the present. Learn from the past, sure, but don't be ruled by it. Live in the now, and enjoy the ride.
I can see these characters in Allen's movie and see them as peers to me, legitimately, certainly far more than most. I doubt anybody I shared the theater with has written more fiction than me, or even better fiction than me; that's not bragging -- it's just fact. I've worked very, very hard on my writing for a long time, and I could walk up to Hemingway (or his ghost) and if he drunkenly challenged me to a fistfight (and he does that a few times in the movie -- of course, Gil, being the proxy for Allen, passes on it), I would have totally taken Hemingway up on it, been like "Sure, Sport. Let's go." *KAPOW* What am I supposed to do, NOT want to take up his challenge? What, because he's Hemingway? *KAPOW* Give the man what he wants. Give him a bucket of ice water to wake him back up.
There was a great line from Gertrude Stein (surely Allen speaking through her) about the job of the artist being to not succumb to the dismal present (I'm paraphrasing; it was said far better in the movie), but to rise above it and create something beautiful and eternal. It was a good line. There were lots of good lines in the movie, peppered throughout. Hemingway had a good one when he said that love was the antidote to death, and that only the coward feared to love, or was so hobbled by his fear of death that he was unable to love, and in so doing, was a coward. Something like that. Again, I am only paraphrasing, but it coming from the machismo-soaked, deadpan, overly serious musing of Hemingway, it made me snicker (I have theories about Hemingway, having read his work and thought about it a great deal).
At any rate, it was a good movie, being both entertaining, funny, and thought-provoking. All of the artists in the movie had the benefit of being legends both in their own time, and over the span of time (although, oddly, the cultural ferment of the Lost Generation is lost in this day and age, really, when even reading a book is seen as somehow eccentric or laborious, in this instantaneous, tech-driven age of the perpetual NOW -- their greatness is lost in a world without readers, and they really do become ghosts of a bygone era).
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Time On My Hands
I've got the boys all weekend; we're going to go out and about in a bit, hit some art fairs, see what we can see. It's a cool, mild day over here. I saw "Midnight in Paris" last night, after work. I'll write about that later today/tonight.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Chillin'
It got damned cold today. The storms rolled in and it got cold. I'm not complaining -- after the past couple of days, some cold weather is welcome, honestly.
Work was busy in the morning, trying to wrangle a lot of things under the deadline. It's all about meeting the deadlines, as ever! That's what I love about unstructured time: no deadlines!
I've got two books I'm going to write the remaining months of this year. I think that should be just ambitious enough to keep me motivated, without being overwhelming. I still need to find homes for the others. I'm going to focus more heavily on three of the ones I have done, the ones that I think are the most marketable. The longest one is a solid work, but it's just too large to try to pimp to agents, I think, especially in this economy. I'm going to shelve that one as one to sell if I'm able to get one of the others sold, first. I don't think like a businessman with my writing, but I really need to if I'm going to sell any of these.
I have the boys most of this weekend, which'll be fun. We'll have a good time, as ever. We watched "Kung Fu Panda" the other day, which the boys greatly enjoyed. It's a cute movie, well-structured and entertaining. Jack Black is perfect as Po the Panda.
Work was busy in the morning, trying to wrangle a lot of things under the deadline. It's all about meeting the deadlines, as ever! That's what I love about unstructured time: no deadlines!
I've got two books I'm going to write the remaining months of this year. I think that should be just ambitious enough to keep me motivated, without being overwhelming. I still need to find homes for the others. I'm going to focus more heavily on three of the ones I have done, the ones that I think are the most marketable. The longest one is a solid work, but it's just too large to try to pimp to agents, I think, especially in this economy. I'm going to shelve that one as one to sell if I'm able to get one of the others sold, first. I don't think like a businessman with my writing, but I really need to if I'm going to sell any of these.
I have the boys most of this weekend, which'll be fun. We'll have a good time, as ever. We watched "Kung Fu Panda" the other day, which the boys greatly enjoyed. It's a cute movie, well-structured and entertaining. Jack Black is perfect as Po the Panda.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Shapely
I was tickled to see that my photograph won the "Photo of the Week" contest at the Chicago Redeye, a 250,000 circulation daily paper that the Tribune puts out. Woo hoo! It'll be printed in tomorrow's Redeye. Here was the writeup...
'WINNER: Dave Neal, 41, Lincoln Park
"Timeless." [EDITOR'S NOTE: So simple, so stark, so recognizable. It's artsy but not artsy, if that makes any sense. It's one of those photos that just makes you stare. Probably because it's Timeless. Congrats to all our finalists this week and congrats to Dave for a really nice photo.]'
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Heat
Wow, it's way hot. And it's going to be way hot tomorrow, too, although from the forecasts, it looks like a cold front'll come in after that and bring temperatures back to their normal levels for this time of year. Fine by me, because IT'S FRICKIN' HOT!
Bikini Boulevard (aka, Oak Street Beach) is loaded with folks, now, which always makes the bike ride home treacherous. It's kind of a six of one, half-dozen of the other proposal -- bike up the lakeshore and dodge all the pedestrians, or risk navigating the city streets in a more windy, zig-zaggy route. I usually opt for the lakefront, just because it's a straight shot.
Time to chill out. Nothing particularly incredible happened today, alas.
Bikini Boulevard (aka, Oak Street Beach) is loaded with folks, now, which always makes the bike ride home treacherous. It's kind of a six of one, half-dozen of the other proposal -- bike up the lakeshore and dodge all the pedestrians, or risk navigating the city streets in a more windy, zig-zaggy route. I usually opt for the lakefront, just because it's a straight shot.
Time to chill out. Nothing particularly incredible happened today, alas.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Swingline Windchime
Hotter than hell today, and looking to get toastier as the days progress. Tomorrow's high is supposed to be 95!! And that's up here in Chicago!! I can't imagine how hot it'll be for folks living south of here.
Had something amusing happen tonight: a Swingline stapler I had on my windowsill (actually, one of the boys put it on the windowsill for some reason), anyway, it turned into a kind of a windchime this evening. The wind was blowing through the window, making this agreeably soft clanging, and it took me a moment to isolate where it was coming from. It's been clanging all evening as the wind blows, and I've enjoyed it, the serendipity of it, the Zen stapler...
Had something amusing happen tonight: a Swingline stapler I had on my windowsill (actually, one of the boys put it on the windowsill for some reason), anyway, it turned into a kind of a windchime this evening. The wind was blowing through the window, making this agreeably soft clanging, and it took me a moment to isolate where it was coming from. It's been clanging all evening as the wind blows, and I've enjoyed it, the serendipity of it, the Zen stapler...
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Sundaze
I'm floored at this screed against pie! How could anybody not like pie?? I have no words. Nathan Heller (the writer) fucking hates pie! I have never seen such vitriol hurled at a pastry before!
Amazing weather today. Just perfect mild summer kinda day. The boys and I had fun in the park, and they got worn out playing soccer (sorta) with each other, and it just got in that pleasant, quiet kind of mid-afternoon groove that was just sweet and rewarding.
Then I biked to Target to get a few things, and was amused at the city, just alive and full of activity, as always. So many people, coexisting peacefully, happily, even. Oh, sure, annoying one another here and there -- a classic Chicago moment (I say this because when I first moved here in '93, from Ohio, this phenomenon struck me) -- the Retributive Honk. Basically, when somebody did something "honkworthy," somebody might honk and then the person(s) would honk back, in retaliation for being honked at. I first saw this when I moved to Chicago, amused by it -- Honk HONK Honk HONK -- like Honk Tag. Anyway, after my Target run, I passed in the middle of a Retributive Honkfest, amused by the chorus of car honks, so as the only biker in the midst of this, I added my own bike bell to the mix, which amused me. It was like a pixie in the midst of blaring elephants. Honk HONK HONK *BING* HONK HONK *BING* Honk
I could afford another car if I wanted one, but the truth is, while it's convenient to have a car in the city, at the same time, it's a big PITA. When you factor in the license fees, the city sticker fees, the neighborhood parking fees, the insurance, the emissions tests, and the fuel costs (to say nothing of wear and tear and associated damage), it's a real pain to actually have a car. You'd have to be a supreme dildo to actually want to have a car in the city. The convenience is offset by all the annoyances.
Anyway, amusing things while riding to and fro, just watching the city do its thing. Myriad cosmopolitan lives, people doing their thing. Love it.
Amazing weather today. Just perfect mild summer kinda day. The boys and I had fun in the park, and they got worn out playing soccer (sorta) with each other, and it just got in that pleasant, quiet kind of mid-afternoon groove that was just sweet and rewarding.
Then I biked to Target to get a few things, and was amused at the city, just alive and full of activity, as always. So many people, coexisting peacefully, happily, even. Oh, sure, annoying one another here and there -- a classic Chicago moment (I say this because when I first moved here in '93, from Ohio, this phenomenon struck me) -- the Retributive Honk. Basically, when somebody did something "honkworthy," somebody might honk and then the person(s) would honk back, in retaliation for being honked at. I first saw this when I moved to Chicago, amused by it -- Honk HONK Honk HONK -- like Honk Tag. Anyway, after my Target run, I passed in the middle of a Retributive Honkfest, amused by the chorus of car honks, so as the only biker in the midst of this, I added my own bike bell to the mix, which amused me. It was like a pixie in the midst of blaring elephants. Honk HONK HONK *BING* HONK HONK *BING* Honk
I could afford another car if I wanted one, but the truth is, while it's convenient to have a car in the city, at the same time, it's a big PITA. When you factor in the license fees, the city sticker fees, the neighborhood parking fees, the insurance, the emissions tests, and the fuel costs (to say nothing of wear and tear and associated damage), it's a real pain to actually have a car. You'd have to be a supreme dildo to actually want to have a car in the city. The convenience is offset by all the annoyances.
Anyway, amusing things while riding to and fro, just watching the city do its thing. Myriad cosmopolitan lives, people doing their thing. Love it.
Magic Number
I've seen 150 trotted out before a number of times, where people are concerned: "Don't Believe Facebook; You Only Have 150 Friends."
Don't think there are more than 10 people I've known in my life that I would consider friends (and of that, maybe 5 are or have ever been good friends), but I am pretty choosy in that regard. Beyond that are maybe 50 people I consider acquaintances of varying levels, if that. I'll never be in danger of having hundreds of Facebook "friends."
Looks like it might rain today. The clouds have that restive look to them.
Don't think there are more than 10 people I've known in my life that I would consider friends (and of that, maybe 5 are or have ever been good friends), but I am pretty choosy in that regard. Beyond that are maybe 50 people I consider acquaintances of varying levels, if that. I'll never be in danger of having hundreds of Facebook "friends."
Looks like it might rain today. The clouds have that restive look to them.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Next?
Today was a sweltering day, although a storm blasted through here and somewhat moderated all the heat and humidity. I didn't do much today beyond grill some mild Italian sausages and doing some chores and trying to keep cool. After my bike follies yesterday, I wanted to just hang about. I did some reading.
I'm thinking I should frag this blog. Or at least mothball it. Giving serious thought to that. The only reason I'd not flat-out axe it is because when you do that to a blog, some cybermarketer scoops up the address and the next thing you know, they're trying to sell you toasters or links to memory foam lounge chairs or whatever, and that's annoying. Anyway, I haven't made my mind up, yet.
Got the boys bathed and fed, of course, so they're all fluffy and cute, loping around in their shorts jammies.
Tomorrow I'll have the boys clean up their room, and will fish out the air conditioner. The building requires having the super install it, which makes sense -- you don't want air conditioners falling from the sky.
My folks may visit in July, which'll be nice; they'll get to see the boys. Beyond that, pretty clear schedule. Work. Bike. Write. Work. Bike. Write. Fucking boring, right?
I'd really like to score tickets to Next, but they sell them in pairs, and I don't want to have to throw down that kind of money and then have to find somebody to go with me (and cadge the $100 from them the ticket would cost). I wish I could pick up a single seat, because I'm really only interested in visiting Next to try the food -- I am a fan of Achatz's cooking; I'm not out to impress a date -- and really, a circus like Next would be way, way too much of an over-the-top kind of experience for a date (and, honestly, I wouldn't want to be distracted -- Epicurean that I am, I honestly would want to be able to focus on the food. The presentation of it, all of that stuff, rather than dividing my attention between the food and a date). Anyway, that puts me off a bit vis-a-vis Next. I want a single ticket. I want to go, I want to see what they do. But, of course, from their vantage point, why sell one ticket when you can sell two? Four? Six? Eight? Part of the problem/conceit with the ticket arrangement of Next is that it forces one to make that kind of decision. See, I like reservations at a restaurant, and I like being able to just pop into a place; but having to buy a ticket seems like a thumb in the eye of the patron. Obviously, a set amount of people coming in and out at a given time and place lets the staff at Next plan a "perfect" dining experience -- no surprises, just a set-piece culinary performance. They know exactly how many people are coming, and can prepare for it, which lets them avoid sweating lots of details that operate in a typical restaurant. And, because of Achatz's reputation, he can count on the demand being high (and, since they completely change the menu/concept every three months, they can basically be "all new" every few months, ensuring steady demand). It irks me. I just want to try the food, and hate that there's basically a firewall between me and that place, or that I have to play games to be able to get through the door. It makes me want to spend my restaurant dollar elsewhere, despite having nothing but admiration for Achatz's work.
I'm thinking I should frag this blog. Or at least mothball it. Giving serious thought to that. The only reason I'd not flat-out axe it is because when you do that to a blog, some cybermarketer scoops up the address and the next thing you know, they're trying to sell you toasters or links to memory foam lounge chairs or whatever, and that's annoying. Anyway, I haven't made my mind up, yet.
Got the boys bathed and fed, of course, so they're all fluffy and cute, loping around in their shorts jammies.
Tomorrow I'll have the boys clean up their room, and will fish out the air conditioner. The building requires having the super install it, which makes sense -- you don't want air conditioners falling from the sky.
My folks may visit in July, which'll be nice; they'll get to see the boys. Beyond that, pretty clear schedule. Work. Bike. Write. Work. Bike. Write. Fucking boring, right?
I'd really like to score tickets to Next, but they sell them in pairs, and I don't want to have to throw down that kind of money and then have to find somebody to go with me (and cadge the $100 from them the ticket would cost). I wish I could pick up a single seat, because I'm really only interested in visiting Next to try the food -- I am a fan of Achatz's cooking; I'm not out to impress a date -- and really, a circus like Next would be way, way too much of an over-the-top kind of experience for a date (and, honestly, I wouldn't want to be distracted -- Epicurean that I am, I honestly would want to be able to focus on the food. The presentation of it, all of that stuff, rather than dividing my attention between the food and a date). Anyway, that puts me off a bit vis-a-vis Next. I want a single ticket. I want to go, I want to see what they do. But, of course, from their vantage point, why sell one ticket when you can sell two? Four? Six? Eight? Part of the problem/conceit with the ticket arrangement of Next is that it forces one to make that kind of decision. See, I like reservations at a restaurant, and I like being able to just pop into a place; but having to buy a ticket seems like a thumb in the eye of the patron. Obviously, a set amount of people coming in and out at a given time and place lets the staff at Next plan a "perfect" dining experience -- no surprises, just a set-piece culinary performance. They know exactly how many people are coming, and can prepare for it, which lets them avoid sweating lots of details that operate in a typical restaurant. And, because of Achatz's reputation, he can count on the demand being high (and, since they completely change the menu/concept every three months, they can basically be "all new" every few months, ensuring steady demand). It irks me. I just want to try the food, and hate that there's basically a firewall between me and that place, or that I have to play games to be able to get through the door. It makes me want to spend my restaurant dollar elsewhere, despite having nothing but admiration for Achatz's work.
Friday, June 3, 2011
There and Back and There and Back And Back There Again
Beautiful day -- mild temperatures, lots of sun. Classic early summer weather. One annoyance for me, although I was sanguine about it -- I had a flat bike tire on the way home. It hit when I was a couple of miles from home, so instead of heading back home, I walked it to the nearest bike shop, although as I did that, I recalled that I had neglected to put my wheel key in my messenger bag (those are to make it somewhat harder for thieves to steal my bike tires), so I ended up having to walk the bike to the shop, then walking back home for the keys, then walking back down to the shop, then walking back home (and I've got one more walk left, to go pick the bike back up). Anyway, that's about 5 miles of walking added to my usual bike routine. I'm just glad the bike crapped out relatively close to home, or I'd have been miffed. Had it been in the heart of downtown, I don't know where I'd have gone. Of course, walking it made the most sense, as the city was packed with beachgoers today, everybody taking advantage of the beautiful weather. There were a ton of people at the beaches, and lots of police. Despite the irritation of the bike tire, I was sanguine about it all -- what am I going to do about it, right? I just deal with the problem at hand.
So, at the moment, I'm having some leftover pizza and am washing it down with a Chinotto, knowing that I've got one stroll left to take (I was pleased that the bike shop wasn't packed -- that was my lone concern, with the weather being all good, I feared lots of people would be in there, but it was casual).
"So You Think You Can Dance" is on again; I missed the opening episode(s) which I think were on Wednesday. Ahh, Jeanine Mmmmason...
So, so yummy!
I'm actually thinking of finding a dance school for B1 -- he's got the most innate sense of rhythm I've ever seen in anyone, and sometimes he busts out some moves every now and then that are very cool. I'll see what's around town, what's reasonable and seems bullshit-free. I think he'd enjoy it, actually, because it's athletic but kind of sneaks it in with the music and the rhythm. He's actually got a real sense of movement, and I think that's something a person either has, or they don't. It's fun to watch, and if I can find a tap or jazz program or something like that which he might enjoy, I'll enroll him and see if he enjoys it. I think he will, because, as I've said, it slips out in dribs and drabs, his keen sense of rhythm.
It's funny, because B2 is the natural athlete, as I've said before -- quick, strong, competitive -- he's also a natural performer and showboat, and B1 seems clumsier than his younger brother, except in that realm of rhythm. Get some music going, and B1 kind of gets into a cool groove, and it's fun to watch. His normally shy and earnest self dissolves into this natural dancer. It's totally unexpected, and a joy to see. So, trying to be a good parent, I'm paying attention to what my kid enjoys and am giving him the opportunity to see if that's something he'd like. B2 will be a natural soccer (or, god help me, rugby) hooligan; but B1, I can see really enjoying dance. I respect dance, because it's frickin' hard, and the body awareness of dance reaps dividends in a variety of ways.
So, at the moment, I'm having some leftover pizza and am washing it down with a Chinotto, knowing that I've got one stroll left to take (I was pleased that the bike shop wasn't packed -- that was my lone concern, with the weather being all good, I feared lots of people would be in there, but it was casual).
"So You Think You Can Dance" is on again; I missed the opening episode(s) which I think were on Wednesday. Ahh, Jeanine Mmmmason...
So, so yummy!
I'm actually thinking of finding a dance school for B1 -- he's got the most innate sense of rhythm I've ever seen in anyone, and sometimes he busts out some moves every now and then that are very cool. I'll see what's around town, what's reasonable and seems bullshit-free. I think he'd enjoy it, actually, because it's athletic but kind of sneaks it in with the music and the rhythm. He's actually got a real sense of movement, and I think that's something a person either has, or they don't. It's fun to watch, and if I can find a tap or jazz program or something like that which he might enjoy, I'll enroll him and see if he enjoys it. I think he will, because, as I've said, it slips out in dribs and drabs, his keen sense of rhythm.
It's funny, because B2 is the natural athlete, as I've said before -- quick, strong, competitive -- he's also a natural performer and showboat, and B1 seems clumsier than his younger brother, except in that realm of rhythm. Get some music going, and B1 kind of gets into a cool groove, and it's fun to watch. His normally shy and earnest self dissolves into this natural dancer. It's totally unexpected, and a joy to see. So, trying to be a good parent, I'm paying attention to what my kid enjoys and am giving him the opportunity to see if that's something he'd like. B2 will be a natural soccer (or, god help me, rugby) hooligan; but B1, I can see really enjoying dance. I respect dance, because it's frickin' hard, and the body awareness of dance reaps dividends in a variety of ways.
The Mendacity of Nope
Of course, now we have a fake Democrat as Mayor over here in Chicago. Rahm Emanuel is a political pit bull, we're fond of hearing, but he has always been a Fake Democrat of the first order. The now-defunct Democratic Leadership Council (whose sole accomplishment was turning the majority of Democrats into Republican Lite), they loved Emanuel. And Chicago is a genuinely Democratic city -- true blue -- not the pale blue weak tea that Fake Democrats love to peddle. And that's what it's going to be -- Emanuel will try to bust up what unions he can, will probably privatize more of the city if he gets the chance, will kiss corporate ass more assiduously than ever, and so on. That's how Fake Democrats do things. Now, Emanuel has one luxury Obama doesn't, and that's far more job security -- the GOP in Illinois has no chance of taking Chicago from Emanuel. The political calculus is turned on its head, here -- Republicans pretend to be Democrats in Illinois in order to survive (excepting the collar counties, where they let their freak fascist flags fly).
Anyway, it's frustrating. It makes me think that the whole political system is just a puppet show put on for the distraction of the masses, simply because the route the Democrats should be taking is so clear, but they never, ever do it, and, instead, tack to the Right, which qualifies as the "Left" to the Republicans, who are simply out in the reactionary wilderness, far, far to the Right these days. Seriously, if you count yourself as a moderate or a centrist (whatever that honestly means in American political discourse -- a topic for another time), that would classify you as a leftist to today's Republicans. That's how far in the ideological weeds they are. Today's Democrats are more like 80s Republicans, and it's the sad truth. Though they are labeled as "liberals" by the hidebound GOP, there is nothing actually liberal about most of them -- there is still a tiny minority of actually liberal Democrats, but they are as much of an endangered species as moderate Republicans (who appear to be extinct).
Where does all of this go? America's problems require new thinking and progressive ideas -- supply-side economic thinking is bankrupt (honestly, the data bears this out -- it has resolutely failed to deliver what it pretended to promise to deliver), our country is in an economic tailspin that just grinds on, and our future as a nation is being mortgaged for short-term political gains by parties who are completely compromised by the actual powers-that-be running things.
Obama could have been another FDR or an LBJ when he got voted in -- he had it right there in his hands; instead, he has opted for being Herbert Hoover. *golf applause* The frustrating thing is that generations of Americans are going to be paying for that political cowardice and lack of vision.
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