9 posts tagged “chicago”

Here's my original post from Monday.  Have fun.

Heather brought this CD home one afternoon while she was working at the Borders store on the Magnificent Mile in Chicago.  Man, that store blows.  Borders is okay (especially for reading recently published books for nothing while pretending you're interested in buying them), but this particular store is positively insane.  And the freaks that freakquent it are a real piece of work, each and every one of them.  How about this one, "A friend has this book about airplanes.  It's got a blue cover.  Can you help me?...No, I don't no the title.  No, I don't know anything about the author.  No, I don't know who published it or the approximate year it was published or anything else whatsoever about the book.  Hell, I'm not even sure I'd recognize it if I saw it again.  But you'd better find it for me.  What good are you otherwise?"  Yeah, that was basically a quote, particularly that last question.  I felt pretty bad for her those days, but she stuck it out like a soldier.

This tune was on the radio when we were dating, and I actually used to listen to Chicago FM radio in those days from time to time.  She liked the tune, as did I, and we both liked the bands these guys came from, so she bought the CD.  It's basically Guns 'N Roses with the singer from Stone Temple Pilots.  GNR was a rock staple of the 80s and 90s, and I followed STP from their first album nearly through their last.  I was particularly a fan of STP in the early days, as I was an immediate fan of the grunge sound.  My sister bought me a poster with Scott Weiland, the lead singer, holding his head in his hand, and I was forced to take it down off my door at the fundamentalist college I attended.  I was usually up-to-date with the goings-on of both lead singers of each band, particularly Weiland, all of his drug-related problems, and now his current feud with the band that has apparently resulted in him being kicked out.  Regardless, I've got lots of memories triggered by numerous songs of both groups, as I'm sure many of you do.

This is a solid "Hetta Music" selection, and if you don't like this tune, well, good for ya.  Cheers!

...we don't like you here, you fool.  Go back to your island.

Rock on, Chicago Fire!

Airbourne is coming to Chicago, and we're there.  Heather bought the tix, and we're psyched.  One of the opening acts is Endeverafter, the kids who do the sweet one-handed tapping I featured on this blog a few weeks ago.  Should be a fun show.  We've not been to one since we went to see Detholz!, a local act made up of a few guys I know that has opened for Wilco, among others.

Another hockey post...

I'm not going to say a great deal here, but I was pretty darn happy when the Chicago Blackhawks recently traded Jimbo Vandermeer to the Philadelphia Flyers.  When the Flyers picked him up, they said, "We feel that he brings a lot of experience, and he’s been a real good player."  The Hawks replied by saying that if Vandy was as good as they were claiming he was, Chicago would never have traded him in the first place.

That was less than two months ago.  Now, Vandermeer finds himself playing for Calgary.  Ha ha ha ha ha, Jimbo!  You suck!  You don't have the talent to play in the NHL long-term, and you were nothing but a cheap-shot artist here in Chicago.  You'll never find a true NHL home because of it.

Thank God the Hawks are going in a younger, more-talented, and HONORABLE direction with their D.  I'm sick of the goons.  Maybe Jimbo will find a job as a bar bouncer.  He's no hockey player.

Even though there are times I feel surrounded by crazies, I've never felt more at home than I do in Chicago (what an admission).  Interestingly enough, though, I don't find nearly the headcases I'd expect to on the CTA (or 'L', short for "elevated train"), considering how many folks ride it in a given day.

I had some business to take care of for our company this afternoon, and so I made my way downtown on the 'L'.  I had no strange experiences of any kind on the way down, but my ride home was literally full of stuff to keep me fascinated.

My business with the state was complete in short order, and I then walked the block or two back to the 'L' stop.  I hadn't been on the train for more than a minute or two when some guy behind me began to talk loudly and make most everybody pretty uncomfortable.  He was cursing, talking about the First Amendment of the Constitution, saying he had wished he'd been born white instead of black, and flinging himself about the train cabin with abandon.

At one point, he threw his glove on the floor in front of a woman sitting who was apparently ignoring him.  After a minute or so had gone by, he said, "Excuse me, Miss, is someone sitting here?" and proceeded to sit on her lap to pick up his glove off the floor.  At this point, he noticed me looking at him and began referring to me as, "Sparky".  I decided to put my reading away and kept my eye on him.  Several times he sat next to the woman and would lean over to her and say things I couldn't hear.  The woman appeared to be trying her best to ignore him, although when asked to look at him and give him the time, she complied.

More than once I contemplated throwing him bodily off of the train at the next stop, although I honestly wasn't sure I'd be able to because he was significantly bigger than me (perhaps that's why no one else was willing to get involved).  The train came to a stop, and the woman made her way off.  The man followed her, yelling back into the train, "I've got a hostage!"  At the last moment, I decided to get off as well, even though I wasn't even close to my stop.  I managed to get between them.  When the woman noticed me, I told her that it was okay and that I'd keep him behind me.  You won't believe what she said to me then -- "No.  He's my husband."  What the crap?

I am convinced that this man, as well as others professing to be crazy, are simply angry.  Contemplating recent events (will shootings continue to be a daily occurrence?), it's not guns that pull the trigger, but angry people (although I don't believe in "gun rights", per se; we certainly don't need semi-automatic weapons, and parents of kids who get ahold of a weapon for any reason should be seriously punished).  One fool even decided to go to the Super Bowl in Phoenix and kill people because he'd been denied a liquor license.  Not crazy.  Angry without limitation.

One more example, if I may.  There was a time when a woman on the train was simply screaming at everyone, especially those who dared look at her.  I finally had enough and told her to shut up, that she wasn't crazy, just pissed off.  Her reply ("I am, too, crazy!") proved my point.  I shot back, "If you were really crazy, you wouldn't know it.  Now shut up already."  It didn't work too well, but people didn't seem so nervous around her after that, and at least she knew someone wasn't scared of her.

Back to my ride home today.  I got back on the train when the next one came by, and transferred to another line a few stops down.  I hadn't realized that the occupants were being "treated" to a sermon.  Had I known, I may have chosen the next car.  I decided to keep my seat and listen to the woman.  She wasn't angry or crazy.  In fact, she was downright happy, exclaiming, "Hallelujah!", at every available moment and, frankly, preaching the gospel.  She wasn't inserting the crap you hear from the typical Chicago street preacher like, "God hates gays," "You gotta pray out that cancer demon," and whatnot.  To her credit, she was actually just quoting the bible.  I started the ride annoyed, but I left the train smiling to myself.

On my way down the stairs at the Sheridan stop, I heard a "pigeon" (more precisely, they're rock doves, which explains their cooing that sounds just like that of a white dove) and realized he was just a foot or so away from my head and looking squarely at me.  I couldn't help reply with a, "Hey there, bird," as I was certain the bird was speaking to me.

On the walk home from the train stop, I walked by both parties of a domestic quarrel.  They were standing at either end of the block, yelling at one another about why the man was off to the library.  He claimed that he had to use the bathroom and wasn't about to "s**t all over" himself, and she was unintelligible.

Another day in the great City of Chicago.  More power to the driven, and thank God for the serene.

Heather awoke this morning to news helicopters flying over the area.  The reason:

This is exactly ten blocks west of us.  We walk down Montrose Avenue through this point all the time.  A water main broke, and the street is a mess.  Most of Chicago's infrastructure was repaired pretty well about ten years ago, but it looks as though there's still work to do.

As a pretty serious Chicago Blackhawks fan, I have, since I understood the issue, felt pretty darn badly about how the Hawks dissed Bobby Hull.  I'm certain it was Bill Wirtz who nixed things with the Golden Jet, as I once worked for someone like Mr. Wirtz (RIP), and it's personality that runs the show for these guys, not brains.

Anyway, one of the first things Rocky Wirtz did as chairman of the Blackhawks was to contact Hull and Stan Mikita, make up with them, and ask them to be official ambassadors of the team.  Of course, they were delighted to do so. 

Seeing Bobby Hull (for myself, the first time) again in a Blackhawks jersey last night in Montreal, celebrating the 82-year rivalry between Chicago and the Montreal Canadiens, was a moment to be cherished.  And to see Stan Mikita, who had also been ostracized, drop the puck, was also special.

Welcome back, Hull (#9) and Mikita (#21)!

We've been working non-stop for many days, and so we decided to take a day off prior to the craziness of the holidays.  We slept in (particularly me -- man, I like sleep), and then we finally made our way downtown on the "L" to Daley Plaza.  Heather was especially looking forward to the bratwurst and sauerkraut that we have gotten annually at Chicago's Christkindlmarket.  We froze our rears off while we ate, but it's a tradition, and we weren't about to miss it.  Heather practically starved herself prior (which makes her really crabby, cynical, and totally hilarious).  We took the bus home, and by the time we got there, we were frozen to the bone.  But once we warmed up, we made some potential progress towards having that first kid, so all was well.

This week's tune is for Maxvan (my new friend, Matt).  One of his most recent posts conjured up this song in my brain.  I appreciate your sentiments, Matt, and am glad to feel I know you a bit.

I saw Bad Religion many years ago at the old Riviera Theater, which is north of our apartment on Broadway Avenue, about a five minute walk from here.  I enjoy watching bands at the many local venues.  It's both fascinating and somewhat disturbing to see how old, beautfiul theaters are converted to rock music venues.

My first Bad Religion album was Stranger Than Fiction.  I have purchased a good number of their others since then and have certainly been challenged by Greg Graffin's angry, yet approachable, calls to action.

At the show, they were the headlining band, with opening acts, the then-unknown, Unwritten Law, and Dance Hall Crashers.  The show was one of the absolute loudest things I've ever experienced.  It was splendid.