Murray

If you're a fan of Bill Murray (and if you're not then you just need to stop reading this blog right now), then read this interview Bill gave with a reporter about the Cubs. It's pretty good.

As far as Chicagoans go, Bill Murray is the King, the Emperor, and the Grand Marshall all wrapped up together.

Go Cubs. (Although I'm not optimistic...)

$2 Guinness

Pulled some ham steaks out of the freezer that had been in there far too long, and after perusing through the cupboards, found nothing interesting to eat. Hadn't I just gone to the new fresh market store with all the produce and vegetables and tasty red wine?

Man cannot live on pears and mushrooms and vino alone, so I decided to head down to the pub and drink $2 Guinness and watch the Cub game for a bit.

I have a local pub. It's the only decent bar within my corner of the suburban retail sprawl I dwell in, unless you like to hang out in the bar area of TGI Friday's or enjoy spending your Friday evenings in the mega-bars that surround me.

Okay, that's what I actually did Friday, but I prefer the smaller, independent places. Like Paulie's up the road. Decent place. Good burgers.

That story doesn't really go anywhere, so let's move on.

I'm busy right now. New job's going well, but man there's a lot of paperwork. You know how police detectives always talk about how most of the job is sitting at the desk filling out forms? That seems to be a lot of what I do now, when I'm not teaching. Lots and lots of forms.

Also trying to put some different things together for Limelight, in my spare time. A few decent things lined up, if I can convince the kids that a collaborative workshop with The House Theatre is something they need to do.

Lots going on, not much time to write, or read other blogs properly. And no time for outside, or trees, or quiet forest paths. Or a long car trip. I could really use some of that right now.

So. Right. Much to do. Back when I'm able.

Talkin' Trash at the Plowing Match

The Plough and the Stars

Nahh...

Talkin' Trash at the Plowing Match

That's better.

A couple of years ago I wrote a fairly-definitive account of the Big Rock Plowing Match. If you need a refresher, feel free to click here, otherwise proceed to pictures from this year's event.

Congrats to Uncle Bobby Bandito, who came in second. Best effort by a member of my family for many years, I believe.

A few more pictures up at Flickr.

September 11th Revisited

I don't think I've ever reprinted a post before, but I felt like running this again.

I had a strange experience today: I had to talk to students and tell them what happened on September 11th. Most of them were four when it happened. They have no real memory of the event, and a few even asked, "What happened that day?"

So I told them a quick story, which I talk about in the post below. I still think about looking in the eyes of my friend Ben, who I used to teach with. That look he gave me, a mixture of strength and fear. I don't think I'll ever forget that.

I think this day brings about a wide range of feelings in people. Patriotism, resolve, anger and frustration, bitterness even. To me it just brings an overwhelming feeling of love for everyone I know, and the desire to fix what was broken.

The following was written on September 11th, 2006.

I haven't been able to come up with the proper words to describe what goes through my head when I consider the events of September 11th.

They weigh heavy on me. I woke up a few times last night, and my first thoughts were always, "today will be September 11th."

It's been five years since they brought the kids in early to school, when I ran down the hall, watching my students file into the room, sooner than usual. News on the radio and pictures coming through slowly on my computer, a horrible helpless feeling as I taught through the morning not really knowing what was going on. The face of a fellow teacher as he met my eyes as we sat down at lunch to watch what was happening.

The material of my couch at home, that's what I remember for some reason. I sat there for hours after school and just watched it all happen, just like everyone else did. The soft, corduroy-like feel of that blue couch.

Weird, almost enjoyable sensation of being really alive. That's the only good thing I remember about those first hours and days. This wonderful and horrible feeling of being very, very alive. Everything crystal-clear and sharp.

Nothing has really been that clear ever since. It's been a long five years, watching and wondering where this country is going, where it's being led, where its citizens are letting it be taken. Hoped there would be this renaissance of thought and concern and greater understanding of what was important in life. And maybe that's happened to some people, but not enough, I fear. Not enough.

The national nervous breakdown is what Hunter Thompson called it, I think. In the years following everyone found their own hole to stick their head in, to protect themselves against a lurking dread. Reality television or booze or unquestioning patriotism. Some stood tall and knew the right things to do and the right words to say from the very beginning, while others stumbled and lost their way.

And for all its missteps and misdeeds, despite the fact that I strongly disagree with the direction it has been taken by our current leadership, I still love this country.

I believe that there is an America out there that is smart and compassionate and wants nothing more than to be a force for good in this world. There is an America out there that raises good kids who know right from wrong and will grow up to do wonderful things. There is an America out there that is filled with bold leaders, talented musicians and writers, and people who know how to make a great cheeseburger.

There is an America to be proud of out there, but it's been hidden behind the curtain of dust and haze of September 11th.

It is up to us, its citizens, to remind everyone of America's proud past and its limitless potential. It's up to us to stand together and not let this great country stumble and fail. It's up to us to pick it up again.

No sense in running away and hiding from the bad stuff, no sense in running away when things get dark. Like it was said once before, when you can't run anymore, you crawl, and when you can't do that, you find someone to carry you.

To all of you out there, family and friends, I wish you peace on this day of remembrance. May we all live to see happier times together

The Gurrier and his Tales

Two links for you today...

One: Donal, your man from Dublin, has composed a rare auld treat for us all to share. The untold tale of what I was really doing in Ireland this summer. Read it, but be warned: them Irish have a way with words.

(You should also read his thoughts on D-Day after visiting Normandy last month. Quite good, quite good.)

Two: As revenge for putting me into one of The Gurrier's tales of lechery and buggery, I give you this video, taken after a few drinks, after a rainy hike around Wicklow.

Click To Play

Friday Night Lights

I think, if any of my friends from overseas were to come to visit, I would want them to see the Sandwich Fair.

Chicago and all its qualities would be the primary focus of the visit, just as most big cities are for foriegners traveling abroad. And of course I would show them shiny Naperville in all its newness and suburbanness.

But if I wanted something that would sum up what the Midwest is to me, or at least my impression of it, you could do worse than submit a county or state fair for consideration.

You have your carnival rides and deep-fried food, of course, along with the other fair, the one people forget about sometimes. The one with show animals and horses and dairy farmers from downstate, and who are usually the nicest guys in the world to talk to, the downstate farmers.

I imagine that Ireland and the U.K. and other parts of the world have their equivalent carnival or festival, where everyone gathers to eat bad food and fight the crowds and see the same booths advertising space-age cleansers and graveyard headstones, while the classic-rock shout of the midway echoes through the grounds.

At the Sandwich Fair, though, I could point out the exhibit hall where my grandmother enters cross-stitching works for judgment (Issy would like that, perhaps.) We could wander past the small stage where a band is playing, and point out that the two guys onstage who are dressed as the Blues Brothers used to be my managers at the local grocery store I worked at a long time ago.

That guy I just said hello to? Taught elementary school for 35 years in the next town over. The Sandwich Sports Boosters booth, with its microwaved pizza logs? Ground Zero for kids from my old high school, same as it was 20 years ago. You can't swing a dead cat without hitting someone in orange and black.


That's the Lions Club booth, where I used to always see Jim and Walt from Salem Lutheran Church; here's where kids from the high school band serve food to raise money for uniforms and field trips; here's where the crusty carny told Chad the joke with the punchline, "No, but the last guy was!"

And even though I haven't lived in Sandwich for a long time, and don't really consider myself a small-town kid anymore, it's still the place that my friend Jeff and I (and various other members of his family or our friends) come every year, to have a Pronto Pup from the same exact spot it was last year, and to stroll around and say hello to people and have a good time.

It would be the best possible place to tell a part of the story of who I am and where I come from.

It's been rainy here lately, and for the past couple of nights we've had some good drenches, and it was looking like we weren't going to make it to the fair this year. But Friday evening the clouds rolled away and the late sun came out and we packed everyone in the car and headed west to the fair.

And everyone there seemed so happy, so cheerful. The crowds were light and there weren't any lines for the rides, which made young Ben so happy. And I even went on a ride with him, for the first time in probably 15 years. Some big metal contraption that sling-shot you in a wide arc over the grounds, and a few times you feel like you're going to just break away and sail out over the people.

But of course you don't, and you come back down, and go up again, and as you got up to the highest point, where the ride stopped for a moment so you could look out at the entirety of the thing as the evening faded away, everywhere you looked, you saw people happy to be out of the house, happy to be enjoying such a lovely evening, and happy to be amongst the people at the fair.

I Like Black and White

That's the extremely short version of my Labor Day weekend. More pictures on Flickr.

I would love to write more, but there' s no time right now. Head's in the game of teaching right now, even though there's so much more to do.

Later.

Tweedy in your House

This is for all you Wilco/Jeff Tweedy fans:

Jeff Tweedy Swings By Your Living Room

Kristine, Duder, Watts, Diana, etc. This would be a good link to click on. All the songs are downloadable.

Anyone got $17,500 to lend me? Because having Jeff Tweedy play in my living room would be pretty fucking awesome.

Popp, did Bill Mallonee charge this much?