The North Country

I was sitting in my chair, just now, reading a book, and I suddenly started remembering a trip I took with some friends four years ago.

We had all taught together for a while, but by this point we had all moved on to other schools, although we still remained close friends.

We took Friday afternoon off and piled into the minivan and drove the long, long ride up to northern Wisconsin, into Door County.

I had always figured Door County was some obnoxious, tourist-infested place surrounded by water parks and craft shops, but it's really quite a lovely place. Wooded, on the water, and quiet. No fast food restaurants, no cell phone service.

We spent most of the weekend lounging around the cabin, drinking and eating plenty, and spotting the occasional apostrophe catastrophe, but it's that first night up there that I remember best.

We arrived late into the evening, an arrival postponed even later due to the fact that we forgot the keys to the cabin. Thankfully, Erica's relatives lived just up the road and our problems were solved.

We all unpacked the van and staggered into the cabin, turned on the lights, and settled in. Eric and Tara immediately started grading papers, a duty I was spared due to the current teaching position I held (lots of prep time in that old job.) I sat in a chair by the fireplace and had a drink. To this day, every time I go up to that cabin, I always take that same seat.

I can still remember that feeling of a journey's end, of arriving somewhere safe and warm and comforting. A new place, with good friends, with only what we carried with us, a dog at your feet and a drink in your hand.

We stayed up late into the night, listening to music, talking, drinking, happy to be away for a few days. It seems like such a basic thing, a few friends staying in a cabin for a weekend, but I look back now and see how it was an important moment for me. It had been a rough year or so for me, I had been unhappy in my job and with myself, and that weekend forced me to take charge of events in a lot of different ways.

(Remember how hungry we were? I believe I made Spaghettios for everyone that night.)

It's Columbus Day weekend soon, and the weather is getting cool, and the leaves are turning, and so at this time of year, I always think of that first night up in the cabin. I think of the Great Lakes, and of Oktoberfests and bar food, and long walks in the woods. I think of friends, and I think of journeys. I think of one of the happiest moments of my life.




(Here's the original post from four years ago, which I almost forgot I wrote. Interesting to see how similar in tone they are.)

Here Come the Man!

Last week I finally got to see Van Morrison perform Astral Weeks live, after almost a year of waiting.

Van played the Hollywood Bowl last year, performing his legendary album in its entirety, and I thought hard about heading out there to see it, but the high costs of traveling out to California deferred this dream.

He put out a live album from the performance, and eventually a DVD, which I figured would have to suffice. The concert was such a success that Morrison added more dates, in New York and London, and then he added more, but Chicago never showed up on any of the tour announcements.

The Chicago date was finally added while I was in Ireland, of all places, but fate conspired against me yet again and no tickets were gotten. Time to press play on the DVD player again.

Then they opened up a few final tickets and I headed to Ticketmaster. Pit seats, going for an insane amount of money. And I bought one. One, because that's all you could get. Duder tried getting one himself, but they were all snatched up.

And so I found myself about twenty feet from Van's gold microphone last Tuesday at the Chicago Theatre.

No opening act, no delayed start. Van comes out precisely on time, and plays a tight set of about 100 minutes, with no encore. He never interacts with the audience, letting the music speak for itself.

First half of the show is a warm-up, consisting of other songs from his career. It would be easy to make this the "hits" portion of his show, considering how unknown Astral Weeks really is to the average fan. He'll throw in the "Brown Eyed Girl" and "Gloria" to keep these people satisfied, but most of the songs in the first half were the deep cuts, semi-obscure numbers that didn't get (most) people singing along, but instead served as companion pieces to the Astral Weeks numbers.

"Fair Play", "Little Village", and "In the Garden" set the tone for what was to come, and despite a few annoying people who chose to talk half the time (except, of course, when he played a quick and perfunctory "Have I Told You Lately"), it was a remarkable first half.

Van could have chosen to use this tour as a "greatest hits" comeback, like many artists of a certain age do, throwing out "Moondance" and "Wild Night" night after night to the eager fans, but instead he's been performing one of his most obscure albums to sold-out crowds for the better part of a year.

He has the reputation as a sour grump who's always complaining about the public's perception of him, and the record companies' inability to "get" him. So he's doing everything the way he wants to do it, releasing the live Astral Weeks on his own label, allowing no production sheen added to the mix, refusing to load his sets with the easy hits. This is one reason why I love him.

Astral Weeks live was fantastic, although a lot of the surprise has been lost after a year of listening to the live album over and over again, but no matter. "Slim Slow Slider" is still the highlight, as he threw in new lyrics about "going to see the German doctor" and riding that passenger train. It was a phenomenal show, and it was worth every penny I paid. This was one of those rare chances to see something legendary, performed as the artist wanted it performed.

As we filed out after the show I started talking to a middle-aged guy who was sitting next to me, both of us marveling at what we had just seen. "Pretty great, huh?" I asked.

"Yeah, it was. Now, what was 'Astral Weeks'?" the man said. "Was that his band?"

Further and Further Away

The look of the blog is still in a state of construction, and I don't feel like starting on it this late in the evening, so it will have to wait.

I also eagerly want to write the final story about my vacation. Remember that? Remember all the good stories? One more coming, and it's taking forever to get to, but I wanted to take my time on it, and that's something I haven't had much of since I got back.

Spent most of this weekend driving from place to place, visiting with family, dog/house-sitting for the Duders, reading stories to kids at a book store, and getting way too excited about Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Watched Southland Tales and I have no idea if it was terrible or if it was genius.

Now I'm going to try and not do any more work for the rest of the night, and just read. Almost done with Our Man in Havana, not sure what I'll start next.

Duder and Swannie

I just spent several days up in Door County, which is in Northern Wisconsin. For those not from this area. Door County, and Wisconsin in general, is a place where Illinoisans travel when they want to get away for a weekend.

We are generally referred to as FIBs, or "Fucking Illinois Bastards." Still, we pump a lot of money into Wisconsin's economy, so they need us just like we need them. Like sharks and them little fish that tag along.

Anyway, here's an interesting story from the Door County trip. There is a theatre company up there called the Peninsula Players, a place where a lot of the Chicago and New York talent go to get away from the cities and work with different people.

A long-time Limelight member has been doing an internship up there all summer, and had hoped I could make it up there to see the place and to catch one of the shows. It was an extremely busy summer for me, but luckily the Duders wanted to go up to the cabin before summer ended.

I can't get any cell reception at the cabin, so it was a bit tricky trying to track Eric down. But (different) Eric and I found him eating lunch in the mess hall. He jumped up and gave me a big hug and proceeded to give us a tour of the place, all while carrying his plate of food with him.

We saw the new 700-seat theatre, the scene shop, got an up-close look at the set, and then he took us to his barracks. Yes, barracks. I think that's the right term.

The directors and the Equity actors get fairly plush accommodations up the hill, but the interns get a more rustic cabin at the edge of the lake. The view is gorgeous, and you get to fall asleep every night to the sound of the water lapping against the shore. A nice gig for someone who's spent the last two years living in the south Loop.

"Yeah, but we had to cover the ceiling with tarp, otherwise we'd wake up covered in bat shit every morning."

I don't know how that reads, but if you hear Eric Swanson say it, it's hilarious. He has a rather unique voice, usually peppered with plenty of profanity, and can make a phrase like, 'How's that meat taste?" into something legendary.

Eric (i.e. Duder) and I caught the show that night, and it was good. A fairly-obscure romantic comedy about witches and sin and death. We had great seats and got to hang with Swanson and most of the players after the show, drinking dark beer by a big bonfire.

We were talking to Tom Mula, who played Scrooge for a number of years at the Goodman's annual production of A Christmas Carol, when Eric/Duder said, "Hey, I'm just a meathead, and I really enjoyed the show!" Tom quickly turned to Greg Vinkler, the director of the show (and Artistic Director of the Peninsula Players), and said, "Here, you need to hear this."

Tom asked Eric to repeat what he had said, word for word, and it seemed to make Vinkler the happiest man there. I guess the show hadn't been as well-received as the others, but if a "meathead" like Duder enjoyed it, well...it's nice to hear these things.

Talked to Mula and Vinkler for a while (Vinkler is known for his legendary performances of Falstaff in the Chicago area), and then it was time to pack it in. Eric (Swanson) walked us back to the van, and I marveled at the changes that have come over him in the past two years. He was confident, mature, and spoke about acting, and theatre, with a deeper insight than I had ever given him. The boy's growed up good, and I'm incredibly proud of him.

Chocolate Martinis at Duder's House: A Photo Essay

There was also wine. Red and white. And steaks, and mussels. Music DJ'd by me. And several obnoxious comments by yours truly as well.

I had barely left the house in a week, after working on Heroes and Villains for most of my spring break, so I was ready for some adult company. And booze. Booze was needed as well.

I didn't move a whole lot on Saturday.

Kristine in L.A. or the Magnificent House Theatre?

Well, I've had quite the little day.

After several weeks of waking up way too damn early (because my head seems to want to wake up around 5 and just stew about the day), I slept blissfully late into the day. The house was cold, due to autumn finally arriving, and I slipped on a pair of woolen socks, put on my bathrobe, made a pot of coffee, and dug out something decent to read. (The Rebels of Ireland, finally.)

After a quick breakfast of egg and muffin (the English variety), I packed a bag and headed to my nearby sanctuary of trees and trails, and wandered for a while, letting ideas flow through my head, and occasionally stopping to write down the occasional brilliant idea for The Play.

All the while I pondered two possibilities: shall I head out to Los Angeles to hang out with the divine Kristine, on extended sabbatical from The Philippines? We have an eerily similar sense of taste, and could probably hang out for hours talking about Jeff Tweedy and Neil Gaiman. Perhaps at The Viper Room. It is Los Angeles, after all.

I wonder what Tony's doing?

My other possibility was attending a special screening of The Darjeeling Limited, where I'd get the chance to Q&A Wes Anderson and Jason Schwartzman. I knew I sill read that damn AintitCoolNews for a reason.



I won two tickets for the screening, by the way. Anyone want to go?

After searching ticket prices for CHI to LAX, I realized that I already had tickets for closing night of The Magnificents that weekend, which is kind of a big deal. Last House show at The Viaduct, you know.

So now I'm kind of fucked. For once in my life I have too much going on.

Perhaps I could go the previous weekend. It would involve blowing off two events, though: the dedication ceremony for my newly-built school, and my mother's birthday.

More on all of these events as they happen.

Oh, by the way: the Duders, Eric and Erica, had a beautiful baby girl last week. Life is wonderful.

JC 2007

Two more days, two more performances. We sweated it a bit the last few days, but it's turning into an outstanding show. Catch it while you can, people...

And Happy 30th Birthday to The Duder, to Eric, to a good friend. My sincere apologies for not being able to spend it with you properly. We shall raise a glass to it soon, though.

Hey Brother!

I don't know how to explain this one.

So we had this party at the house the other night. Me and the roomie. Me and the roomie who are more than a little obsessed with Arrested Development. (Thank you again, Hal, for the DVDs. My life is forever changed.)

Being the theatre nerds that we are, we decided to have a party, with an AD theme: you had to come dressed as a character from the show.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking: Jesus, that's lame. Don't you have better things to do with your time?

Yeah, of course. I could have been doing report cards or prepping Limelight stuff, but instead I decided to dress up as Buster Bluth for the night.


We had a GOB, a GOB's wife (in Flickr, the picture that is NOT mocking Abu Ghraib, I promise), a gay protestor, and a half-hearted Tobias.

And a severed hand statue.

You have to watch the show to understand that one. Or any of this bizarre, pretentious hipster cosplay event. Ridiculous, to be true.

But it was fun. Even if Cori didn't decorate the house with blue paint smudges and a bag in the freezer labeled "DEAD DOVE. DO NOT EAT."

If at this point you fear that I have lost my mind, you may just be correct.



That wasn't all I did this weekend. Friday night was date night. With Duder. And Mrs. Duder got to come along too.

Hadn't seen Eric and Erica in forever, so they got a babysitter and we had a nice meal together at the Roundhouse. Steak is good.

Sunday morning, another drive to the north side. Haul ass back west for a sparsely-attended fundraiser. Frustrating, frustrating, frustrating. So hard to get people to pay attention to anything anymore.

It's late, and I'm beat. Report cards still haven't been started. Tomorrow I say goodbye to a group of students that I am loathe to leave.

More on all of that later. And then to bed, and then to bed.

Walkers

My head hurts a little, and my vision is blurry, but it's just a hangover from too much celebrating last night. Feel like writing a bit so I'll try and catch everyone up.

Not going to write about what's going on at work yet; I'm in the middle of Deciding something and would prefer to just let the thoughts stay in my head a bit longer before laying them all out. It'll all turn out well, though, and I'm okay with where it's going.

Last night I drank wine with beautiful people and indulged Duder's growing obsession with The Pogues, and then I dropped by for a couple glasses of rum with some of the boys and discussed many things relating to this show and we probably also were wiseacres at some point, but that's a bit fuzzy.



There were these two guys walking in the halls of my school yesterday. Late middle-age, shorts, big backpacks, weathered skin. Walking sticks. I immediately liked them. They were a grandpa and an uncle of a 5th grade girl and they were giving a presentation on The Appalachian Trail to her class. We talked about the trail for a couple of minutes, and Bryson's book, which is what everyone does I suppose, when talking about the trail.

Weather was overcast and drizzly, temperatures cool but comfortable yesterday. I loved it, while everyone else looked forward to their warm spring break destinations. For me, that's good walking weather, and although I haven't looked out the window yet, I'm hoping it's about the same today, because I'm going to make me a quick breakfast of eggs and hangover cure-all, take a shower, and go for a long walk in the bare, mucky woods.

T's Birthday Celebrated

A few quick pics from T's Birthday gathering Friday night:





More on Flickr. Back to cleaning the house. Soon I will write about the MegaMitzvah.

T's Birthday

I haven't done this in a while, but we need to sing high praises for T, for it is her birthday today.

Teacher with Apple

Hey Dude. Mrs. D watches in the background.

One of many, many apostrophe catastrophes in Wisconsin

These are all pictures from when she and I and the Duders headed up to Door County for the weekend last fall. Just a cabin in the woods in the middle of autumn. Nothing but music and cards and walks and drinking and the best time I've had in forever.

Tomorrow night we all get together at the local brewpub to celebrate and it'll be grand.

Lately I've been fixated on The Other Life, the one that's Out There Somewhere, the one I should eventually just pack up and do once and for all.

Maybe it'll happen, maybe it won't, but if it never does, T and the Duders are wonderful people to spend this life with.

Happy Birthday, T.

The Pogues

March 5, 2007
The Congress Theatre, Chicago

Last night The Pogues played Chicago as a complete unit for the first time in over 15 years. I had the great fortune of seeing them last year in New York over Paddy's Day weekend, but once I heard they were coming here I scooped up a couple of tickets and convinced Duder to come check 'em out.

If there's anything that Duder loves, it's big crowds and a crappy part of town. Oh yeah, and I made him stand down in front with all the big obnoxious drunk guys. The crowd itself was pretty interesting: a lot of Chicago Irish mixing with next-gen youth apparently living the 80s punk scene all over again.

Girl in a Coma opened the show, a trio of Texas girls who tore that shit up.

The band finally took the stage and it was great. I was down in the thick of it, singing along with every word and still amazed that Shane MacGowan looked pretty good, all things considering.

Set list hasn't changed much from a year ago, and well, it hasn't changed much in 15 years. Rumors of new music float around, but Shane says it might be best to stay out of the studio if they want to stay together. Fair enough, I suppose, but I hope more comes out of this than a few rounds of reunion concerts.

"Fiesta" closed the show, we ate The Greatest Burritos Ever, and headed home, grumbling about having to get up and go to work in the morning. Thankfully we kept our Guinness intake to two apiece.

Incredible show, from start to finish. It was the opening night of the tour and they sounded tight and seemed to be having a good time. Shane had trouble keeping up with some of the faster songs ("Bottle of Smoke" was a bit rough), but then they slowed things down with "A Rainy Night in Soho" and Shane proved that he can still get it done.

Here's a quick bit of video from the show: the first 60 seconds of "The Body of an American" for ThePhoenixNYC. Enjoy the show next weekend, my friend.

NOTE: Video link was showing up funny in IE. Apologies for those of you not using Firefox; I imagine the pictures sometimes are coming up a bit oversized. I only use IE at work and don't notice when things are off-kilter in different browsers. I'll work on this later and try and get it fixed.

You Are Not at Your Home

Okay, so....

Something really fucked up just happened.

I had all these plans to just head home and do some laundry and watch some movies and be a tired old guy. But instead I stayed late at work, gave blood (Mr. Super Hero Me!!!!) and then grabbed some dinner with Principal Best Friend. And his kids.

Then The Duder called and there was a gathering at the house and it involved wine and cheese and discussions of golf and so I must attend.

Had a LOT of wine and lots of good conversation and all that grown-up shit and then I decided to head home and around halfway there my thigh started vibrating and it was Roomie. (Hey Roomie! (See Arrested Development and other jokey variations on that joke for explanation.))

Roomie's car wouldn't start outside the grocery store complex, and thankfully I was close by for a swooping rescue. Arrived home, normalcy on a Friday, Cori walks in and says the following:

(Dramatic pause.)

"There's a guy at the door."

"Huh?"

"There's a guy at the door. I think he's drunk, but there's a guy at the door."

"What?"

(Dramatic re-enactment provided by the Limelight Adult Players. And a kitchen knife.)

Suddenly we shift positions and I realize that yes, there is a guy at my back door. Through the open vertical blinds we see a young man in a red baseball cap, swaying back and forth on my porch slab. He is obviously very, very drunk.

This is when I become bad-ass.

(This is true, by the way. Cori can vouch for me.)

I stride to the door, open the blinds a bit to meet my adversary (who, Cori reminds me, is a 19-year old drunk kid who can't see straight), and I throw my bad self into the ring.

"Do you know where you are? You are not at your home!!!!"

He swayed and mumbled and didn't give much of an answer. I tried variations on the theme, until I realized that there would be no compromise with this individual.

Determinedly, I finally yelled "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE I'M CALLING THE GODDAMN COPS!!!!!"

He eventually slouched off towards less enterprising nocturnal ventures and I proceeded to mark my property with my own urine. I had to do the same thing last summer when a goddamn skunk started horning in on my affairs.

It's now late into the evening and all is safe. I have the cauldrons of hot oil ready and the trusty 2x4 in place lest a miscreant or a ne'er-do-well try and break the defenses of Castle Drunkenstein.

Dolmades with Duder

2 AM and I need to get to bed but I haven't written down words or a story in forever and all of a sudden I feel the lines coming out of my fingertips and onto the keyboard.

I should be drunk but I'm not; the buzz faded a while ago after I stopped ordering the pints and let myself sober up a bit for the quick drive home. Hung out at my favorite pub with Eric and Jessica and a huge mass of their friends in the back room where cigars are smoked by a fake fire.

Lots of people and conversation and talk of music and comic books and travel and photography. And this post is just another sum-up of an ordinary night out with friends but it's also about how life is pretty damn good and how there's nothing better than being with a group of people and having a good time.

I could go on and on about people and gatherings and friendship. The Duders and T over last Sunday for the Bears game and dolmades and homemade pasta carbonara by yours truly. (Tomorrow I'll be less fancy-pants and just make chili for the game against the Saints.)

I could go on and on about having a roommate for the first time in years and how weird it could have been but really how great it is that there's life and movement in this house again after too many dark and silent nights alone.

There's probably a post or two I could write about what it's like to have one of your good friends also be your boss, and how that's both weird and awesome, but what I just said is pretty much all that needs to be said.

Right now, it's just all about the people and the connections you make with them and how that's what keeps us all going through life. The people, and what you do with them. Took advantage of that situation for far too long, let too many people down, forgot what it meant to have earned a person's friendship in the first place.

I bring that up a lot, I know, the bad decisions and the aftermath and all that. Sometimes I look back to a few years ago and wonder who the hell was steering, but it is what it is, and you learn and move on and you try your best to not do the same shit again.

Christmastime, Continued

Leaf-Peeping

No more blogging or commenting for the next few days, folks.* I'm off to that mecca of midwestern autumn leaf-peeping, Door County. For the next few days I will be amongst trees and trails and friends and large quantities of dark beer.

This is the thing that all the married couples do, so wish me luck, as I'm most definitely not a married-couple-type person, nor do I do many of the things that married couples do. (There's probably about a dozen jokes about sex that I could make here, but I'll keep this PG today.)

For a long time I used to think Door County was like the World's Largest Craft Fair, but from what I hear it's actually quite beautiful and there's plenty of outdoorsy things to do. I have a feeling, though, that the extent of our outdoorsy-ness will be watching Duder take a piss in the backyard.**

So, next week get set for stories involving lighthouses, pumpkin festivals, and which parts of the evening had to be explained to me the next morning. Because when you mix friends and alcohol and me, It's not a matter of if I make a jackass out of myself, but how often. Hooray for the socially acceptable drinking problem!***

*Or email. Or television. Or clear cell phone connections. Oh dear God what am I going to do?

**Joke blatantly stolen from either Mrs. Duder or T. I don't really remember right now.

***Just being sarcastic. It's all good with me and booze. Except when I'm drinking with Duder, so we'll later refer to this weekend as the Moment Where It All Went Wrong.

Spitting from the Mountain

Summer came crashing to a cool, drizzly halt today as my ninth year in my district began today. Once again I was behind the wheel of the Opening Day ceremonies, and it's a good idea they don't listen to my private panic attacks, since I thought it would be a theatrical disaster but it ended up being decent cheeseball fun.

It was modeled after a morning talk show, and was filled with dumb humor and obvious jokes like "Iron Chef: Oswego", I was still able to slip in a good geek reference here and there. (Theme music was from Sports Night.)

Saw T and Prince Fan and Duder briefly as I weaved through the mass of teachers and missed them terribly, wished I saw them more than I did. At the same time finally felt comfortable in the job I have, and ended up working a long, long day, 7 to 7, finishing up at an ice cream social school kickoff thing. The kids I really trust and love and had discussed my potential plans said they were glad I didn't leave for England, and couldn't wait for school to start.

Somehow lost a fair amount of weight this summer, literally and figuratively. Started the school year with optimism and energy, first time in a while. Want to finally make some real plans and figure things out and create create create. Write and write and write and get the words down for real and leave something good behind. Want to fall in love and wear a stylish black suit and stay up too late with great people and then the next day climb a really tall mountain and spit from the top.