“Politically Correct Bedtime Stories” Onstage in Toronto Fringe Festival

Earlier this year, I received a request from a theater group in Ontario, the Pheasant Pluckers Mates, about adapting my PCBS stories for the stage. After a little paperwork, they went ahead with it, and I think it’s going to be a lot of fun. I read their treatment, and it was very funny.

Now there’s a set of photos on the web by one Jen Grantham, showing the members of the Pheasant Pluckers onstage, ready to assault their audiences’ funny bones. Again, it looks like a hoot, if you can judge these types of things from pictures.

The Pheasant Pluckers’ Mates will be performing their adaptation at the Toronto Fringe Festival from July 1 through July 11. Looks like there’s a performance just about every day, both early and late, to suit all schedules. If you’re in the area, please check them out. They’ve been top drawer with me, and I’m bettin’ the show will be a hoot.

Bardball Bardcast #02

We’ve now posted a second podcast for Bardball.com, the only daily baseball poetry website. In this episode, a plethora of readers will regale you with poems about Dontrelle Willis, father-and-son bonding, and a parody of Robert Frost about sneaking down to the expensive stadium seats during later innings.

Yeah, we’s well read, we got a little Frost parody action goin’ on! Can I get an Amen and a Holy Cow?!

Please catch the latest Bardball Bardcast at libsyn by clicking here.

You can also subscribe to us at iTunes. Even if you don’t regularly listen to podcasts, please consider subscribing, as that will raise our profile and attract some more fans to us. We’re building a great community here, one piece of doggerel at a time.

R.I.P., Sunday Magazines

Or color supplement, or rotogravure, or pictorial weekly. Whatever you call it, if newspapers are the endangered rhinos of the media world, then the Sunday magazines are the white rhinos.

The Chicago Tribune this past Sunday announced they were discontinuing the separate Sunday magazine. It was a little shocking, because isn’t that what Sunday papers were for–longer, more involved, more thoughtful pieces? But after the news sunk in, I guess it made sense. The magazine recently had slimmed down to one cover article, a recipe, a couple columns, and the crossword. Thankfully, Rick Kogan’s column will be included elsewhere in the paper on Sunday. He’s a civic treasure. They ought to siphon out his brain and put it in a robot, so people can remember everything that makes this city great (not excluding Rick Kogan robots, either).

I have a sentimental attachment to the Trib Magazine Section. It was where I had my first story printed. Back in 1990, they carried “Jerry’s Last Fare,” which actually was also the first of many annual Christmas stories that I write for my wife. Of course it was a little sentimental, but it was the holidays, deal with it. I was ecstatic that they were going to print it. Households all over the Midwest (how many? A million? Or close to it back then?) would have a story of mine sitting around their house in the week before the holiday, kicking around the coffee table, maybe picked up by two, three, five secondary readers! If I remember correctly, we were headed out of town to my in-laws in Michigan on the Saturday morning, and so we bought a few at Jewel, then bought up a lot of copies when we got to the west side of the state. We bought the copies that my proud father-in-law hadn’t gotten yet. I still have a lot of yellowing copies somewhere. Like a lot of other things, you never forget your first paid story.

I’m sad to see it go, but frankly the Sunday Trib has less and less to read every week. It’s not just because they’re jettisoning too many writers–they’ve also let the morons from Red Eye choose the content. While market research will tell them to print snappy, trendy factoids to attract the hip set, common sense would tell them Sunday papers aren’t meant for skimming–they’re meant to be read over coffee and sweet rolls. We only get the Sunday Trib out of habit now, and give almost all our attention to the Sunday NY Times.

On the other hand, maybe in the back of my mind, I feel like subsidizing the Sunday paper. It’s a pity move, that’s for sure, and they don’t deserve it because the Trib has fired many excellent writers and editors (some of whom are good friends of mine) while protecting their middle-management ranks and dumbing down the paper tremendously.

But in Detroit, where my mom lives, they’ve stopped home delivery except three days a week. She told me sadly, earlier this year, “It’s awful lonely in the morning if the paper doesn’t come.” Maybe I’m still betting against a future like that for other places.

Happily Ever After…Not So Much

Since many people assume that I am completely obsessed and an utter expert on fairy tales and the postmodern exploration of their themes, metathemes and metametas, I thought I would pass along this gallery of photographs by Dina Goldstein. As her daughters have begun to be interested in Disney princesses, she began to explore the idea of what “happily ever after” was like. Her portrayals of Snow White and the rest of them are beautifully done, and sometimes disturbing. My favorite is Cinderella drinking in a honky-tonk. Enjoy.

Crosstown Classic: Ozzie and Lou

Posted today on Bardball:

The White Sox and the Cubbies
Determined to have a battle.
Then Ozzie said that Wrigley Field
Wasn’t fit for cattle.

“It makes me puke,” he told the press,
Though he meant no disrespect.
His mouth is like a leaky faucet,
So what could you expect?

The Chicago skippers aren’t like the twins
From Lewis Carroll’s book of yore.
Ozzie yips like a hyper spaniel
While Lou just shrugs and snores.

The Bardball Podcast, Starring Me

This year has been a stellar one over at Bardball, the baseball poetry website. Some of our submissions have been so well written, we may have to change our slogan from “Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel” to “Baseball Poetry I Wish I’d Wish I’d Written.”

And now, we’re gettin’ all high-tech and virtual on y’all, because now we’ve made our first podcast featuring poetry from the site. Unfortunately on this first “Bardcast”, I’m the one doing the narration, but there’s plenty of good writing and cool music to take your mind off my flat Midwestern A’s. This podcast is from poetry we published around the beginning of the season, but we’ll have a lot more as the summer rolls on.

Please check it out by going to libsyn. You can also find the Bardcast through iTunes. If you feel like doing us a favor, click to subscribe on the Bardcast to drive our numbers out of the single digits.

What We Talk About When We Talk About Neighborhoods

Yesterday I attended a business-group luncheon on the North Side to talk about Boy Scouting. Afterward I met an older man in the group, and we chatted as we walked to our cars. He asked me what neighborhood I lived in, and I told him Lincoln Square.

“Oh yeah,” he said, “that neighborhood had a lot of Koreans there years ago. Do they still have a lot of Koreans there? Koreans and Greeks.”

These types of frank comments are not uncommon when you talk to Chicagoans of a certain age. He wasn’t being racist or exclusionary, as far as I could tell, but often the first thing some older people will say about a neighborhood is the racial makeup they remember. Of course, racists say these kinds of things too, but their intent is usually betrayed by a sneer or a slight lift in the voice. But this old duffer, IMO, was just reaffirming his mental map of the city. Such comments might be right or wrong demographically (from what I know, he was right about the Greeks but notsomuch about the Koreans), but in our “enlightened” age, assigning races to neighborhoods is completely bad form. Brings up images of redlining, ghettos, and the boundaries “that everybody knows about” that can result in ass-kickings for those who cross them.

Enlightened types like yours truly don’t chop up the city that way. We do it by subtle comments about socioeconomics and class. The operative phrase is “So, Is that neighborhood nice?”

“Nice” can mean many things. Sometimes it means, friendly neighbors who watch out for each other. Lots of trees. Good looking buildings. Maybe parks and a library.

Other times, by “nice”, people mean, has it been gentrified enough to be safe? Does it still have some ethnic flavor so I can feel superior to the “whitebread” suburbs? Are the other homes fixed up so I won’t lose the value on mine when I sell? Is it full of college grads from other midwestern states that I can chat with while I’m walking the dog? Are the fences in the front yard wrought iron (good) or cyclone (bad)?

For reasons like this, I generally don’t challenge comments like the old man made at the restaurant. Correcting a 75-year-old about “proper” race relations would only result in high blood pressure for the both of us. And we still have plenty of versatile ways to map out the city in our minds. I wanted to tell him Lincoln Square is now full of yuppies, but the term wouldn’t have meant much to him. So I told him there were a lot of Germans here, but didn’t mention that they were all pushing 80.

Spell WHAT Now?

The Trib’s Eric Zorn has repeatedly said that spelling bees are a waste of time, an unreliable measure of intelligence, an exhibition and exaltation of a specialized memory quirk. But that didn’t stop him from posting some very cool videos taken at the National Spelling Bee in Washington. This one is my favorite. Can any of us imagine we’d retain the composure this kid did in this situation?


Dick Cheney’s B-Movie Bullshit is not Going to Ruin MY Weekend

While driving around town last night and today, all sorts of snarky, angry comments about Darth Cheney and his CYA, paranoid, astoundingly fact-free speech yesterday careened through my head. For a comprehensive (so far) list of the lies and near-lies that he pulled out of his black heart at the American Enterprise Institute speech, check out this coverage from the McClatchey newspapers.

But this morning, as the beautiful weekend looms, it’s almost repulsive to wade into that muck, so I’m not going to. I’d rather spend Memorial Day thinking about the men and women who did what they thought was right, pray for their families and friends, and hope that as Cheney and his defenders shrink in stature irreversibly, politicians will soon begin to live up to the ideals that America was founded on.

Now, if I could only purge my head of the combo of Cheney’s voice with the image of General Jack D. Ripper, lecturing us about our precious bodily fluids.


D-Train Arrives in Detroit!

Good news from Motown: Dontrelle Willis is back. Off the DL and apparently having licked his anxiety disorder for now, he shut down the Rangers last night. At one point he retired 16 batters in a row. And from what highlights I saw, he looked like the Dontrelle of old: slow windup, lots of power building up in the butt, and then the quick release with good control. If he’s pitching well this year, it will be a good time at Comerica this season.

(It’s interesting that Willis’ anxiety issues put him on the disabled list when I read about the same problem hitting Zach Greinke a couple years back. After taking some time off and clearing his head, Greinke is now arguably the best pitcher in baseball. Good to see jocks admit that once in a while, it DOESN’T do any good to tough it out. If you haven’t read the story by Joe Posnanski in the May 4 Sports Illustrated, you should.)

Bardball has been kind of skint lately with current event verse, so I had to whip up a poem this morning, while I sat in the shade in the backyard, enjoying a freakishly warm summer day. It’s not my best, but it’s as fresh as the morning headlines.

Triumph of the Willis

It brightens baseball’s heart, Dontrelle,
To have you back and pitching well.

Your fastball cutting like a knife,
Endangering the catcher’s life,

Your off-speed floating up and down,
Your hat too big like Charlie Brown’s.

Your rookie year is long behind–
Was that the thing that messed your mind?

We all get old, last time I checked.
That doesn’t mean your life is wrecked.

You’ve got the stuff, now find the guile,
And you’ll be here a good long while.

Appearing at Oak Park Public Library Thursday Night

This Thursday night, I’ll be on a panel at the Oak Park Public Library, along with other contributors to the anthology Cubbie Blues, to talk about 100 years of failure and frustration on the north side of Chicago.

Joining me will be Donald Evans, who edited the book; Don DeGrazia, author of American Skin; Rick Kaempfer, webmaster at Just One Bad Century; Robert Goldsborough, journalist and mystery novelist; and George Rawlinson, who runs Can’t Miss Press which published the book.

We’re there in connection with the library’s presentation of the traveling exhibit, Pride and Passion: The African-American Baseball Experience. “Pride and Passion” was put together by the Baseball Hall of Fame and the American Library Association, and Oak Park is the only place it will be shown in Illinois. I’ve heard very good things about this exhibit, so you could at least come out and enjoy that, if you don’t feel like listening to a bunch of middle-aged white guys talk about Cub bizniz.

But it’s always a good time at these Cubbie Blues events, so come join us at the library, 834 Lake Street,
7 p.m. in the Veteran’s Room on the 2nd Floor.

Instant Replay Creates Perfect World

Posted yesterday on Bardball, in honor of the home runs called back in Wednesday’s games:

Now that cameras can detect and correct
Our errors and human frailty,
I call for a replay of

Fidrych talking to the ball,
Reggie hitting in October,
Bob Gibson staring,
Koufax stretching,
Veeck laughing,

DiMaggio’s war years,
And Hank Greenberg’s,

And 1994, which could have saved the Expos,
And spared us the Nationals,

And Cap Anson shutting his damned mouth
And Buck O’Neil playing for the Cubs,
Satchel Paige for the A’s,
And Cool Papa Bell for the Cardinals.

Why Creationists Hate Monkeys, Part VII

Because the monkeys are just biding their time, biding their time. An innocent foray here, a little poking of the security measures there. All innocent fun. While they wait, and watch…….

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Orangutan’s great escape causes zoo evacuation
A 137 pound orangutan with a history of mischief short-circuited an electric barrier, then built a makeshift ladder to escape from her enclosure, forcing Adelaide Zoo to be evacuated on one of its busiest days of the year.

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What’s the Opposite of “Bushy Tailed”?

Today will not be a very productive day, on the writing front. One reason is that I only got about 4 hours sleep last night. There’s no good reason for the insomnia–it was a busy enough weekend with lots of physical exertion that I should’ve slept all night. But at 3AM, I woke up with a bunch of little details for the week in my head, not even pressing ones, and they managed to keep my head revving all night. This went on to a soundtrack of Yes’ “Close to the Edge”. These sleepless periods always come with a song that won’t stop looping, and when I’m lucky, it’s not a song I hate (when I’m not lucky, it could be anything from Sting to The Buggles, which Number One Son keeps talking about for some reason). In this as in so many ways, I hope I’m not turning into my mother, who hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in 30 years.

I also agreed to go downtown today to speak to a writing class at Columbia College about humor. I hope I can convince them that I know what I’m talking about, b/c I have a hard enough time with editors. My main goal will be to scare them into making hundreds of revisions–either scare them straight or scare them straight out of the profession. I wanted to be able to show them the first marked-up pages I ever wrote for Politically Correct Bedtime Stories, which some interviewers and critics said was such a slam dunk that anyone could’ve written it. Those slam-dunk pages, of course, were rewritten 20 times before publication. But unfortunately I can’t find those files anywhere. I have other examples to show, but I really wanted those first entries b/c they looked like redacted CIA documents. Just want to be able to beat it into their head to rewrite, rewrite, rewrite. But I’ll probably be lucky to get them to turn off their Facebook pages.