Oh, I Think So

Yeah, yeah, the clusterfuck that is the NFL Draft is coming to my town next week, taking place at the Auditorium Theatre with a fan experience being created a few blocks away.  Called "Draft Town," it will feature Buckingham Fountain changing colors to that of whatever team just made a draft pick.  Traffic is being rerouted and temporary buildings are going up in the middle of Grant Park (and a few streets).  What a spectacle!  What sensational drama!  Who the hell is paying for this shit? When this is all over, I don't want to hear how the NFL -- one of the most successful conglomerates in the world -- made Chicago pay for any of it, like when we found out just earlier in 2015 that Chicago itself paid out money for the Olympic bid when Mayor Daley swore it was being paid for with private contributions.  (Yes, he sucked so hard at the end of his many terms.)  If they're rerouting buses, if police have to work extra shifts, if Buckingham Fountain chan...

Regular readers of this blog will remember that I love to take pictures of people taking pictures.  It fascinates me.  If I can get the photographer, what he's photographing, and the image on the screen of his camera, then it's heaven for me.  Even just the photographer raising his hands and aiming and me from behind and to the side so I can get him and maybe what he's trying to capture is also great.  It occurs to me that I might be out of control. This week was a lovely week here with good weather and many sunny afternoons.  I went to Federal Plaza when I could -- there were demonstrations, one of which made the police cut off major sections of the Loop so they could control the crowd with out the impediment of cars -- and a couple of days there were people capturing each other by Flamingo, the huge outdoor sculpture by American sculptor Alexander Calder (I always thought he was Belgian so I am a big stupid and let's move on).  When the weather is mostl...

In the days before Macy's became Everyone's Local Department store, there were local and/or regional department stores.  Growing up in Detroit, we had J.L. Hudson, which later became Hudson's.  We also had Crowley's.  People in Minneapolis-St. Paul had Dayton's.  In Chicago, the most venerable of stores was Marshall Field's but there were also Evans and Charles A. Stevens for well-priced, good value clothes for women, and Wieboldt's and Goldblatt's for less expensive things for the whole family (when I first moved to Chicago in 1978, I bought myself a t-shirt in the bargain basement at Goldblatt's on State Street for 88¢ and I just recently put it in the bag to give to one of the clothing boxes).  There were many different options, each store having different buyers, price points, points of view, and levels of taste. It was a good time for shopping because there were a lot of choices.  I think one of the things that made America great is the vast n...

Happy spring holidays!  See you next week!

And so Jeremy Clarkson's contract wasn't renewed by the BBC who was put into a very bad situation when Clarkson yelled at producer Oison Tymon for 20 minutes and smacked him around for another five.  I discussed this with a non-Top-Gear watcher at work.  If someone yells at you for five seconds, it's pretty bad; five minutes, it's an eternity; 20 minutes is the length of an episode of "Thirty Rock" without commercials and the abuse.  Toss on the length of the "Queen of Jordan" episode followed by slapping and it's what-the-fuckery at its weirdest.  Clarkson did it to himself and he knew it as he was the one who called his BBC bosses right after and admitted it.  They were already pissed at him for various reasons -- the N-word controversy, the Argentina special with the Falkland-Islands-War-homage license plate, using a derogatory word in the Burma special  -- so he was the rump roast who stuck himself with the fork and pronounced himself done....

Spring arrived in Chicago at 5:45pm on Friday, March 20.  In the spirit of Spring in Chicago, we are expecting about 2-3 inches of snow that will fall most heavily during tomorrow's morning rush.  "Effing swell," she said with great sarcasm.  "Effing wonderful." So I will take today off to think about this and also watch some of the only season of "Firefly," Joss Whedon's 2002 TV show that really is Ye Olde West with spacecraft.  There are people living by their wits, struggling to make a go of it, fighting to keep their freedoms in a restrictive society.  The most respectable person is the registered Companion, a highly educated and trained woman whose profession is, in essence, prostitution.  She's the most respected person in any room, more trusted and admired than a doctor or a preacher.  If you've not seen "Firefly," watch it on Netflix.  Then rent "Serenity," the movie that tied everything up. 

Every fall for the last 20+ years, I've been getting a flu shot.  I've only gotten the flu twice -- once about five years ago when the Swine flu was not part of the influenza cocktail and the second time this past week.  I missed two and a half days of work, extraordinary for someone who prides herself on always going to work unless there's a fever involved.  (I took one day two years ago when I had a fever that went with a rattly cough.)  Well, I did go to work but my supervisor agreed I should go home after a few hours (and I offered to stay until lunches were over).  I talked to my doctor and he said it sounded like flu to him but if I should happen to cough up something dark-yellow-to-green in color, to call back and he'd give me antibiotics.  There was some considerable coughing once I returned to work but the solid evidence of it being an infection never came forth and I say now that it really was flu. On Tuesday evening, after being in bed for almo...