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Tuesday, August 12, 2008
9:05:08 AM CDT
Birthday Drinks
Here's the cute invite my younger daughter and a colleague put together to celebrate their birthdays at work over in London yesterday. She is almost six feet. He is 5'6". His natal day is one day before hers. I love how you can hear his British accent in the invitation. And I think she looks really nice in that suit. Mrs. L
We appreciate that some of you may not have realised but actually [Mrs. Linklater's daughter] and I are twins, and of course share the same birthday (nearly!) – I know, now it all makes sense we hear you cry, the same height, the same dress sense, the same walk, the same accent etc but you can actually tell us apart because Richie has just had his hair cut! – well anyway, we are planning to celebrate our birthday on Monday August 11th with a quick drink or two from 12.30 pm at The Golden Fleece. If you fancy joining us and have the time and inclination then please mark it in your social calendar and we look forward to seeing you there. Please share with anybody we may have missed – our list management is not yet up to scratch!!!
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Tuesday, August 5, 2008
3:21:43 PM CDT
Culture Shock
It's not new news. In a metropolitan area, schools in the suburbs spend more money per pupil than the city does. The deciding factor is often property taxes. While they are high everywhere, they are astronomical in wealthy suburbs.
Why? So they can have good schools, duh. Parents can also afford to provide laptops, cellphones, cars, and other perks associated with the higher incomes that suburban families enjoy.
One of the best schools in the state, perhaps the country, is New Trier High School. It's located in one of the wealthier suburbs of Chicago and its district includes students from several other nearby, equally wealthy communities.
New Trier spends over $17,000 per kid.
By contrast, the city of Chicago only spends a little more than $10,000 per kid in their school system.
One difference may well be that New Trier property taxes for a 3000 square foot center entrance colonial on 1/3 of an acre, with 3 BR and two and a half baths are $12,000 per year.
And the taxes for a home that size in the inner city aren't.
The other difference is that the teachers at New Trier earn more than teachers in other school districts. So a lot of the money spent per student is actually spent on the people teaching the students.
To protest the disparity between what Chicago Public Schools spend versus what New Trier spends, there's a movement among a couple of inner city ministers in Chicago to have the city kids ditch their schools in the city and register at New Trier this fall.
[By the way you can attend New Trier from out of the district, but it costs money, although not as much as a private school.]
Since New Trier is ninety per cent white, down from 99.9 per cent when I went there, and the inner city schools are more than ninety per cent minority in some cases, the race/ethnicity card is also being played. Can't be helped.
Too bad, since there are many excellent inner city schools with a high percentage of minority students that are providing an excellent college prep education to their students, no matter what's being spent.
Money isn't everything.
Besides public high schools like Roberto Clemente and Whitney Young, there are charter schools, parochial schools, and schools like Providence-St. Mel. After the archdiocese of Chicago closed Providence-St. Mel over thirty years ago, a dedicated principal, Paul Adams, and a group of equally dedicated teachers reopened it as a private school. Despite serving a population of low income students in one of the poorest sections of the city, PSM has sent 100% of their students to college for the last fifteen years.
I was there shortly after they reopened, when they were still struggling just to make ends meet. I wasn't a teacher. I was a copywriter from a big ad agency who went there to visit so I could write an ad to help them raise money to stay open. Even then I discovered they sent a higher percentage of students to college than a bunch of the top suburban high schools. So that became the jist of my headline.
That one ad raised $150,000, a tidy sum thirty years ago.
President Reagan heard about their hard work and dedication. So he came to make a speech to the student body in their auditorium. Before he said a word the kids stood up and recited the school mission in unison:
At Providence St. Mel, we believe.
We believe in the creation of inspired lives
produced by the miracle of hard work.
We are not frightened by the challenges of reality, but believe that we can change our conception of this world and our place within it.
So we work, plan, build, and dream - in that order.
We believe that one must earn the right to dream.
Our talent, discipline, and integrity will be our contribution to a new world.
Because we believe that we can take this place, this time, and this people, and make a better place, a better time, and a better people.
With God's help, we will either find a way or make one.
That was a powerful moment. I remember getting goosebumps when I heard all those teenaged voices speaking as one. A few years later, Oprah heard about the success of this hardworking high school and donated $1,000,000 to their endowment.
Even now, in the midst of this city vs. suburban financial battle, I have the feeling Paul Adams would be thrilled to have as much as $10,000 to spend on each of PSM's students.
Money isn't everything .
The one thing New Trier has in common with these high achieving inner city schools is a student body that shows up every day to learn and parents who offer their time and participation to insure that learning takes place.
The problem with this movement to register inner city kids at New Trier this fall is that on the surface, this seems to be about getting a quality education, but deep down, it sounds like pure envy.
All I hear about during interviews with the ministers is how the New Trier kids have laptops and they get better books to use.
But the NT school district doesn't hand out laptops. The parents buy them. And the students don't get handed their books for free. Their parents have to pay for those, too. And there are plenty of kids at New Trier who need scholarships because not everyone's dad is a CEO.
At the same time, I'm reminded why Oprah said she didn't want to start one of her leadership schools in the United States.
In Africa, attending school isn't a right or an entitlement. A child must have a uniform in order to go to school. It's simple. If the family doesn't have enough money to buy a uniform their child doesn't get an education.
Oprah saw how grateful the children were just to get uniforms. They didn't want computers or ipods or Air Jordans. They wanted an education.
Unlike Africa, in the US every child is entitled to attend school for free. No matter what kind of clothes they wear.
Nothing else is promised.
But mass media has created a sense of entitlement among people who covet luxuries, but can't afford them.
That's how envy can fuel a sense of entitlement.
So instead of fostering this culture of entitlement with a march on New Trier, the Reverend Meeks would do well to encourage a culture of pride in education in his own community high schools
Instead of complaining that another school has more money to spend than yours, make every dollar your school has count. With parental and community involvement.
Instead of expecting laptops and fancy books, expect good grades and perfect attendance.
In the end what goes around comes around. The reason kids can go to New Trier is because their parents worked hard and got an education. The reason they worked hard to get an education was so they could earn enough money to live where there was a culture that encouraged their own children to get an education.
My mother was valedictorian of her high school class. But her parents couldn't afford college. So she became a nurse. My dad had to work his way through college. My mother's job as a nurse helped to pay for his education. It took him eight years. After graduation he joined the Army and they put him through medical school.
It's not the laptops. It's not the iPods. It's the culture.
All you have to do is see what successful inner city schools are already doing.
Money isn't everything.
Written by jevanslink
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12:16:40 PM CDT
Dodging The Bullets
For some reason my town has not been hit with the last two storms that have blasted through almost every other inch of Chicagoland.
The storms have been so ferocious that they made the national news. Trees are down. Cars are crushed. There are fires caused by downed wires. Did I mention the hail?
We got -- nothing.
How do I know the storms made the national news? I've received phone calls and emails from Montana and Hawaii to see if I'm all right.
I almost feel guilty that we didn't have lightning strikes, the threat of tornados or flooding rains where I am. They passed to our north and south and even hit the town just west of us. But we've been in an island of strange, eerie stillness.
The pavement on my driveway is damp. But it's been dry under my car. I heard some faraway thunder, but I mostly I watched everything on TV like everyone else.
I guess that just means the sheet is going to hit the fan one of these days.
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11:21:02 AM CDT
"A Complete Line of Leaky Bladder Products"
I somehow missed the first part of this commercial, but I managed to catch the last line -- "A complete line of leaky bladder products."
Naturally, with my interest piqued, I wondered how many different pads for persnickety pee a person with a leaky bladder could now choose from.
Pick the one that's right for YOU!!!
The Laugh Pad: you'll be smiling wihen you wear this thick, absorbent maxi for those moments of hysterical laughter. Thanks to its extra wicking, you can laugh your ass off up to ten times in three hours without a moment's thought about leaving a single telltale wet spot on your new velour sweats.
The Lily Pad: tired of jumping up to pee in the middle of dessert? Now there's no need to worry about those embarrassing sudden urges. Stay sitting pretty as a frog on a log while your pee is wicked away into the convenient reservoir until you're ready to go to the powder room.
The Launch Pad: those last few steps into the house can seem like a mile when you're a victim of a leaky bladder. But now you can take your sweet damn time looking for the keys at the bottom of your purse. Put those days of panic and ruined pantsuits behind you. The launch device in every pad senses your urgency and immediately sends a signal to Houston for a successful mission.
The Note Pad: even the most clever career woman can get stuck in traffic on a bus without a place to pee. No need to fret when you've remembered your Note Pad, the perfect pee accessory for gals on the "go." While you're hanging from the strap the dirty old man checking out your derriere has no idea you're taking care of "business," right in front of his nose, if you catch our drift.
The Football Pad: four hours of beers and brats in the nosebleed seats won't phase you ever again!! Because you're ready for some football with this convenient, ultra light, yet ultra maxed out pad with enough longterm absorbency to handle a whole team of Budweiser ponies.
So if you're one of the millions of American women who wanted to have natural childbirth instead of opting for a c-section and now you're stuck with leaky bladders -- it's time to stop your splattering!!! Get the protection only a professional pee pad can provide. Why piss on yourself when thanks to our handy pee pads you can piss off!!!!
Here's the new jingle:
[MARCHING MUSIC]
Today's the day I'm finally free of pee!
No more wet spots for anyone to see!
My bladder can leak all week if it wants
'Cause I won't make a peep when it taunts
[BRIDGE] No more shaking my leg
No more worry and tears
No more ups and downs
No more hurry and fear
[SHOUTING] I'm free! Yes, I'm free!
Today's the day I do it my way because -- I'm free!
[BIG FINISH] Today's the day I'm fin-al-ly free of PEE!
Don't get me started on E.D.
Written by jevanslink
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Monday, August 4, 2008
8:36:05 AM CDT
Catching Up
We're finally having a summer I have always hoped for, but never get. Yes, I've met Mr. Right. He's witty and rich, handsome and generous, charming and. . . I'm such a liar.
We're finally having the kind of summer WEATHER I have always hoped for.
Here it is, the start of August in Chicago, and we've only suffered a handful of ninety degree days. Even more remarkable, nothing in triple digits at all!! PLUS ta-da! much less humidity. How do I know? I have hardly used the air conditioning in my car. I can enjoy a cool breeze as I drive with the windows and sunroof open. It brings back memories of a red Le Sabre convertible I once knew. Sure a plastic bag or a book I was reading might be suddenly sucked through the roof, but that's a small price to pay for the sweet smell of summer blowing through my hair.
It's so nice to feel relativiely cool getting into the car, instead of toasting in oven quality air that bakes your lungs, while waiting waiting waiting for the AC to kick in. Eat your hearts out Phoenix and Dallas.
With such nice weather, I was glad to get invited to a backyard party over the weekend. My younger daughter has a friend named Anne who is hooked into Chicago's acting community. I got an invitation from her a couple of weeks ago to attend an all day party being thrown for people in film at a house on the lake. These days, I'm technically a person in audio and vidoetape, but who's complaining.
Admission was five bucks for all the brats, dogs, and burgers you cold eat. Females were also requested to bring a side dish. Males had to bring something liquid. Part of me thought that instruction might not be specific enough for some guys.
Feeling generous, I purchased some potato salad, cold slaw, and mixed fruit. In exchange, I ate two dogs and a burger. I would have preferred brats, but they lied about having brats. There was an overcooked pasta salad and some stale party mix besides my side dishes, so I was glad I brought as much as I did. I think everybody else brought cookies and cake.
Turns out, I didn't know anybody at the party. Nobody. Not a soul.
Imagine my surprise when I walked in. The "Anne" who invited me wasn't my daughter's friend Anne. This Anne -- there were two of them, in fact -- represented an Extras Agency -- the folks who populate the backgrounds of movies. Specifically, the films being shot in Chicago.
About six years ago I signed up with an agency to be an extra -- you never know when some casting director is desperate for a tall, older woman with an attitude and a SAG card. But when the feature film business dried up in Chicago that agency closed. Now thanks to better tax breaks, movies and tv shows are back in town. Apparently my name got forwarded/bought/sold to a different place.
Despite not knowing a single person, all the people at the party did have something in common -- we aspire to be the equivalent of human wallpaper. Since most folks can't make very big bucks working as a deocrative accessory in a movie, everyone had a real life job too. I met an earthquake specialist, a former zoologist who now collects and sells rare books, a lady lawyer, a real estate developer, and the sartorially resplendent owner of the party house. He spent most of his time driving up and down the highway looking for a side mirror that fell off his newly purchased antique Morgan roadster. With his bald pate and barbershop mustache, he looked like he was at an audition for the Great Gatsby.
His sister was one of the hostesses named "Anne."
Needless to say lots of conversation centered around movie life. I learned that Frank Stallone, Sylvester's brother, is an expert on boxing and seems to have a photographic memory for movie dialog. Clint Eastwood had a nickname for one of the hostesses that escapes me. Patrick Swayze is in town shooting a TV series for A&E. Even though he's fighting cancer of the pancreas, the guy is working 17 hour days. Still puffing on cigarettes, too. I asked, but no one had heard of Viggo Mortensen.
I spent most of the day and part of the evening hanging out. Had some food. Had some fun. Had to skip the American Legion baseball playoffs so I don't know who won. Drove home close to midnight with the roof and windows open. Penciled in the next "extras' party for December 20th. They say that soiree goes till dawn.
I better start napping now.
Written by jevanslink
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Saturday, August 2, 2008
6:41:26 AM CDT
The TED Prize
First there was TED, the airline. Now there is TED, the prize.
I guess they are taking nominations for the 2009 TED prize already. You can go HERE to read about it and nominate someone if you want.
Last year or so, someone nominated the guy who invented the technology for the iPhone. This year someone may propose the beautiful and talented Angelina Jolie, who has devoted her life to appearing on the cover of People Magazine every time she adopts a child from a third world orphanage. And let's not forget how much money she will raise for worthy causes just by giving birth to twins.
TED stands for Technology, Entertainment, Design. Terrorists, Evildoers and Despots need not apply. The judges award a $100,000 prize to individuals who have met the criteria for being inventive, innovative and inspirational. Famous doesn't hurt.
It also seems as though most past nominees are quite wealthy from their efforts. Even though the winners tend to be people who spend their days doing things that make the world a better place - tech-wise, entertainment-wise, or design-wise -- let's not kid ourselves. I doubt that many of them started out with that in mind. This is America. Making money was numero uno. But it's amazing how altruistic you can get when the dough starts rolling in.
Unfortunately, right now the TED prize has no way for anyone to nominate people who drive a bus for a living or run a neighborhood Mom and Pop store -- the people who keep things going in this country while the brainiacs talk among themselves.
Meanwhile, once chosen, the winners of a TED prize get to go to the TED conference to accept their awards and present an eighteen minute speech on a WISH they have. It should be a wish that makes the world a kinder, gentler place. Not something that enriches their bank accounts.
By presenting these pipe dreams to an audience of other Xtreme visionaries, there's a chance that some of them may actually come to fruition. To see what I mean, you can watch about 200 of these speeches online to get the idea.
Once again, let me point out that the people who are nominated for a TED prize are either famous already, like Bono, or, at the very least, famous among their peers.
Personally I think there ought to be a grass roots category to acknowledge somebody who can't afford a publicist. Why shouldn't a person who isn't well known as a great designer, entertainer or techno-geek get a chance to win for just having an imaginative, useful thought that deserves worldwide attention? Even if they don't work at a think tank or live on government grants.
I'm talking about Mr. or Ms. Average Mope. These are people who may not be doing anything more exciting with their lives other than raising law-abiding children who vote, have careers and don't live at home.
In fact, why shouldn't someone who is incarcerated be able to enter their 100 word WISH for the WORLD into the TED prize competition? Granted, I may have mentioned that Evildoers are no doubt excluded from being nominated. However, on the other hand, what better way to redeem yourself than providing a useful solution to a worldwide issue?
I am reminded of Illinois' former governor, George Ryan, who is currently in the slammer himself for six years. He is a prime example of how a moral compass can still be operative, even in the midst of a federal investigation. Before sentencing, actually before there was enough evidence to take his case to the grand jury, the guv commuted the sentences of all the prisoners on death row. He did the right thing when it became clear that a lot of these convicts had been wrongly accused. I think the governor's gesture could have made him worthy of consideration for a TED prize. But he went for the Nobel instead. No, really.
Whatever. If someone is chosen as a grass roots winner, they could then present their very own eighteen minute I HAVE A WISH speech, along with the likes of Steve Jobs and Bill Clinton, so that people who matter would listen. Think of it, a high school principal, a daycare provider, or your town's fire chief with a revolutionary idea. Just like the fancy folks.
I mentioned that the winners each get $100,000. This amount might just cover the monthly light bill for most of the past nominees. On the other hand, for the folks in the grass roots category, that $100,000 could have some real purchase power.
Not that I think the TED prize suffers from an annoying celebration of elitism or anything.
So, do any of you average Joes and Janes have an idea that could make the world a better place? Feel free to leave it in a comment here. Maybe someone will nominate YOU for a TED prize.
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Thursday, July 31, 2008
6:00:29 AM CDT
Flushing Meadows
I bet you didn't know there is a kickass toilet invented by a Japanese company called Toto. This toilet is to flushing what the atom bomb was to WWII.
Wasn't there some ferocious Japanese military leader named Toto? Or am I thinking of Judy Garland's dog in The Wizard of Oz?
Regardless, remember the name, Toto, because once you've used a Toto toilet, nothing else comes close.
Ever since environmentalists turned the act of flushing into an act of political correctness, I have longed for days gone by, when I didn't have to think twice about going to the bathroom.
It started with putting a brick into the huge tanks we used to have. Supposedly water is now at a premium so it's the job of every good American to use less water to flush. NOTE TO IOWA: See what happens when you all flush at once?
Every day I am reminded of how much I miss the old fashioned toilets. The ones that had enough tank water to launch an ICBM.
Using the bathroom was something I always took for granted. It was a place to perform a bodily function without giving it a second thought.
Not any more. Now I have to wait to make sure I don't need a second, or horrors, a third flush. How ironic that since we've legislated to downsize our toilet tanks in some misguided effort to save water, we've simultaneously become the most fat-assed nation on earth. You do the math.
Since I "upgraded" my bathroom toilet to its modern configuration, i.e., not enough tank water to remove lint -- I think I've used twice as much water as I ever did before. Up to four times as much after anything with jalapeno peppers.
With a few exceptions, one flush just can't get the job done. I can't count the times I've spent staring down at the bowl in wide-eyed wonder. I wonder if a second flush will take care of everything. I wonder if I will have to clean the toilet once more today. I wonder if I can ever use two ply teepee again?
And then, at a friends' house, I used a Toto toilet for the first time. I'll admit I was leary. There was the telltale tiny new tank and not very much water in the toilet bowl. I might be stuck in the john for awhile. Gingerly I pressed the lever.
KA-POW!!! Faster than a speeding bullet. More powerful than a locomotive. The Toto was totally awesome. Everything was gone in ONE SECOND!!!!Jet-propelled to another universe. And ready to go again in a heartbeat.
Stunned, I flushed it again. Just for fun. Never has so much power been generated by so little water.
I raved to my friends. "That's quite a toilet!!"
"Yes. We saw a demonstration where it flushed thirteen ping pong balls at one time."
I could figure out what that meant on my own.
Yesterday I found an article about the latest Toto toilets. They come with heated seats if you want them. They have fans with air fresheners for odor control. They have automatic bidets if you want them. They also come with a remote control. So you can go to the bathroom from another room I suppose.
Yes, for a mere $5000 the Toto with all those extras can be yours. But if you don't need your butt heated or any of those other bells and whistles, you can get the basic version that can send thirteen ping pong balls to kingdom come for only $500 or so.
So the next time you find yourself worrying as you watch the toilet flush, remember the Toto. You'll never look back again
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Monday, July 28, 2008
1:35:46 AM CDT
Air America Shoots Self In Left Foot
I have never been able to find Air America on my radio dial. As a card carrying liberal, primarily because I am a pro-choice, divorced single parent who was raised by Ford-driving Democrats, I have always wondered if I was missing something.
Regardless of my reasons for wanting to listen, many times I thought it might just be funny to hear Al Franken gripe about Ann Coulter. But I was never once able to dial him up while he was still on the air.
Today by accident, I passed the news station I wanted to listen to only to hear "Blah blah blah blah. . .Air America." So I stopped to listen.
With Rush Limbaugh, you know you're going to get some seriously inflammatory liberal bashing. So, in return, I expected some seriously inflammatory conservative bashing, particularly on the only liberal radio talk show, formerly a whole network, on the air.
What I got amounted to self flagellation. Rush Limbaugh doesn't have to trash Gore, Obama, Hillary, or any of the other members of the left of middle establishment. Air America is happy to do it for him.
When I might have expected to listen to a dissection of McCain's odd road to his nomination, I heard a discussion about John Edwards' right to privacy in light of recent embarrassing revelations. Apparently, a tawdry tale about the pretty boy first showed up late last year. It is rumored that the former senator and vice presidential candidate has fathered a child with a woman who was doing an all access documentary about him.
But after a brief flare up in the National Enquirer last year, the story went away.
Now it seems those same crack tabloid reporters caught John-boy trying to either leave or enter an LA hotel in the middle of the night. To avoid them he hid in a bathroom until security rescued him.
Listeners were invited to call and weigh in with their thoughts about whether Edwards had a right to have his private life kept private, especially if the original story turns out to be true.
My first thought was, "John Edwards? What an empty suit!!"
Even worse, the commentator, someone named Bender, confessed to liking the guy. Admiring the guy. Feeling bad for the guy. I guess he'd hoped Edwards would be considered as a vice presidential candidate for Obama. Or in his cabinet at least.
David Hasselhoff would be a better choice.
John Edwards has two major strikes against him. First he's as pretty as a movie star -- the kiss of death when it comes to developing character. Narcissism tends to fill the vacuum. The best evidence of Edwards' self indulgent sense of entitlement: those ridiculously expensive haircuts he paid for in Beverly Hills. Over $400 apiece as I recall.
Second he's made a lot of money trying some big cases. I find it interesting that he chose a profession that works well with charm and good looks -- two of the most important attributes of a successful trial lawyer.
On top of a sense of entitlement, people who have excessive amounts of money tend to think that makes them smarter than everyone else. That's why so many run for public office.
As far as respecting John Edwards' privacy -- the rules have changed from the days of FDR, JFK, and J. Edgar Hoover, when dalliances and other uncomfortable truths such as alcoholism and homosexuality were not reported.
If McCain can survive the crap he's pulled, from dumping his first wife unceremoniously and marrying his second wife a short month after the divorce. To the train wreck he calls a naval career to the recent story of an affair with a lobbyist, Edwards can weather his screw up with a good spinmeister. Although I wouldn't recommend going on Maury for a DNA test.
Politicians and celebrities all know the rules of the game -- if you get too close to the fire, you're going to get burned.
But back to the real issue -- why does anyone give a rip about John Edwards in the first place? Rush Limbaugh is laughing his ass off.
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Sunday, July 27, 2008
11:26:47 AM CDT
Susie Sleuth
My suburb is like most suburbs lately. We have foreign speaking contractors coming in to tear down dozens and dozens of smaller, older homes so they can build monstrosities with turrets that Count Dracula would kill to live in. Today, just for giggles, I think I will count the number of new houses in my neighborhood that are fitted with those stupid pointy castle things.
My town also happens to have a lot of diversity too. Not racially so much. Even though we have every color and many ethnicities represented, the truth is this place is over ninety percent cottage cheese.
On the other hand, along with many churches and temples, we have a mosque, although I don't hear any calls to prayer during the day. There are both Catholic AND Jewish parochial schools, schools for autistic kids, gifted kids, learning disabled kids, deaf kids, you name the kid, we've got a school for him or her.
We have loads of public facilities -- swimming pools, water slides, bike tracks, indoor and outdoor skating rinks, golf courses, ball diamonds, sledding hills, tennis courts, a fishing pond, even a babbling brook with benches just to sit beside.
We also have acres and acres of forest preserve land. On any given morning you can go out and find groups of "birders" gathering under a stand of trees looking up at the sound of some singing bird, trying to find it. There are all kinds of birds, from red tail hawks to blue herons, Canada geese, Baltimore orioles, robins, cardinals, finiches, and seagulls. Since we got hit with The West Nile virus, I haven't seen a single blue jay, crow, grackle or starling. But the other birds seem to be flourishing.
On the weekends families with blue and red coolers loaded with food take over the shelters and picnic tables for hours of barbecues and games of frisbee
In a couple of places there are boat launches for kayaks and bass fishing boats. With plenty of people casting from the sidelines. A popular bike trail runs through it all and cycling traffic can get pretty heavy, especially at the intersection by the Good Humor truck.
Apparently in the midst of all this Smokey The Bear wholesomeness, there are the "lonely men." Over time I've noticed codger types who pull into a forest preserve parking place and just sit there. Like anyone else, I just assumed they were meditating.
The other day, I was driving down one of the main roads to the highway so I could go downtown. On the spur of the moment I decided why not skip the traffic and enjoy a beautiful day doing my work out of doors. So, instead of inhaling exhaust, I drove into one of my town's many forest preserve areas, intending to commune with nature while I worked on a video script.
I was thoroughly enjoying the beautiful weather, listening to all the birds, watching the squirrels and one scrounging raccoon, when some young buck in a Jeep on his cell phone drove past me at a pretty good clip, all the way to the end of the only road in the area, whereupon he turned around and came back.
I didn't think anything of it. Until he went back and forth at least seven different times, always on his phone. Then I noticed he was followed by a different car every time. Soon the traffic picked up and there were cars going up and back like they were on a major thoroughfare.
If anyone stopped it was for a minute or two at the most. The driver would back into a parking place and sit there until the Stud in the green Jeep pulled in next to them, driver side to driver side. They were too far away for me to see anything, but nobody got out of their cars. And I couldn't tell if there was a handoff or a job that required hands of any kind.
Finally I got back into my car and started writing down license plates. I was thinking maybe this was some kind of suburban drug business.
How brilliant of me to stay there if it was. But I kept thinking, this isn't an urban crime area. We're right around the corner from the place where I get my manis and pedis. Walking distance from the grocery store. My town is not a hotbed of anything worse than retail theft and drunk driving.
The Nancy Drew in me seemed compelled to write down license plate numbers. Too many episodes of Law and Order can leave a mark like that.
Keep in mind that in order to do this I had to look directly at the cars to see the numbers, and they could see me looking at them, so it wasn't like I was all that surreptitious.
Finally good sense prevailed. I retired from amateur detective duty and left. But my evidence kit had a page full of license plate numbers even though I had no idea what they were good for.
You might think I wouldn't go back there. But I did. On my way home a couple of days later, I stopped at this great new smoked rib place and got a pulled pork sandwich dripping with sauce. With a side of slaw and some great peach 'n beans. Instead of eating the drippy mess at home over the sink, I drove two blocks to the infamous forest preserve area, where I could drip on my latest copy of Sports Illustrated and eat my barbecue without having to clean up the kitchen floor afterward.
This time there was no one around. Then I saw why. There was a forest preserve police car. He ignored me until I finished my tasty repast and started getting back into the car. At that point he drove over for a chat.
Did I know that this particular area was known for solicitation of sex acts by men for men? I laughed and said, "Then I'm safe?" I told him I had noticed many "lonely men" parked there in the past. Then I remembered my list of license plates and all the cruising I had seen the other day. So I told him that I had seen some heavy traffic through there, but I assumed it was for drugs, since nobody seemed to be doing anything with anybody.
He said they check each other out and make "dates." That would explain the guy on his cell phone.
I asked him if he wanted the list of license plate numbers I had written down in my other life as a suburban vigilante. He gave me a funny look, like I was a little too old to be playing Nancy Drew, but he did take the list. After seeing how extensive it was, he shook his head, smiled enigmatically, and said, "Thank you."
As I drove away, I checked my rearview mirror. His car never moved. From what I could see, it looked like he was reading my list and punching license plate numbers into his computer.
Or maybe he was just punching up my license plate. Wait till he gets to the part about the dry cleaning.
Written by jevanslink
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Friday, July 25, 2008
10:50:43 PM CDT
See What Happens When You Let Women Run Things?
Let's see, what can I write about? Not that. Not that. Definitely, not that.
Okay, here's something -- nope, not that either.
Wait, I've got it. And it's about sex, too!!! There is a nine to noon morning radio show here in Chicago -- Kathy and Judy. Apropos of nothing, I went to college with Judy -- we were in the same graduating class in fact. Also one of my good friends was one of her good friends.
Anyway, for two women in their sixties, Kathy and Judy sure have quite a following of "girlfriends" that includes loads of guys from every walk of life -- truck drivers, cabbies, docs, you name it.
They have some regular features during the week, along with a yearly convention that is always sold out. In between they host trips to spas and sometimes broadcast from local towns.
Wednesdays they have a session of their weekly Speak Your Peace. Listeners are invited to call in and rag about something for 30 seconds. Anything is fair game except criticizing specific people.
But that stuff is tame. It's their Thursday feature that draws the crowds. At 11 AM, after the news, they tell the kids to get out of the room so the adults can talk about SEX.
That's pretty radical for daytime. Think about it. Does your city have two sixty-ish women hosting a talk radio show in the morning who discuss something besides recipes and getting in touch with your feelings?
I don't think so.
Yesterday they had one of their biggest listener responses ever -- because the girls invited everyone to describe their sex lives in eight words. They were flooded with calls and emails.
Google WGN Radio for the Kathy and Judy show and you can immerse yourself.
Here's my description: "Hang on, I have another call coming in."
What's yours?
Written by jevanslink
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