Memoirous

Happy Halloween! The world is celebrating 75 years of war. The radio broadcast of “War of the Worlds” by the Mercury Theater headlined by Orson Welles (adapted from H.G. Wells’s novel, a confusing bit of wells) is celebrating its 75 th anniversary. I bring this up at my blog Memoirous because of a documentary that was on the other night on public TV ( American Experience ). A number of people later reported after hearing the radio drama that they actually smelled the sulfur in the air, people reported witnessing bright lights, seeing ash on the wind. Fear took hold of their imaginations and caused them to physically react to what they thought was an invasion from Mars. This is how memories can get blurred. We can be totally positive of something, that it happened a certain way. Of course, we take into account it is from our perspective, but the event we claim ACTUALLY HAPPENED. Only to be told later that it wasn’t in that sequence, or that we have conflated it with s

Beautiful fall-ish weather. The last two weekends I’ve been out on my bike—rambling not too far, but to entirely new places. I especially love riding my bike through piles of crisp leaves—except I can’t ride through them without remembering something my sister said to me once long ago (I think we were both in high school) and I can’t think for the life of me what spurred her to think so bizarrely. We were on bikes riding down our street and it was fall and I said, I love riding my bike through piles of leaves! And she said in return: What if there is a baby in there? I can’t remember what or how I answered her, because it was so random and illogical. Maybe I said something like, I’d feel pretty bad if I ran over a baby hidden in a pile of dead leaves. What I remember mostly is being very confused. So now, every fall, I ask myself that question, every time I ride through a pile of leaves. So last weekend I went and toured Chicago Open House . My address , the building I liv

What we talk about when we talk about The Walking Dead. Are we talking about life without coffee? Tea-colored skies, choked with smoke and ash and residue. Or are we talking about sleepless nights, sleepless days, hell no sleep at all? Because there are no days, only nights, and we’re tired to death. Tired of government big, small, not at all. Tired of media, talk radio, Obamacare, who cares? What we talk about When we talk about zombies, or the “other,” the enemy, the devil, the felon, the ex-con, homeless, tramp, hobo, homo, Roma, trans, the teacher, the cop, the man at the top,   the Mexican, migrant immigrant, ignorant, illegal, alien, Martian, cosmonaut. When we talk about The Walking Dead we’re usually talking about Them. You. Me. Us.

Because we don’t know the future (think: recent debt ceiling, sequestration, even the 2008 market crash) I’ve always thought that it is better just to go for it now. Easy enough to write. Time and money are detracting factors. Even still, I’ve tried to take advantage of my good health and high energy level. That’s why this past April a friend and I hopped on Megabus with our bikes, boxed and in the bay beneath, and de-bused in Nashville in order to ride the Natchez Trace. A few weeks earlier sequestration put a pinch on our plans. Bathrooms along the route would not be open or every other would be open. No matter—all systems were go. I’m so glad. Because we never know the future. There was no way I’d guess then that my riding partner of 10 years would make a sudden move to Minneapolis. (Her husband’s desire to devote himself full-time to getting his Bachelor’s degree necessitated this.) The last few days of this autumn season have felt raw and rainy. Today, though there is

I appreciated this article by David Byrne of the “Talking Heads” (I put in quotes because does the Talking Heads still play?)= If the 1% stifles New York's creative talent, I'm out of here because I see the same thing happening in Chicago. There are very few affordable cities left in America for artists, both emerging and mid-career. (Though Byrne does acknowledge he is able to live in secure housing without being too worried about the cost.) He writes about how many cities are thriving because of tourists. People who come and visit and then leave while residents struggle to live within the boundaries. Today many of the creators of a city’s creative energy are getting squeezed. Many are no longer able to afford or are re-thinking how much longer they can afford high rents. Snip Middle-class people can barely afford to live here anymore, so forget about emerging artists, musicians, actors, dancers, writers, journalists and small business people. Bit by bit, the resourc

When it is going to be fall? The weather outside is a miasma of abnormally high temps and sweltering humidity and—excuse me!—it’s October! This is the first autumn in five years that I haven’t been tied up working the Green City Farmer’s Market . A number of circumstances conspired where for one reason or another I ended up not getting hired. A little bittersweet. I loved have weekends off, but have missed the customers and the smells. Especially now as it is apple time. I used to work a stall that was next to the Nordic Cheese guy who once it started getting frosty brought in his wife to crank up a propane fryer in order to fry cheese! Another stall had HOT apple cider. One time, after a dreary morning of very few customers (and the ones that dared come out in the rain were there for business and not pleasure; they ran from stall to stall and then quickly left) so I was sent on an errand to the Zullo’s stand for some hot from the fryer Zeppole. So right now