Radio Flash

Tomorrow morning, WBEZ’s “848” show will broadcast a commentary of mine on the Chicago Children’s Museum’s efforts to get itself some prime parkland real estate. So tune in between 9 and 10 if you’ve a mind. And I presume you do.

Update: Click here for the audio link.

Yesterday’s Papers

This morning NPR reported that Osama Bin Laden has issued a new tape, decrying the cartoons of Mohammad that had been printed in Denmark in 2005. 2005! Such a sad development. I know he’s out of touch, but that shit is so old! Did he deliver his remarks on an 8-track? And he also said the new crusade against Islam is the handiwork of Pope Benedict. Sorry, Sammy, but if you want to sound hip by referencing The DaVinci Code, at least get the plot right.

This career trajectory has a high-pitched whistle accompanying it, literally and figuratively. What’s next? Run-ins with the paparazzi? An embarrassing dance number at the MTV Music Awards? Pictures of him getting out of cars with no underwear on? I don’t think the Islamic masses are going to be very happy with seeing Sammy’s camel. Oh, how the lowly have fallen.

Spitzer and Blago

A wag writes,

“The difference between Governor Spitzer and Governor Blagojevich is, after arranging the price, venue and type of services rendered, Blago would show up with his parents and insist they get a free ride.”

That wag, of course, would be me, wearing a porkpie hat and bending people’s ears at the deli.

For the Thousandth Time: “Politics Ain’t Beanbag”

There are few writers/bloggers I look forward to reading more than James Wolcott at Vanity Fair. His wit is one of the most pungent and feral alive, and always brings unexpected pleasures. When you’re expecting him to lay out a few sharp asides, he offers a bomb hidden in a layer cake. When you’re expecting him to start carpet-bombing, he turns into a logical, passionate and unassailable sage. This weekend he posted a marvelous response to the high-minded liberal hankie-twisters who simply cannot bring themselves to vote for Hillary, who would rather see four more years of Republican rule than let her anywhere near the Oval Office. You should definitely check it out.

If only returning to the womb were a viable escape option from Hillary’s taloned deathgrip!

I find my writing wants to orient itself to his style whenever I read him. But it doesn’t come close.

Okay, I Think I’ve Finally Figured Out Blagojevich

The current governor of Illinois is a puzzle. In a state where Dems control both the Senate and the General Assembly, he goes out of his way to antagonize people. The state budget has still not been worked out, yet he goes on TV and proposes new expensive initiatives. He’s even started cleansing people’s criminal records as favors to other politicians, so those people will be in his debt. Crazy? Arrogant? Contemptuous and ignorant of the law? Check and double-check.

Now he denies that he’s the “Public Official A” that has been mentioned in several Justice Dept bribery and patronage probes, Rezko and the rest. At a time when the previous governor is locked up for “pay for play” policies, Blago keeps doing it and more.

But here’s what I think is happening. You know that in some self-defense manuals, they tell you if you’re about to be mugged on the subway, to act a little kookoo and wet your pants? The theory is a mugger doesn’t want to deal with a crazy person and will just let you alone.

That’s Blago’s plan. Peeing on himself in public. Making everyone think he’s crazy (or more crazy than he’s shown before). It’s a way out of being indicted, because no one wants to see a mental defective be put on the stand for racketeering and bribery charges. It’s sort of cruel. In addition, he might take the whole state down with him, if it could sink any lower than it already is. It’s like the Mafia don who feigned craziness by walking around in his bathrobe all day talking to himself on the street.

Blago’s got more style than just wearing a bathrobe. He’s so used to pissing on colleagues and allies, not to mention citizens, that urine is his weapon of choice. The Big Dog is doing what comes naturally, except he’s doing it all over himself now. Crazy like a fox, trapped in the corner.

The Tie Continues

I don’t know what I think about the primary results yesterday. It’s good to see Hillary confound the conventional wisdom and refuse to die, and good for Obama to see he’s not anointed yet. It’s good to see voters come out in record numbers. And I like to watch a good fight as much as anyone.

But I don’t think an ongoing struggle between them is going to do any good for the Democratic Party. It won’t help them refine their issues, it will just inspire the candidates and (mostly) their advisers to bring out the throwing knives and poison pills. It’s already happened with Hillary’s campaign, the “Kitchen Sink” strategy, and behold! It worked! Prepare for a whole lot more of that. And months of continual backstabbing will make it a lot harder at the convention for people to rally round one candidate. Bitterness will linger and dilute the party’s strength, money and energy. And McCain can cruise from fundraiser to fundraiser, looking like an elder statesman and selling his soul for evangelical endorsements at his leisure.

Good lord, when are we ever going to shrink this campaign season? It’s nearly eight months between the Iowa caucuses and the convention. Have these schedules changed since the advent of the horseless carriage? How much money, time and air space has to be spent over this thing?

Not trusting the touch-screen voting machines (wonder why?), many voters in Ohio asked for paper ballots yesterday, causing shortages in many areas. Why do they have such trouble holding elections there? It’s starting to shake my faith that the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame inductions aren’t on the up-and-up. You can’t tell me that some conspiracy hasn’t been keeping .38 Special from the Hall all these years. “Waitin’…Anticipatin’….”

Ohio, listen, it’s not so hard to fix an election. People do it all the time, especially here in Chicago. The trick is, don’t make your move too early. That’s when the reporters, hungry for a story, are around. Don’t make it hard to vote in the beginning, with dodgy computers and too few paper ballots. Let everyone vote. Grease the skids. Make it easier than using an ATM. Then, just lose the results. Toss the proper number of ballot boxes in the river, screw up the electronic transmission of results by never testing the system, erase hard drives with magnets. Come on, it’s like you guys want to rewrite the book on this or something. Get over yourselves and use the groundwork that’s already been laid.

Tales of Murder

On Saturday night, we had the sublime pleasure of attending the first performance of Lyric Opera’s “Eugene Onegin”. Tschaikovsky’s opera about a rich aloof dweeb turning down a young girl’s love, only to hunger for it years later, was a sumptuous feast, with an all-native-Russian cast giving it their old-country best. (It was pretty cool all evening to hear audience members speaking in Russian–in the garage, in the lobby, in the seats behind us. They loves them some “Onegin”, babushka.) The standing ovations that came at the end were most spontaneous and sincere I have heard in a long time.

And Dmitri Hvorostovsky was superb in the title role. How cool is it to see “The Siberian baritone” leading off a performer’s biography. There’s no arguing with that. It even trumps Detroit on your resume.

The most wrenching scene in the opera is the duel between Onegin and his erstwhile best friend, the poet Lensky. At a boring formal ball, Onegin decides to amuse himself by flirting with Lensky’s fiance and making him jealous. Things get pushed to far, Lensky throws down the glove, and the next morning is killed. Lensky’s aria, “Kuda Kuda, vy Udalilis (“Where have you gone, o golden days of my spring?”), was truly heartbreaking, the confession of a man who loved too much who is about to be killed by one who loved too little. Frank Lopardo was magnificent.

For some strange reason, as soon as the scene was over, my mind kept replaying a news item I’d read in the Tribune that morning. The audience was moved to tears by Lensky’s death, but what kind of banality creeps around the modern city, day in and day out? Or does this really mean anything?

Man accused of shooting 3 in Chicago denied bail

Delano Horn thought he didn’t leave any of the witnesses to his January shooting rampage alive, according to prosecutors.

After allegedly shooting three people in an Englewood neighborhood home, he used one victim’s cell phone to send text messages to her family, Assistant State’s Atty. Nancy Wilder said at Horn’s bail hearing Friday.

“They all dead. Ha, ha, ha,” Horn said the messages stated. But the victims survived and identified Horn, Wilder said. Horn, 21, is charged with three counts of aggravated battery with a firearm and aggravated criminal sexual assault. …

Wilder said Horn was after revenge Jan. 17 when he broke into the home of a woman in the 5500 block of South Justine Street. The woman had told Horn’s girlfriend that he was the father of another woman’s baby, Wilder said.

Threatening her with a gun, Horn raped the woman, Wilder said. He is accused of binding her; another woman who lived in the home, Chantelle McGee; and a male friend, Shawndale Thomas; with duct tape.

“He told all three victims to choose who would die first,” Wilder said. “When they refused to choose, he threatened to bring [the woman’s] 9- and 5-year-old children to watch him shoot the adults.” Minutes later, Horn opened fire, Wilder said.

Trying to get help, Thomas then fell down a flight of stairs, Wilder said. As McGee pretended she was dead, the other woman hid her children, locked the door and jumped from a second-story window, breaking her arm.

Horn left with the cell phone of the woman he raped, Wilder said. He fled to Iowa, she said.

Horn was arrested Wednesday when police found him hiding at a cousin’s home in the 6500 block of South Harvard Avenue, Wilder said. She said he confessed to the shootings.

I guess there’s style, and then there’s style.

Vintage Photographs

I’m an inconsistent person. Usually. Maybe not all the time, but yeah, all the time. As a result, no matter how interesting or useful or well written a website might be, it’s a good bet that I forget to visit it as often as I should.

This isn’t true, however, for a community photo site I’ve found called Vintage Photographs. It has an astounding variety of old photos of every type–glamor, postcard, news events, family portraits, etc. The most intriguing lately have been many from pre-revolution Russia, showing workers at their trains, soldiers posing on their horses, families out on picnics. There’s usually no info to speak of accompanying the pictures, but just the same, each one somehow creates a narrative in my head. It’s a very intimate site, probably because of all the family pix, although many portraits of famous people are posted. Go check it out, and add it to your favorites.

Here’s one of a party in Paris in the 1920’s. The caption reads, “Russian ball at Bullier in 1929
From left to right: Iliazd, M. Gutheir, Florent Fels, Ganzo, Michonze with Iliazd’s wife, Pascin and Caridad de Laberdesque.” For all I know these are famous European intellectuals, but I don’t really care. I just dig the kooky fun they’re all having. I also wouldn’t mind meeting the brunette in the friendly pose in the lower right corner.

Amazing

This household has been socked with a one-two punch of chest colds and winter ennui, so last night, the kids watched “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty” eating carry-out Thai, and after they went to bed, my ever-lovin’ wife and I watched the Oscars. We were aided by the TIVO, of course, which let us fast-forward through all the musical numbers and the long walks to the microphone (which surprisingly add 19 minutes to the whole broadcast).

Why we’d bother to watch, I don’t know. We just don’t go out to the movies anymore unless a supervillain is endangering the earth somehow. I think the last best picture I saw in the theater might have been “Annie Hall.” And the faces and names get more obscure every year. But it pays to keep up with the pop culture, if only to be able to talk in short-hand about things.

Something I noticed last night, besides how absolutely fabulous a life in Hollywood must be (note to self: time to head west and sleep on an acquaintance’s couch for a year or two), was how many winners described their experience as “amazing.”

“This has just been an amazing experience.” At first I thought, how amazing have the past 15 seconds been since your name was announced? Were your legs asleep and you are glad to stretch them? But I quickly realized that the person was likely talking about the past few weeks since the nominations were announced. In light of that, the word “amazing” must mean:

It’s great you people have finally recognized me for the mega-talent I’ve been telling you I am.

It’s fun to get phone calls from people who want to hire me, and agents who want to steal me.

It’s enjoyable to get calls from old boyfriends who are looking for tickets to the red carpet, so I can tell them to eat shit and die.

It’s nice to get baskets and baskets of free swag from companies dumb enough to send it to me.

It certainly beats pretending to be glad that someone else won.

It’s amazing while the attention lasts, because most assuredly, it won’t.

Completely Inside Joke

For those of you who weren’t at the wine auction, and those of you who couldn’t hear over the din that filled the parish hall, here’s the toast that I finally came up with.

Here’s to the parents of Queens,
Who know that a good education means
Raising cash left and right,
Like Winter Toast night,
Before Voss Center gets slapped with a lien.

And like most limericks, it got razzed. By the host. Over the microphone. Oh well.

A Toast for Chicago

While researching online for a toast to bring to a wine auction this weekend, I happened upon one about the City on the Make:

Here’s to Chicago, where everything dates from the Fair,
Where they know the value of good hot air.
When there’s prospect of business, they’ll always stand treat,
For their hearts are as big as their women’s feet.

I don’t know what it means, but I like it.

White City Brought Back to Life

Before heading out of town for the three-day weekend, my eye caught something in the Tribune about a special showing of a computer-simulated, 3-D environment of Chicago’s Columbian Exposition of 1893. Excitement courses through me about the chance to sit in a movie chair and cruise through the canals in a gondola like Bertha Palmer’s errant nephew, until the article tells me the simulation would only be shown at the Museum of Science and Industry this past weekend on a first-come, first-served basis. After that, no more public showings, unless the computer people at UCLA get a whole lotsa money.

Drat and double drat.

But little tastes of the simulation are available online, so we can all imagine what it would be like to live in the pages of “The Devil in The White City”. Check them out at the UCLA site and also at the Trib.

Maybe they should sell T-shirts for the URBAN SIMULATION TEAM! to raise money.