RevSpork

The good ol' days vs. today - Introduction

I entered my 40th year of life just over six months ago, about the time folks start looking back and bitching about how good everything was when they were youngsters.  And they were fun-loving, rambunctious but endearing children, not these shitheads walking around today. 

But is today so much worse than 1970?  I was in the outside world only sixteen days of that year, but history shows that 1970 was a really shitty year: The Kent State and Jackson State shootings, the deaths of Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix, the Beatles breaking up, the Apollo 13 near-disaster, the Vietnam War at its violent peak.  You know how much 1970 sucked?  Even Canada suffered from terrorist attacks.  When our goofily charming neighbor to the north is getting bombed, that's a good sign of a crappy year.

I'm not discussing just one year, however: I wish to write about the evolution of the world around me from 1970 to the present day.  For the next six months, I will periodically post about various categories and determine whether they've improved in the last forty years or declined, ranking them from 1 (much better back then than now) to 10 (we're doing a lot better nowadays).  I will then explain why I rated that category the way I did, offering a combination of personal anecdotes, historical evidence, and testimony from you.

Yes, you.  I'm pushing forty, for crying out loud: my memory of a certain topic might be fuzzier than yours.  For each category I plan to post about, I will e-mail a random batch of friends on Facebook (some of you actually read my blog; thank you very much) and ask their opinion on a particular topic.  Answers I receive may be posted on my blog, although I will gladly maintain your anonymity at your request.  Of course, you will be invited to respond to my declarations as usual, attacking or agreeing with them as you see fit.  Trust me, this will be a blast.  Hopefully, I can complete this series before my 40th birthday, or I die of old age.

Humidity must be destroyed

I'm blogging during a thunderstorm.  I will probably be zapped any minute now.  But I haven't blogged in a week, so I probably deserve it. 

My month has been occupied, true.  A trip to Minneapolis, followed by the book fair, followed by brunching with friends from DC...and the next few weekends will be packed as well, including visiting the dentist (both Tori and me), a birthday party, then the following weekend in Milwaukee, then the...

Wait a minute: does anyone really visit a dentist?  Google "visiting the dentist" and "visit the dentist" and you get about 750,000 hits combined.  How about "suffer the dentist" or "endure the dentist?" 212 and 457 hits respectively.  It's not a "visit to the dentist" - a "visit" is a friendly encounter, something involving exchanging recipes, a drink, sexual intercourse.  I'm not visiting the dentist: I'm going to an overly-lit clinic to get my teeth scraped, my gums punctured and - if I'm unlucky - suffer the indignity of a highly-paid mouth fetishist drilling a hole in a semi-rotten tooth, stuffing metal into it, and ordering me to spit.  And if I'm really unlucky...well, I'll more than likely walk out of the clinic with various objects stuffed in my mouth and drool running out of it. 

At least the drool will eventually evaporate, a cooling effect on my body.  The summer is only a day or so old, and I'm squirting more sweat than the Gulf of Mexico is spewing oil.  To be fair, last summer was absurdly mild: Chicagoans were torn between enjoying the 75-degree July days and trying to fight off that uneasy feeling that we didn't really deserve this weather, that we'll have to pay for it sometime.

We have now. And 24 hours later, I'm typing the end of this blog entry, desk fan useless, still sweating like the dickens.  I can't wait for October.

An open letter to the organizers of the Printers Row Lit Fest

Dear Organizers,

For my money, there's nothing like browsing used books.  One of the most pleasant smells in the universe is the smell of a used bookstore.  The combination of dust, a pinch of mustiness, and aged print is the fragrance of heaven.  An outdoor book fair emits less of that odor, but that fact is canceled out by the parade-like atmosphere of poetry readers, booksellers, storytellers, and fellow browsers, all seeking new connections with persons or books.  Those connections may last the rest of one's life or the until the turning of the last page, but they are equally powerful.  Those connections build upon the individual experience, making us better people.

My wife and I have attended the Printers Row Book Fair together for 7 of the past 8 years.  (She herself has attended for much longer.)  It is a big deal in our house, roughly akin to an official holiday.We were aware that with new sponsorship this year, a few things might change.  It’s not that we don’t like change, but you made some noticeable alterations, and not for the better.

It was bad enough that you diminished the book fair by diluting the name of the event itself - from "book fair" to "lit fest." "Lit” and “Fest" aren't even words: they're abbreviations.  It's an unusual name for an event that supposedly promotes not just reading, but literacy.  Hawking t-shirts with giant letters reading "GET LIT" across the front didn't help matters much either.  As many folks can attest, it's hard to read when "lit" - that is, drunk or stoned.

Perhaps I'm being too picky.  I am a mere book browser - I don't understand the tactics of "rebranding," and maybe you conducted research and decided that changing the name of the book fair would make it more popular somehow.  I'm willing to accept that. 

What I'm not willing to accept, however, is the physical shrinking of the book fair lit fest.  The first thing my wife and I noticed when emerging from the Harrison station was that an entire block of the book fair lit fest was missing.  It's harder for a book browser to stick around when there are fewer books to browse.  I understand that we are in a recession; maybe fewer booksellers could afford the expense of pitching a tent, setting up shop, and selling their wares.  Your reported increasing the fees this year probably did not help them. 

Worse, if possible, was the profusion of tents pitching non-book and non-reading items. Really, a whole tent pitching mattresses and vibrating chairs? How is that necessary?

Finally, from your FAQ site: "Booksellers, publishers, literacy and cultural organizations sell and promote books and book-related merchandise and distribute related information."  How do Back to Bed, @ Properties, Acura, and Bud Light fit into those categories?   I found this interruption of my book browsing disappointing to say the least.  I made this disappointment public at the Barbara Ehrenreich reading on Saturday, and I will state it here: if I wanted to try out mattresses, I would go to Sears.  (I would also like to point out that I passed that tent three times during the day and saw not one person try out the wares.) 

I cannot stop you from rebranding your event.  I cannot stop you from charging people for "access passes."  My wife and I do not plan to protest your changes, or boycott the event.  We will attend next year, and the year after that.  As long as we have the opportunity to browse through dozens of bookstalls, meet our favorite authors, and curl up with our purchases when we get home, we will not stay away.  Do not presume, however, that we will pay for the pleasure of browsing, or for "exclusive entertainment."  We take the train down to Printers Row every June to find treasure, and if it cannot be found in a receding sea of non-literary sponsors, we will seek it elsewhere.

Regards,

The reverend.

Some quiet kvetching

I don't care if all of the restaurants in the city decided not to post their menus online without a GrubHub link - I will never, ever utilize that jackass service.  Why?  Because after two months of looking at their incredibly annoying ads on the train, I'm about to burst into very annoyed flames.  If I see one more of their stupid-ass Colorforms-style illustrations of whiny yuppies begging for sushi at 11 o'clock at night, I will find the illustrator and eat his soul.

Tori and I have been planning our annual excursion to the Printer's Row Book Fair this weekend.  Actually, it's now called "Lit Fest," a more modern but less literate name that Tori completely rejects.  Sweetheart, I know the world is a cruel place, and the new name sucks, but it's "Lit Fest," the Loop has a Macy's, and the nation's tallest building is STILL THE SEARS TOWER, DAMMIT.  Not Willis!  Willis is the name of the last living kid from Diff'rent Strokes, not a skyscraper!

Congratulations to the Chicago Blackhawks for winning the Stanley Cup, and congrats to the Philadelphia Flyers fans who loudly booed them as the team celebrated.  To the writer of this article, I say: big deal.  Philly fans would probably boo had the Flyers won.  When Sarah Palin walked out onto the ice two years ago (with her 7-year old daughter Piper) for the ceremonial puck drop, fans booed so loud, the arena jacked up the music in an attempt to drown the fans out.  It's part of their nature, so leave them be.  Besides, Chicago sports fans aren't exactly angels.   

Finally, I'd like to take the opportunity to say a few words about the British Petroleum disaster.  There are so many people to blame for this idiocy, BP of course topping the list.  But yes, liberals, the Obama administration is one of the guilty party.  In fact, there are so many hands in this broken cookie jar, it would take hours to compile the list.  So let's quit all the finger-pointing, punish those responsible, and clean up the damned oil.  Simple?  Of course not.  Nothing easy is ever simple.

The nasal waterfall

Who likes being sick?  Nobody.  Not even you, you sick puppy, like being sick for long periods of time.  It's not fun. 

I'm recovering somewhat from my blitzkrieg cold virus.  It was insane: as recently as 3pm Wednesday, I was perfectly fine.  I took a short nap between jobs, and I woke up with a little congestion in my throat. 24 hours later, I managed to call out sick despite my inability to 1) talk and 2) whisper, my throat was so sore.  My sinuses quickly followed, and by Friday I was so ill, I actually asked my wife (who originally had the day off because she wanted to clean up the apartment for that night's cocktail party, which I cancelled) to buy me a neti pot. 

Neti pots are the latest ancient Asian medical fad that Americans have embraced.  It's basically a nasal enema: you pour salty lukewarm water into one nostril and allow it to pour out the other.  It's said to clear out congestion in your nose and ease sinus-related headaches.  Many people, including friends of mine, praise it to the skies.  I personally recommend it if you would like to drown in the ancient Asian manner.  No matter how cleanly you pour the salt water into your nose (and doesn't that sound fantastic?), it's hard to fend off the drowning feeling.  And oh!  By the way, if your sinus cavities are raw and red from repeated nose-blowing, the salt water/baking soda mixture that comes with the CVS neti pot kit hurts like a motherfucker.   And finally, even if the whole process goes off without a hitch, the process itself makes you look...well...

 

Sure, yogis have employed the practice for centuries.  Sure, it may be a healthy alternative to sinus sprays.  But there's a very good reason why there are very few hits when you type "neti pot fetish" on google.  Neti pot irrigation may be the ugliest damned thing you can do with your body.  The only thing less sexy than shoving the end of a plastic magic lamp up your nose and pouring water through it is the moment after you've finished, when you exhale the remaining water and other nasal contents.  I warn you, do not look in the mirror.

As noted above, many people with sinus problems and allergies swear by the neti pot.  And it does clear things out, if only temporarily.  Even when you figure out how to use the neti pot without choking to death, however, it is an uncomfortable experience.  And whatever you do, please don't post it to YouTube.

Now that I've been to Minnesota...

...here is the current status of which states I have hung out in, green being the states I have yet to set foot in:

 

And now, if it were the subject of a high school history book:

 

However, there are three states I'm not sure should count, or what history books call "disputed territories:"

Georgia (2009) - I technically stepped foot in Georgia, but I was there a little over an hour at Atlanta's airport.  I'm not sure that should count.

West Virginia (1976) - My mother drove me from my old home in New York to my new home in Kansas, but I'm not sure if she took I-70 (which would cross West Virginia for about fifteen minutes) or I-80 (which would bypass West Virginia altogether.)  It's possible, but unverifiable. 

Florida (1970) - My mother was two months pregnant when she got married and honeymooned with my dad at Disney World.  If you're a hardcore pro-lifer, then I was indeed in Florida.  Even then, I didn't really experience Florida. 

So there you have it.  But what unknown territory will the Reverend's feet fall next?  I'm not sure: I will most likely hang out a little longer in Georgia in the near future.  And Tori wants to see Memphis, so Tennessee could go red (or brown) sooner rather than later.  But who knows?  Maybe my dream of crisscrossing North Dakota will finally come true.  Let me tell ya, though: that was a weird freaking dream.

A quick review of the Twin Cities

Sometimes (in fact, probably more than sometimes) I think the best thing about Chicago is getting the hell away from it every once in a while.  Tori and I enjoyed just that opportunity last weekend, and we did it in style, if you define "in style" as "nine hours on an increasingly stinky Amtrak train."  By the time we arrived in Saint Paul, the style in the car could melt lead.  Other than that odor, the vacation was a blast. 

On that note, allow me the opportunity to bestow some Vacation Awards.

BEST RESTAURANT: As good as Mickey's Diner was (and it was good), I'll go with The Good Earth in suburban Edina.  The service was fantastic, and the food... wow.  Like Chicago's Uncommon Ground, the Good Earth's menu changes with the seasons, and they are heavy with the local ingredients.  Tori, for example, enjoyed a cornmeal-encrusted walleye that was incredibly tender and tasty.  I enjoyed a coconut curried chicken with rice and a sweet mango chutney that combined well with the spicy curry and the basil.  Dessert was the best: I dug into an amazing strawberry shortcake which included a flaky corn-based biscuit instead of sponge cake, and the vanilla ice cream was pure white and creamy. 

BEST DRINK: the lemonade at the Good Earth.  I prefer a tart lemonade, and this fit the bill.  There was no sugar added to the lemonade; it was instead sweetened with apples.  The result was amazing; I may try this out for my own lemonade this summer.

MOST OVERRATED LANDMARK: The Mall of America was three hours of pure boredom.  I had been looking forward to visiting the Capital of Cheezy Capitalism, but it's basically four regular-sized shopping malls shoved together with a theme park in the middle.  If you're going to offer me the largest mall in the nation, give me an interesting shopping experience, not the same one, only longer.  When you've seen one shopping mall, you've seen them all, and the M of A is no exception.

BEST BREAKFAST: Although my cousin-in-law's boyfriend's pancakes were really good, the Denver omelet I ate at Mickey's Dining Car in Saint Paul was the fluffiest, most buttery I'd ever tasted. 

BEST VIEW: If I count the trip to and from the Twin Cities area, I'd go with the view from Amtrak's observation car as we rode along the Mississippi River at sunset.  If not, the view of the Mississippi River (including Saint Anthony Falls) from the top floor of the Guthrie Theater fits the bill nicely. 

MONUMENT MOST LIKELY TO EARN MY MOTHER'S UTTER CONTEMPT: The Mary Tyler Moore statue in downtown Minneapolis.  Mom never liked her, probably because of her (Mary's) eternal perkiness.

MONUMENTS MOST LIKELY TO MAKE MY DAD SMILE: The statues of various Peanuts characters strewn throughout St. Paul.

MOST EXPENSIVE PLEASURE, AS DESCRIBED BY MY WIFE: The ten-dollar cup of coffee she drank at Coffee & Tea Ltd. made from Kopi Luwak beans.  Yes, those beans.  You coffee addicts know what I'm talking about: that $420/pound coffee processed from the rear end of a nocturnal mammal.  She drank it and apparently liked it.  I took a tiny sip and really, really wanted to spit it out.  Apparently weasel poop coffee is an acquired taste. 

COOLEST BOOKSTORE: Wild Rumpus Books in Minneapolis is not only the coolest bookstore in the Twin Cities, but possibly the coolest children's bookstore in the country.  Why the hosannas, do you ask?  Not only does it boast two bookstore cats, but also three bookstore chicks, a couple bookstore ferrets...a bookstore menagerie.  Finally, the restroom has a little secret inside if you turn out the light and look into the mirror.

BEST HOSTS: My cousin-in-law Eri and her boyfriend Jared were fantastic.  They put up with Tori and me for four days straight, and that makes them very, very cool in our books.   

All in all, going to the Twin Cities was a wonderful experience.  In so many ways, they make Chicago look like Scuzville.  Minneapolis and St. Paul boast gorgeous parks and lakes, the people are genial in the extreme (Minneapolis alone includes a whopping 205,000 certified nice people, compared to New York's 9981, Los Angeles's 7804, and Chicago's 22), and their baseball team might actually make the playoffs.  I'm sure the cities up there are not as idyllic during the winter months, but during the warm months, it's hard to beat.