BlogFreeSpringfield

I Shan't Be Blogging Here Anymore

2007-11-15T19:19:00.000-06:00

I'll be blogging here. The all new, recipe-free, Blog Free Springfield.

You asked for it: The New BlogFreeSpringfield

2007-11-13T20:32:00.000-06:00

Hamburger Helper Potatoes Stroganoff

You will need:

1 lb. hamburger meat

1¼ cups milk

2 cups hot water

Directions:

Brown hamburger meat in 10-inch skillet; drain.

Stir in milk, hot water, Sauce Mix and uncooked Potatoes.

Heat to boiling, stirring occasionally.

Reduce heat; cover and simmer about 15 minutes, stirring occasionally, until potatoes are tender.

Remove from heat and uncover (sauce will thicken as it stands).

Crap Tablet (edited) (updated)

2007-11-11T20:44:00.000-06:00

Here's my latest SJ-R column. I liked it, by then again, I'm a partial to my own musings. If I were to be objective, I'd say that you could probably skip it and not miss much.

Update I was remiss in not linking to another SJ-R article, written by Chris Young and focused on local historian, amateur photographer, and keeper of massive amounts of trivial knowledge, Russ Friedewald and his Springfield Rewind Web site. No profanity was used in the making of that article.

Thanks to everyone who filled out the user survey. I haven't done an extensive analysis of the results yet, but a cursory glance suggests that most of you would prefer that I shut up about music and politics and just provide recipes suitable for a family on a budget. I have to admit, I'm a bit surprised as that's not what I thought BFS was about But I'm nothing if not accommodating so look for a "2,000 Ways to Make Hamburger Helper Work for You" feature to appear on a regular basis.

I'm "this much" closer to having a BFS T-shirt to give away to those who want one, but not everyone. Russ designed several killer logos and we have a shirt in the works.

The Firefighters Club trivia night is next Saturday. It's proven to be the most entertaining of trivia nights and emcee Allen Reyne is a local treasure. If you 'd like to come and compete for second place, click here for details.

I've never embedded a video before, but all the cool people are doing it, so I thought I'd give it a go. This is a totally captivating video by a cool chic goes by the name a' Feist. I'll leave you with this. Look for bigger and better things ahead.

You won't want to miss out on this!

2007-11-07T11:13:00.000-06:00

There’s still time to take the BFS User Survey. I forgot to mention it earlier, but if you make a wish before taking it, and then answer all ten questions, then your wish will come true or something. Don’t ask me how, but it works.

BlogFreeSpringfield User Survey

Take our survey . . . Please!

2007-11-05T10:43:00.000-06:00

AT BFS, we’re committed to occasionally providing you with something to read when you’re bored at work. To better attune ourselves to your interests, we’re asking that you complete a brief survey that can be accessed through this link.* There are nine multiple choice questions and a tenth where you will be asked to comment on how we can better serve your blogging needs. Feel free to be blunt, our feelings aren’t easily compromised.

Take a moment, won’t you, and complete this important survey. All entries will be eligible for a prize, although you’ll have to be content with just being eligible as there are no plans to award prizes at this time.

With your help, we can build a stronger BlogFreeSpringfield.

BlogFreeSpringfield User Survey

*(The survey is hosted by Survey Monkey, by all accounts, a reputable concern. You can access it without fear of corruptive intrusions or inappropriate content. Trust me on this.)

. . . in which I confess to the Almighty Gods of Rock.

2007-11-01T11:55:00.000-05:00

Over yonder at Slate, they asked some authors to name the book they feel most guilty about having never read. Most of them picked a title that is generally considered to be a classic, written by an author generally considered to be a big dog in literary circles.

Many of the people interviewed have actually started to read the book at issue and they offer a litany of reasons for why they haven’t finished it. It’s interesting that none of them said, however, what is probably the real reason: they just don’t care for the book.

It’s not easy to admit that you don’t appreciate a work that your aspirational peers admire. There can be a certain shame involved because you end up not faulting the work, but your own inability to grasp its greatness. Perhaps you’re too simple or shallow. Maybe you went to the wrong schools. Maybe it’s genetic. Whatever shortcomings you lay at your own feet, it’s best to keep them to yourself and go along with what your “betters” have established to be true.

All of this set me to thinking about things I should like, but don’t. Not a guilty pleasure, but a guilty annoyance, if you will. For the interest of this blog, I’ll concentrate on music, since that seems to be a favorite topic of suggestion.

Some in my set like Dave Matthews, but I don’t feel guilty about finding him insufferable. I’ve run with some Deadheads in my day, but despite a brief dalliance (I once owned American Beauty), I don’t feel the need to pretend that I enjoy their incessant noodling. Then there are the authentic rockers like Tom Petty or Eric Clapton, who portray none of the preening or pretentiousness that I despise, yet who, with few exceptions (American Girl), still fail to move me with their music and can even be the source of great annoyance (Jammin’ Me. Lord do I hate that song.)

I can stand by my dislike of these musicians without feeling unhip or stunted in some manner. It’s much harder for me to admit that . . . that I . . . I . . I don’t like the Beatles, OKAY!

Just keep walking, boys.

Well, perhaps don’t like is too strong. But I can no longer count myself as a Beatles fan.

Now let’s be clear about one thing, I have the utmost respect for their talent and their body of work. There can be no doubt that they’ve written some great songs. They are one of the most groundbreaking bands in the history of popular music and their influence is beyond measure. I’ve enjoyed listening to them in the past, but for some reason, I don’t anymore.

What’s troubling is that I don’t know why.

Some might suggest that I’ve forsaken the past for more modern sounds, but if that were the case, then why do I still love the Kinks? Clearly, I can commit to a long-term relationship with a band, even after younger, more attractive bands start to catch me eye.

Others might say that I’m a music snob and am thus put off by the Beatles massive mainstream following. I’ll admit that my CD collection contains few top Billboard artists, but I can assure you that even in the deepest recesses of the indie rock world, there is no cachet to be had by dissing the Fab Four.

The only reason I can come up with, and this probably doesn’t really explain it, is that I’m not a big fan of Lennon or McCartney as vocalists. Again, this is no indictment on their abilities, it’s just that you either like a singer’s voice or you don’t and it may have nothing to do with his range or tonality.

It’s perhaps revealing that my two favorite Beatles songs aren’t Beatles songs, they’re George Harrison songs. What Is Life is in heavy rotation during our weekly dance parties and My Sweet Lord is one of my favorite inspirationals. Clearly it’s not an anti-Liverpool bias that drives my indifference to the lads, so perhaps there is something about the group dynamic that I subconsciously find off-putting.

Could it be that I resent the second-class status that Ringo was laden with? Was it the mockery that became of the Lennon-McCartney collaboration? Was it Yoko? Linda?

I’ll probably never know. But what I would like to know is what is your guilty annoyance? What band just doesn’t rock you like you think that they should?

Stuff I can comment on because I have a blog but is otherwise unremarkable.

2007-10-28T20:21:00.001-05:00

Dining Out
Thanks for all of the dining suggestions. We ended up at D'Arcy's, just as I hoped we would. My wife didn't want to go there because the last time her parents were in town, we waited over an hour for a table at Springfield's favorite Irishesque pub. With four kids in tow, this was not an easy wait. This time, we had a table in under 30 minutes. The roast beef ponyshoe and pint of Guinness were divine. And two of my favorite BFS commentors were bellied up to the bar.

Andrew Bujalski
If you like small movies (no car chases or actors you've heard of before), then take a rent on Funny Ha Ha and Mutual Appreciation. Both movies have lead characters that, after five minutes in, you'll swear that you'll despise. But get past that point, and you'll become captivated by their performances. It's really good stuff.

Baskin-Brewpub
Sunday afternoons will often find us availing ourselves of Springfield's finest parks. We'll usually hit two or three, mastering the monkey bars at one before looking for a faster slide at another. Three or four hours later, we're ready for refreshment. The problem is, while the kids are craving a big scoop of ice cream, my wife and I are more in the mood for a pint and some chips and salsa. What's a family to do? Of course, you get the kids their ice cream and deprive yourself of a frosty ale. But why should that be?

If someone really wanted to take over the ice cream parlor market in this country, they'd add 31 craft beers to their selection. It amazes me that no one has adopted this business model yet.

Goodwill Hunting
I went to the Goodwill store last week to look for potential Halloween costumes for the kids. This in itself is a cause of discomfort because clothing that I might find scary or funny, some other parent might think is perfect for class picture day. I'm not above poking fun of people's fashion choices, but not when it comes to kids.

After coming up empty on potential costumes, I decided to browse through the men's clothing. There, among the flannels and other plaid clothing, was a rather hip-looking striped oxford from the Gap company. It was my size and in good condition. It was priced to move at $3.75. I walked out of the store with only the shirt on my back.

So I ask you, should a person of means feel guilty, as I did, of availing themselves of the affordable clothing at Goodwill? Can you partake of government cheese when your dairy crisper is well-stocked with Kraft Singles?

Wanted: Good restaurant for casual dining experience this Friday. Dinner, drinks, possibly dessert. Must adore children. No chain restaurants, please.

2007-10-25T12:13:00.000-05:00

My in-laws are visiting this weekend and they want to take us to dinner on Friday night. We’re looking for a kid-tolerant restaurant that serves food that’s perhaps a step or two above the fare at TGITueBees. We'd like to be able to make reservations, but that's not a deal breaker. If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them. And please, be respectful of each others recommendations.

Should the Boss just shut up and sing?

2007-10-18T15:51:00.000-05:00

I think so.

I have a friend, a frequenter of this blog, who is a big fan of Bruce Springsteen’s music. He isn’t, however, a big fan of Bruce’s particular brand of politics. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem, except that he, Bruce, has become quite vocal about expressing his various points-of-view. So along with stories of Mary cross the Jersey shore, a Springsteen concert-goer must also be up for some progressive lecturing.

I can understand how Bruce came to this point. After millions of Americans misinterpreted the lyrics to Born in the U.S.A. and reacted as if it was a flag-waving anthem, he probably felt that in order to articulate his message more clearly, he would have to spell it out between songs so that it doesn’t get lost amidst a wailing saxophone solo.

But somewhere along the way to superstardom, Bruce has forgotten why people line up to see him. His fans don’t buy his albums and attend his concerts because they feel that his music will lead to a shift in the political landscape that will in turn evoke positive changes to our society. No, they do so because they feel that his music rocks and they like to be rocked or in some other way emotionally moved by the sounds emanating from the stage.

It’s good that musicians aren’t apathetic to the issues of the day and they have just as much right to let their views be known as anyone else. But they must remember that the stage isn’t a soapbox and that they didn’t earn their place on that stage because of their astute political musings.

I’m sure none of us would appreciate it if, during a routine physical, the doctor changed the topic of conversation from our health to her views on the environment. Even if we agree with those views, we’re paying her to find out if our 245 mg/dL cholesterol level means that we’ll have to cut down on buttered bacon nachos, not to learn the effect the Kyoto agreement will have on third world economies.

Yet more and more entertainers feel that, for the right to pay $100 for their concert ticket, we are obliged to listen to them offer up political slogans while the guitarist takes a moment to strap on the double-neck Stratocaster.

Pity the meat-eschewing metalhead who just once would like to hear Wango Tango live without being emasculated by Uncle Ted’s carnivorous rants. And, at the other end of the tract, I’m sure that many a rancher have been left weeping at a Smith’s concert by Morrissey’s none-too-subtle suggestion that meat is murder.

Musicians have always pandered to their audiences, usually by offering up a crowd pleasing, profanity-accented tribute to their hometown. While “Bush sucks!” is a fairly widespread sentiment, it’s not universal. So why would someone want to offend or irritate one of their fans over an issue that isn’t even relevant to the occasion at hand?

Granted there are exceptions. If you go to an Earth Day concert or see Steve Earle while he’s supporting one of his protest albums, then you should expect to get a heavy dose of ideological dialogue. Even then, to most in attendence it’s still about the music, not rocking the vote.

Whatever Bruce aspires to be, to his audience he’s the guy who sings some of their favorite songs. That’s a pretty good gig. He shouldn’t jeopardize it by playing political pundit while he’s on the audience’s dime.

Resistibility

2007-10-11T11:48:00.000-05:00

I intended to write about the Andrew Sallenger case last week, but just didn’t have the time. You’ll recall that in 2002 (okay, you might not remember the exact year) police were called by Sallenger’s family after he had began acting bizarrely and frightfully. After a long struggle with the police, Sallenger, who was overweight, mentally ill and had a heart ailment, stopped breathing. He was revived but died 24 hours later at the hospital.

I’m not sure that I have much to say on it except that it is a sad story. I can understand why the grief-stricken family believes that their brother and son had his life unfairly taken. I’m just not sure what the police should have done differently.

Since I didn’t hear the entire amount of testimony and wasn’t privy to all of the evidence, I won’t make a judgment as to whether the police are responsible for his death. But I would like to pose some questions of a more general nature to you.

What should the police do when a person refuses to be put under arrest? Are tasers or nightsticks too much? Is there a point when the police should retreat, similar to when a high-speed chase is called off? Perhaps wait until the person falls asleep or is in a more congenial mood.

If a person is an imminent danger to himself or others, should the police use different methods for subduing him if he is mentally ill? What if the person is drunk or on drugs, should that affect the degree of force that is used?

Should the police even try to ascertain a person’s mental condition while he is still posing a danger?

Is there anyway the police can tell when someone is resisting, not because he wants to avoid arrest or because he wants to hurt someone, but because he is so frightened that he doesn’t know how else to react?

I’ll hang up and listen.

I would like to make one brief defense for the police that I would have probably ended up making in the comments section anyway.

If you or I, as civilians, encounter someone brandishing a gun, wielding a pitchfork or who is in any other way acting menacing, we have the option of fleeing for our safety and then calling the police. The police don’t have this option. They must confront the danger until the danger subsides. I think this fact sometimes gets lost when Monday morning quarterbacking the actions of the police. That’s not to say that we shouldn’t question what the police do or that they are never in the wrong, it’s just meant to provide a bit of perspective that we may lack having never walked in their shiny black shoes.

Chicago, Beer, and Jenna Fischer

2007-10-05T12:29:00.000-05:00

Run, Tammy, Run
My wife Tammy has been on a months-long odyssey that will culminate this Sunday when she will complete the Chicago Marathon.

When she embarked on this journey, at the urging of a friend in NYC who was looking for a figurative mountain to climb, I had my doubts that Tammy was up to running 26 miles. It wasn’t her fitness or determination that I questioned, it was the not-insignificant fact that she wasn’t a runner. Swimming, ellipticalling, yoga-ing, weightlifting – yes. But she didn’t run and didn’t really like running so the idea that she would be able to run a marathon seemed as likely as me being able to sit through a James Blunt concert.

Well, I’m about to be proven foolish once again. She’s already completed a 20-mile run during her training regimen, so barring an injury or an alarm clock with a confounding AM/PM button, she’ll be crossing the finish line sometime Sunday afternoon, and most likely won’t stop until she reaches the nearest saloon.

God's Speed, Tammy and Tara!

Wo der schadenfreude ist?*
I turned to the sports page this morning to see how the Cubs fared. After reading the score, I wanted to be happy that they lost again – honest I did. But there was something missing. Where was the spite? Where was the schadenfreude? What demon had invaded my soul, leaving me incapable of finding joy in the simplest and most common of life’s pleasures?

The truth is, the Cubs two games to none deficit has left me feeling conflicted. I think of certain friends, nephews and brothers-in-law – and, yes, even Ron Santo, the poster boy for pathos – and I can’t help but feel sad that they are being denied a chance to celebrate after suffering through futility for so long. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if the Cubs finally won it all. But just once.

Imitation Friday Beer Blogging
I have an article in the Heartland Magazine today on breweriana (beer-related items) collectors. They’re having their annual show at the Signature Inn tomorrow from 9:00 am until 2 pm. As you all probably know, the Signature Inn is on Stevenson, not Dirksen, as I mistakenly wrote in the article. I’m an idiot and have no excuse.

Anyway, if any of you bloggers-of-a-certain-age want to rekindle your passion for beer can collecting (it was quite the rage in the 70s and early 80s), or if any of you younger types are ready to moth ball those Pokemon cards and want to start collecting something more adult in nature, you should head on over to the Signature tomorrow. The people I interviewed for the story are really interesting and fun. Just don’t ask if you can drink one of their 65-year-old pilsners. Unlike wine, beer doesn’t become refined with age.

Love Office Style
I normally don’t get caught up in the romantic, will they or won’t they story lines that are woven into sitcoms. I’m in it strictly for the laughs. I must admit, however, that I was a bit touched when Pam and Jim were holding hands in last week’s episode of the Office. I really hope those two kids make it.

Isn't Pam just adorable?

*This was translated using an online program and as such is probably unintelligible to our German-speaking friends.

Ask BFS

2007-10-03T15:32:00.000-05:00

I’ve long harbored a secret desire to be an advice columnist, but I’ve never been one of those people who always know just the right thing to say nor are people particularly inclined to seek my counsel. But as a blogger I have a legitimacy that I lack as a regular guy, because I have a host of commentors who can bolster my shortcomings on any matter. So today brings us the first edition of Ask BFS, in which a real life person seeks our advice and we provide succor by sharing our knowledge and experiences.

(Clarification: the idea here is that you, the commentor, can contribute to the advice giving. So in this first installment, you would help Nancy find a song that tells a story of good triumphing over evil. Unfortunately, the first commentor felt that this would be an appropriate outlet to confess his most Dahmer-like feelings. It is not.)

Hey (BlogFreeSpringfield),

Mitch has an assignment for religion class to find and print the lyrics to a song that tells the "story" of good overcoming evil. Rob and I have thought of a few loose translations (several Beatles songs, "Racist Friend" by TMBG, etc) but I'm wondering if you can think of a more literal example.

I'm a little upset with the teacher in this class, because while I love the idea of incorporating modern music into a religion curriculum, the example that she brought to class was a Rascal Flatts song. I don't pay hard earned money for a Catholic education to have him exposed to that kind of musical blasphemy. That's what public schools are for. I feel a little violated that we weren't given a heads up that that type of music was going to just kind of wantonly be played during school hours.

Normally, Mitch is very open to alternative styles of music, so that's what we're looking for here.

Thanks for any help

nancy

Dear Nancy,

Tell young Mitch to go out to play, we at BFS are happy to do his homework for him.

An obvious example of good over evil set to music is Charlie Daniels’ the Devil Went Down to Georgia, but people don’t appeal to BFS for easy answers. Besides, to our ears, the devil won that contest.

So what other songs can we look to?

If you’re inclined to believe, as we are, that the crew of the Edmund Fitzgerald was inherently evil, then the “hurricane West Wind” could certainly represent the wrath of a vengeful god, and so, the crew’s ultimate demise is then the triumph of good. Of course this would make Gordon Lightfoot, who idolizes the fallen men of the Fitzgerald, a apostate, but that was already clear to us after the release of Rainy Day People. I’m sure Lightfoot intended his maritime story to play as a tragedy, but we say they got what was coming to them.

The Pina Colada Song offers a morality tale, of sorts. A man hell-bent on engaging in an adulterous and rain-soaked tryst, one fueled by copious amounts of a rum-based concoction, instead chooses fidelity as the result of an improbable quirk of fate. One is compelled to ask, however, if the two people in the story aren’t somehow defective, cognitive-wise. We find it hard to believe that not once in their relationship, prior to the secret rendezvous/reunion, one of them didn’t order a Pina Colada at TGIFridays, prompting the other to say, “That sounds good. I think I’ll have one too.” So it’s hard to say that this song is about not giving in to temptations of the flesh, so much as it is about two incredibly stupid people who are better off not mating outside of their already corrupted gene pool. That is good.

Depending on your perspective, The Beastie Boys’ Fight for Your Right to Party might fit the bill. Of course that perspective would have to be that cigarettes and porno are symbols of a more ethically principled system of beliefs than are “soda and pie.” That’s a tough case to make in any school, much less a Catholic one.

Then there is the cautionary tale of Bad, Bad Leroy Brown, reported to be the baddest man in the whole d*** town. If your take is that Leroy is a classic bully to be despised - along with being a philanderer, a philistine and a probable felon – then the comeuppance he receives at the hands of a jealous husband is a victory for the virtuous. However, as exalted by Mr. Croce, Leroy comes across as a sort of neighborhood hero, one that we secretly envy even as we cower in his domineering presence and gasp at his hedonist ways. If, in fact, Leroy is the protagonist of the story, then this is a tale of man’s inherent weakness. We think that it is fair to speculate that if Croce had been compelled to add an extra verse to his story, Leroy would have triumphed over his own flawed humanity by pulling out his “32 gun” and sending the dangerously-close-to-being-cuckolded husband to hell.

In Break(a) My Stride, Matthew Wilder seemed to have shaken off the oppressiveness of an unsatisfying relationship with a cold and compulsive she-devil who had figuratively “sailed away to China” for the purpose of getting her “laundry clean.” But what seems like a triumph of self determination (Never let another girl like you drag me under) is actually just Wilder’s way of telling us that he is now gay.

How about Yah Mo B There?

All Our Best,
BFS

Brush with Greatness

2007-09-24T14:33:00.000-05:00

This morning on the Jim Leach Show, the host was asking listeners to call in and name a famous person they have personally interacted with and then Leach would guess whether the celebrity had acted congenially or jerkily during said encounter. He did a good job of predicting the offscreen demeanor of the celebrities, but then, who would doubt that Mrs. Brady could be anything less than a dazzling ray of sunshine.

It was an enjoyable bit of light radio fare, but it left me feeling bereft. You see, I’ve never met anyone truly famous.

Combing through my memory banks for any such meetings, the best I can come up with was a brief congratulatory exchange with All-American defensive lineman Bryant Young after his 1993 Fighting Irish squad defeated the number-one ranked Florida State Seminoles. His girlfriend had sold a ticket to my friend before the game and when we saw them walking through campus after the game we talked with them for a minute or two. We found them both to be quite charming, and in the case of Young, quite large.

Young is currently in his 14th season with the San Francisco 49ers and while he certainly qualifies as a sports celebrity, he’s no Joe Montana or Jerry Rice and would probably go unrecognized by a great majority of Americans. Nor will Lorne Michaels likely ever ask him to host Saturday Night Live.

My wife, on the other hand, once met Vanessa Williams. This was after Vanessa’s little scandal (click, click) at which point she was fully recognizable to almost everyone. I don’t believe she’s ever hosted SNL, but she has appeared as a musical guest.

While my sad and insular lifestyle has kept me from rubbing elbows with the noted and renowned, I’m sure some of you more worldly types have a story to tell.

So who then, is the most famous person you have met? Not the most famous person you glimpsed in person or the most famous person that resides in your delusions, but someone you can actually say you met. There must have been some exchange of conversation in which you were acknowledged as being a viable life form worthy of her or his consideration. Encounters at book signings or autograph sessions don’t count unless you were able to elicit both eye contact and some sort of verbiage that exceeded the perfunctory pleasantries normally exchanged at such encounters. If the meeting resulted in you being arrested, the celebrity must have testified in person at your trial for it to qualify.

To make things interesting, the person with the most impressive story, as judged by me, will receive a Kimberly Smoot “Best Blogger” T-shirt.*

*For the record, I have no problem with her winning the Best Blogger award. The people were asked to speak and they did so. She deserves the crown. Although her site doesn’t meet my definition of a blog, neither does Olive Garden meet my definition of an Italian restaurant. That said, I can’t expect the IT to put eligibility requirements on all of their categories just to satisfy my personal tastes.**

**Also for the record, there are three individuals who I feel could legitimately lay claim to the Best Blogger title and a fourth who might have were his ties to Springfield not so tenuous. I will refrain from naming these bloggers because I didn’t get around to voting this year and I don’t want to be blamed for not helping to push someone over the top.

It’s Time for Their Close-Up

2007-09-19T11:48:00.000-05:00

The following was published in today’s Chicago Sun Times:

BY DAVE MCKINNEY Sun-Times Springfield Bureau Chief
Gov. Blagojevich refused Tuesday to explain his hiring of a convicted felon who did federal prison time for not cooperating in a terrorism probe.

When asked if he could explain his thoughts behind hiring Steven Guerra as a deputy chief of staff, knowing he was a felon, the governor said simply, "No."

With that one-word response, Blagojevich abruptly ended a rare Springfield news conference, retreating into his Statehouse office.

Setting aside the issue of whether it makes good sense, politically or otherwise, to place a convicted felon in a relatively high state government position, the scene described above illustrates perfectly how elected leaders don’t feel any accountability to the public for their actions. Fortunately, I have a solution.

First, let’s break down what unfolded here.

The governor made a “rare Springfield news conference.” That in itself is a major problem because in our storied political system, the media acts not only as the eyes and ears of the public, but also provides its voice. The media’s ability to carry out their mission as the fourth estate of government is greatly diminished when a leader refuses to hear and respond to the issues that the public wants addressed.

And then, on this rare occasion when the governor does respect the duty that the media performs on behalf of his constituents, the often-glib guv goes monosyllabic.

Yes, he’s curt denial speaks volumes, but it raises more questions than it answers. If the governor truly believed that his man Guerra is worthy both of redemption and his position as deputy chief of staff, then he could have just said as much and then carried on with the news conference. The fact that he turned tail at the first sign of reproach, however mildly it was expressed and however expected it should have been, makes me believe that he feared that much more prickly questions would follow.

The governor and elected leaders are called on to make many tough decisions. Perhaps they would be wiser in determining what should influence those decisions if they knew, without a doubt, that they would have to explain it all someday.

So I propose that an additional requirement be added to the job description of our elected leaders. Four times a year, they must sit down with a panel of journalists and political scholars and answer their questions. The event will air on television and radio, and maybe somebody could do one of those podcast things. The panel will be allowed to ask follow-up questions if they aren’t satisfied with the original response and will be permitted to say some FCC-approved variation of ‘bull crap’ should an answer be blatantly evasive.

This won’t be a typical news conference where the leader can call on most-favored reporters, give sleight-of-hand responses and then call for the next question, or bail out when the first bead of sweat appears on his upper lip. Nor will it be an interrogation. The degree in which it will resemble a grilling will be determined by how transparent and upright the leader’s administration had been operating in the months prior to the day of reckoning.

The whole purpose of this exercise in accountability is to move the workings of government from the back room into our living rooms. The more we can see what’s going on, the less shifty they’ll be tempted to be.

Perhaps the thing that vexes me most about Illinois’ current state budget situation is how the leaders play their power games, carry out their vendettas, and shoot proverbial spit balls at each other, and then fire off a news release or trot out a spokesperson to claim that what they are doing is noble and in the best interest of the public. Even though the media does a good job of cutting through the spin, politicians, by avoiding any direct interaction with the media, can continue with the charade and still look themselves in the mirror each morning. If they’re forced to meet the press, their image might take a beating at first, but in the long run they’ll learn that keeping the public’s interests at heart is the key to effective leadership.

I Smell a Pulitzer

2007-09-16T19:50:00.000-05:00

Here's my latest column for the SJ-R. This is the type of hard-hitting and brave commentary that sustains a republic. Not frivolous or stupid at all.

Able-Bodied Guilt

2007-09-12T13:37:00.000-05:00

This is old news, but I was too caught up in other assignments to blog about it when it was fresh. As it is, my commentary is only half thought out, but there might be something here that's not too crass and worth debating.

An August 30 article in the SJ-R concerning the eviction of a north end church from its property over tax obligations included the following quote:

"This is greed in its worst form - throwing a church on the street," said Daniel
Richards, a one-armed neighbor who lives two doors down, as he loaded a U-Haul.

I don’t know what stand that newspapers take on providing a physical description of a subject when it has no relevance to the story, but I do think I know why it might have been included in this instance.

Many seem to perceive that amputees have received a wisdom that transcends that of the fully-limbed. Losing an appendage must be a terribly sobering experience and perhaps with it comes a moment of clarity that casts thereafter every experience in a light that is both lucent and unforgiving. If a one-armed man sees pure greed where others might see a regrettable yet equitable enforcement of tax laws, well then maybe we need to rethink those tax laws.

As a society, we ascribe a moral authority to anyone who has overcome, or at least lived through, a traumatic experience. Former drug addicts, combat veterans, Paris Hilton’s ex-boyfriends, anyone who has ever touched the deepest pits of despair must have, for their troubles, come away with a perspective on life that is free of the primrose and trifle that clouds the judgment of the rest of us. Mustn’t they have?

There’s a reason that Blind Lemon Jefferson can legitimately sing the blues, but John Mayer can’t. The reason is that we value the licks taken by a person who was educated in the school of hard knocks more than someone who attended the Berklee College of Music. But is the authenticity we grant the disabled always earned, or is sometimes a product of the guilt we feel for not having been made to suffer on an equal scale?

The Kids in the Hall once parodied our propensity for revering the disabled. This skit was a series of movie trailers that parodied Tom Cruise’s deviant turn as good soldier turned anti-war activist Ron Kovic in Born on the Fourth of July. In each, a crowd is cheering on a speaker who is proposing some measure to screw over the disabled, until a lone, disfranchised person rises up, and amid a crescendo of inspirational music, delivers an oratory that shames the populace for their cold-hearted ways. If I remember correctly, in the last of these increasingly preposterous trailers, the hero was suffering from a fork in his head that apparently couldn’t be dislodged.

The skit’s purpose was to skewer Hollywood, but Hollywood couldn’t play upon our emotions with such stories if we weren’t such suckers for them.

And that’s good. Far better for society to err on the side of compassion and accommodation than to cast the disabled aside in the battle of survival of the fittest. But if the goal is equality, then compassion and accommodation must be reasonable to the degree that a person is disadvantaged.

Consider the news yesterday of a band of disability rights activists who protested at the Thompson Center in Chicago. According to reports, they used their wheelchairs and bodies to block employee entrances and exits, and security allowed them to do so.

I have no doubt that if Woody Harrelson and a group of High Times subscribers took to the state building to protest marijuana laws, security would have snatched them up by their hemp-woven collars and floated them out into the street. But that course of action, however warranted it might have been considering that blocking exits is a safety hazard, simply wasn’t an option, and the activists knew it. You can’t forcibly remove someone in a wheelchair and not face a fierce comeuppance when the news footage hits the fan.

The truth is, of course, that the disabled are no more entitled to skirt the law than anyone else, nor are they necessarily any more sagacious when commenting on matters of property seizures. Yet when a one-armed man talks, I’ll probably still listen. Will you?

There’s probably a good Ironside analogy to be made here somewhere, but I couldn’t find it. Perhaps the Lemonhead’s Cazzo Di Ferro might offer some insight.

Where Victor Is

2007-09-02T22:23:00.000-05:00

This is the story of our trip to the Holy Land. I took Victor to see his first Notre Dame game. Thanks to Paco and Erin for the tickets, Uncle Jim for the Friday night accomodations, Cousin Jack for the game day jersey, and Dave for the concept, which I've ripped off again. I hope you enjoy this pictorial.

Victor is . . .

displaying the bounty of our trip to Chick-Fil-A. We left Indianapolis early Saturday morning to get to South Bend by lunch time. Little did we know that Route 31 would take us past our favorite restuarant.

Victor is . . .

putting himself to the test. An inflated obstacle course in the JACC was all that it took to forgive me for not letting him play at the indoor playgroud at the Chick Fil A. We came back to this a second time when roaming the campus didn't satisfy his need for action.

Victor is . . .

under the watchful eye of Touchdown Jesus. It's hard to explain to a six-year-old why the son of God would be signaling a score in a football game, so I didn't even try.

Victor is . . .

meeting some percussionists. He's got a drummer's soul, I'm convinced, so it's time he met some of his own people. Also, if you're ever in South Bend on game day, the band members are the friendliest and most helpful ambassodors that you'll find.

Victor is . . .

giving five with the players as the walk from Mass and into the stadium. You can't see it here, but several of the guys reached down to slap him some skin. It's one of the many traditions at ND that makes game day such a cool experience.

Victor is . . .

clearing the way so the Irish Guard can pass. They looked serious as they made their way across campus, but also quite majestic.

Victor is . . .

digging on the band. After watching the pre-game concert, we went to see the drum circle, where they were kicking out some dope beats. The tuba players laid down their weapons and Victor went to frolic in the brass garden. Drum Major Ryan Bailey was happy to pose with young Vic.

Victor is . . .

slightly pissed that he wasn't allowed to climb on the Frank Leahy statue. Respect, laddie, respect.

Victor is . . .

posing with his dad in front of the golden dome, but would have much rather been posing with the cute coed who graciously agreed to take the shot.

Victor is . . .

again with his dad, this time in the stadium. It was a touching moment. Dad isn't an ND grad, but for some reason, sharing this moment with his number one son tugged at the old heart strings.

Victor is . . .

watching the team take the field. We soon ran out of film (film?) so we don't have any pictures of the game. Victor now hates the "Georgia Techs."

Next week, we'll go see the Cyclones.

Victor is . . .

the best looking dude in the stadium.

BlogFreeDecision2008

2007-08-29T16:12:00.000-05:00

It’s early in the election cycle, but here are my opinions of the presidential candidates of whom I have formed an opinion. I scratched this out rather quickly so don’t be surprised if, in my haste, I did something crazy like predict Hillary Clinton to be the next president of these United States. It could have been worse; I might have picked Ron Paul, although such a wild prediction would have required not only haste, but also a good deal of alcohol and other forms of undue influence.

Anyway, here goes. I expect some feedback on this. My only compensation for running this blog are your thoughtful comments and hateful insults, and I value them all so dearly.

Mitt Romney was a much more attractive candidate when he won the governorship of deep-blue Massachusetts as a Republican, than he is today after repositioning himself for a national run. The Mormon thing doesn’t bother me, the flip-flopping thing does.

Barack Obama cuts an impressive figure, but I’m coming to the opinion that there isn’t enough there, at least not right now. And as someone who is fairly conservative when it comes to matters financial, his talk about redistribution of wealth leaves me wary, John Edwards even more so. Capitalism isn’t perfect, but it’s the best system currently on the market and when government starts monkeying around with who can earn how much and who should get a free ride, then the system is bound to sputter.

I want to like Rudy Giuliani. He reminds me of one of my friend’s dad. I just don’t think he’s up to the challenge of leading the most powerful country in the world. It will be interesting if he gets the Republican nomination, given his stance on social issues. It’s to his credit that he is holding firm on his positions.

I don’t know much about Fred Thompson, except that I confuse him with another actor turned pol, Fred Grandy of Gopher fame. I’ve never seen Law and Order, so I don’t know if he could play a good president. I did read a long piece on Thompson in New York magazine, but it was obvious the author thought little of him so I’m not sure that I received an unbiased perspective. He is a southern conservative and seems to know how to work a room so I think he’s got a shot at the nomination. But he’ll never beat . . .

Hillary Clinton will probably be our first woman president. This doesn’t scare me as much as it probably does some of you. She’s proven herself to be fairly moderate and I don’t fear an impending socialist state under her leadership. If she’s anything like her husband, she’ll be mindful to keep her polling numbers favorable, which means she won’t do anything revolutionary such as fix healthcare, but she also won’t do anything monumentally stupid. She wouldn’t be my first choice to run the country, but she’s not the worst.

The candidate that intrigues me most isn’t even in the race at this time, Michael Bloomberg. He’s no longer a Republican, he never really was, but the fact that he could get elected in NYC under the GOP banner says something for the man. The fact that he has turned out to be a pretty popular and effective mayor says even more. But the reason I might feel comfortable in handing him the reins to the country is because he’s earned billions of dollars. Now lest you think me a money grubbing pig, or at least a deep admirer of money grubbing pigs, allow me to explain how massive wealth accumulation is an indicator of effective leadership skills.

One of the main problems with our political system is that the people in charge are too often afraid to do what they know to be right because they’re afraid it will anger the voters or betray their campaign contributors. As for Bloomberg, a person cannot earn that kind of scratch by kowtowing to public opinion or any other interest that conflicts with making the decisions that provide the most benefit to the organization. So Bloomberg, as president, I’m presuming, wouldn’t be afraid to make unpopular decisions provided that those decisions are the most profitable.

When I speak of profitability, I’m not referring only to economic matters. No matter what the issue, you want to make decisions that will provide the most return on your investment. Obviously, you want to educate the most children, feed the most hungry, and treat the most sick without spending more than you have to.

Plus, Bloomberg would run as an independent and thus loosen the stranglehold that the two major parties have over government.

So in summation: Bloomberg in ’08, but more than likely, Hail to Hillary.

Fair to Middling

2007-08-19T20:59:00.000-05:00

Here are some idle observations on the 2007 edition of the Illinois State Fair. I'll try to return with something you can argue about later in the week.

The Jobs Americans Don’t Want to Do
You can consider this in relation to the immigration debate if you like, but it’s really just an observation. The carnival ride employees who appear to be of Mexican persuasion are friendlier – or if not, at least more cognizant that they’re dealing with children and not livestock – than their Caucasian co-workers. Some of them even smile.

On the other hand, the gruff white man operating the swing ride was huffing-about because the children in line didn’t appreciate the stress he was under as the ride’s lone operator. And when my daughter fell in the moon walk, something that would seem to be acceptable in a giant air pillow, the disgruntled woman working the flap yelled in: “No slipping!” Let that be a warning to your children.

Giant Swindle
I may have mentioned this when blogging on fair’s past, but one of the biggest rip-offs in the fair is the Giant Slide. It will cost you $3 to bump down the oversized, playground ride. I’ve always said that the Giant Slide should be a loss leader for the State Fair, a great bargain to lure people through the gates and then on to all of the other overpriced fare. Considering that maintenance costs on a ride powered exclusively by gravity have to be minimal, they could charge a buck a ride and still come out ahead.

Indolent Boys, Indolent Boys, What Cha Gonna Do
It used to be that the state troopers stationed at Gate 11 would come out and direct traffic on Sangamon Avenue during periods of great congestion. Due to decreasing fair attendance, heavy vehicular loads haven’t been a problem in recent years.

But you could still observe them in action when an ambulance approached or departed the grounds. A trooper would man the intersection to halt the east bound traffic and keep the north- and south-bound lanes clear. This year, perhaps due to the heat, they eliminated that duty as well. In fact, the only time I saw a trooper step out of the gates was to stop traffic so the governor’s motorcade could enter the fair without slowing down for the stop sign.

All idleness aside, the police presence in the carnival area was reassuring. I felt comfortable that any acts of civil disobedience would be squashed posthaste. It made the seediness much less threatening.

Good God, What is That Smell
There’s an indescribable stench that radiates down the center of the carnival area. It should be dealt with or the reputation for wholesome, all-natural entertainment that carnies for so long have worked to achieve, could be in jeopardy.

On a Positive Note
After parking cars for the past ten days, I feel comfortable in saying that fair goers, as a rule, are polite and friendly. Even those that looked as if they might disagreeable or ornery exchanged at least perfunctory pleasantries as I extracted the first of many, many dollars that would be liberated from their wallets during their fair adventure.

Who said Germans don’t have a sense of humor?
The highlight of my car parking duty happened on Saturday. During the late morning downpour, I parked a blue SUV. As the rain drenched me, the driver, who had apparently descended from one of the Germanic tribes, rolled down his window to pay and said in a perfect Rainer Wolfcastle accent, “If you’re not careful you might get wet.” That he then didn’t pull out two AK47s and mow down everyone on our lot was a bit out of character, but probably better for business.

A Pecan, for Example
When my son and his friends exited the Frog Hopper ride, one of his buddies’ moms asked him if the ride “tickled his tummy.” “Yeah,” my son replied, “and it tickled my (another area of his body where the sensation was pronounced)s.”

Shameless Promotion
Here’s my Sunday AM column on the great tradition of letting people park their cars in your front yard. And here’s another article I wrote on a very talented musician.

Blue Ribbon Day
Although the fair is rife with competition - from fattest pig, to tastiest pie, to fastest dirt car - what they don’t have is a best blogger contest. But the Illinois Times does. And voting is now closed. Since any groveling will be for naught, I’ll be a standup guy and ask you to vote for one of my more worthy fellow bloggers.

Where BFS Is

2007-08-15T07:01:00.000-05:00

I’m on special assignment this week, so blogging will be light – just as it is most other weeks. But this week I have an excuse, because I don’t have computer access for much of the day and evening, and when I do return home to the DSL, I’m too sun-zapped and beat to think of anything bloggy.

When I set out on assignment, I considered doing some “from the road” reports, in the spirit of Where Dave Is. Unfortunately, my sober adventures don’t lend themselves to much regaling. To the extent that they can be immortalized, I’ve already attempted to do so for my Sunday SJ-R column. Be sure to look for it.

Well, that’s it for me, then. Here’s to cooler days and better fair attendance.

Blago Hears a Boo

2007-08-09T11:12:00.000-05:00

The big issue in the newspaper and on talk radio today is how people should respond if the governor does indeed participate in the fair parade tonight. The SJ-R favors a silent snub, while Jim Leach is calling out for a chorus of catcalls. I’m still not certain the governor will even show up. I don’t think he wants to risk the publicity should the crowd turn sour, and you have to believe it will.

Laura doesn’t believe the governor will be deterred by a negative reaction, in fact, she suspects he would probably relish it. She may be correct. I could see the governor strutting down 11th Street like one of those WWF villains, occasionally stopping to hold his hand to his ear and then basking in the boos that come cascading down on the parade route. Maybe he’ll even wear pink wrestling tights and a big feather boa, he does seem to fancy himself the gorgeous type.

If the governor wants to maintain the appearance of popularity, I wouldn’t put it past his PR team to round up a few busloads of supporters from up north and plant them along the parade route. Maybe one of them will mistake him for Mayor Daley and then the governor will have a cute story to tell the next time they all get together at the Madigan’s.

We’re probably going to skip the parade this year. Seeing grossly-proportioned kids pounce on scattered candy like they haven’t eaten in weeks tends to make me ill. Actually, it’s their parents fault for allowing them to indulge their feral thirst for sugar so ravenously. As much as my kids like to see high school-aged tuba players sweating profusely and politician smiling profusely, they’ll just have to settle for going to see Shrek the Third and gorging on a silo of popcorn.

If I were to attend the parade and the governor were to pass by, I don’t think that I would boo or otherwise sling barbs, especially if his children were with him. No child should have to see the person they look up to more than anyone else being verbally assaulted.

That said, I don’t recall the governor bringing the kids to the parade in the past; he seemed to make a big deal about running the entire route and his daughters lack the testicularity to keep up. If he does bring them along this year, I can only assume that they are intended to act as a shield to discourage the barrage of insults that state workers had prepared to unfurl. If the governor should stoop to such a tactic, it would be even more despicable than the time he hit Tom Cross on the back with a folding chair when the referee wasn’t looking.

Don't Blog Around Much, Anymore

2007-08-05T21:03:00.000-05:00

I got nothing. You?

This Place is a Dump

2007-07-29T18:30:00.000-05:00

I’m a slum lord
According to Dane Carlson, who has developed some sort of formula to determine the monetary value of any blog, BlogFreeSpringfield is a rat- and asbestos-infested hovel located in a dilapidated neighborhood with bad public schools and an inordinate number of liquor stores and payday loan offices. He’s got this place listed at $9,000 and change, which is at the low end of the Springfield blogging market. It’s probably not safe for you here, so go find yourself a blog in a nicer neighborhood.

Hey there hot chicks who are suckers for any dork with a guitar.
Are the Plain White Ts the James Blunt of 2007? If the speed at which I change the radio station the moment I hear “hey there Deli. . .” is any indication, they’re well on their way. The Ts have little hope of attaining a level of insipidness that would equal Blunt at his snivelingest, but radio program directors seem determined to take them there. Russ is probably big into them.

Shut the f*** up, Donny!
I finally got around to rewatching the Big Lebowski last night. I’d forgotten that Aimee Mann has a bit part, playing one of Flea’s drug addict companions. Just one more reason that the Coen brothers are the coolest directors/producers in Hollywood. Can anyone boast of an oeuvre the equal of theirs: Fargo, Miller’s Crossing, Raising Arizona, the Hudsucker Proxy, O’ Brother, Where Art Thou?, the Big Lebowski? Even some of their lesser-to-me works such as Barton Fink and the Man Who Wasn’t There only lag behind because of the greatness I’ve been conditioned to expect when a film carries the Coen banner. What do you think John Goodman would rather be remember by, his adaptation of Fred Flintstone, or his star turns as Walter Sobchak and Big Dan Teague?

Record store? What’s a record store?
I’m looking for a couple of songs that iTunes doesn’t stock. If you know of any channels through which they might be procured, please let me know.

Making Time by Creation - iTunes has a version of it by The Creation, which sounds like an updated version by a revamped lineup of the band; I’m sure Wikipedia could tell me for sure. But I want the version as heard in the movie Rushmore, during the montage which introduces viewers to Max Fischer’s propensity for joining school-sponsored extracurricular clubs. A cool song in a great movie.

Seven Year Ache by Roseanne Cash - This was a big radio hit back in the 80s and might qualify as a guilty pleasure if not for the legitimacy of the Cash appellation. With all due respect to Trisha Yearwood, I prefer the original.

Everybody’s Got to Learn Sometimes as performed by Beck - This was originally recorded by something called the Korgis. I prefer Beck’s rendition only because it is ingrained in my brain after repeated viewings of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I can’t seem to wipe it out of my memory (Get it? If you’ve seen the movie you do. It’s still not that funny though, I suppose.) Anyway, iTunes won’t part with this little gem unless you shell out for the entire soundtrack. What is this, the nineties?

I did download one song on iTunes today. Driving home from church I had the pleasure of listening to Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris do a cover of Boudleaux Bryant’s Love Hurts. It’s not as guttural-sounding as the Nazareth version, but it probably also hasn’t been swayed to as much at high school proms. It’s quite a pleasurable listen. The surprising part of this discovery is that I didn’t hear it on WQNA, but rather, on Alice. On Sunday mornings they apparently take a break from playing the Plain White Ts and spin some rootsy acoustic records.

I Love You, Beth Cooper
This is one funny book. If you're a fan of John Hughes movies, you'll love this story written by Larry Doyle, a former writer for the Simpsons. I'm only halfway throught it, but I'm already prepared to give it my full endorsement.

Speaking of books, my SJ-R column last week was on how being well-read is not as valued as it once was (not that Beth Cooper qualifies as literature.) My thesis is that in today's fast-paced, instant information age, people don't have time to curl up with a good book, and don't see the benefit in doing so. I bemoan this turn of events.

Oh well, thanks for slumming.

Two Thumbs Shamefully Up: The Movies You Hate to Admit You Love

2007-07-18T15:22:00.000-05:00

Just for a moment, back to something frivolous.

Everyone seemed to have good fun revealing the guilty pleasures that have found a welcome home on their iPods. In that same spirit of disclosure, speak thee now of those movies that are hidden behind the rows of respectable DVDs in your collection? No, not those movies. I mean the ones that were universally panned by critics, but that you simply adore. Or the ones that are of a genre that a person of your particular gender, age, or persuasion shouldn’t be caught dabbling in, yet dabble you do. Surely you all have among your favorite movies, at least one that you don’t like to talk about. So start talking.

I’m prepared to reveal, for the first time in a public forum, that I like the movie Four Weddings and a Funeral. Yes, a chick flick of the highest order. A Hugh Grant vehicle in which his school-boyish stammering and true-hearted roguishness is introduced to an international audience, making him an instant star and affording him the opportunity to dump Elizabeth Hurley for Divine Brown.

For the record, I find Hugh Grant’s act as thin as most of you do, but it works in this film, perhaps because I was seeing it for the first time and did not yet know it comprises the entire output of his instrument, to borrow a term from famed acting instructor, Lee Strasburg. Grant plays the role of the yearning, yet commitment phobic “guy” as well as anyone could. Well, maybe Jack Black could have done it as well, but from what I understand, he doesn’t preview well as the dreamy lead.

Better than Grant are the supporting characters who were all very good and also good for a laugh or two. I’ve always liked the British sense of humour and it could be that this has skewed my perception to the point that a line spoken with a British accent sounds funny to me, while the same line spoken by Pauly Shore would sound stupid. Still, there is some genuine humour here. The comedy most often involves one of the merry band of wedding goers saying something inappropriate, not in a crazy morning DJ kind of way, but delivered more subtly by someone who is socially awkward or indifferent.

One of my favorite scenes in the movie doesn’t involve comedy or any of the four weddings, but the lone funeral. In it, Matthew recites W.H. Auden’s “Funeral Blues” after his companion, the drunken and jolly Gareth, drops dead from a heart attack. Maybe it’s Matthew’s Scottish accent, which for some reason makes people weep instantly, or more likely the way the character delivers the lines, but it is truly touching.

Speaking of accents, Andie MacDowell’s is clearly one of the most fetching in Hollywood. It’s not really Southern Belle, more Southern Siren. Some may find Ms. MacDowell’s voice whiney, and in St. Elmo’s Fire it was, but only because she had to play opposite Emilio Estevez’s uber-annoying character, Kirby. If I recall, I whined a lot during that movie as well.

Four Weddings and a Funeral is a good movie, not a great one. I would never lay out cash to own it, or even rent it again. But if I’m ever couch-ridden and come across it on Lifetime, I’d much rather watch that than Trick My Truck or the NBA finals.

Before leaving you to reveal your celluloid shame, I want to differentiate between a guilty pleasure and a movie that is so bad that you find it irresistible. You know the type, the serious drama that plays as a perfect satire. Road House is a great example of such a movie. I can’t help watch it when it’s on, not so much for the ridiculousness of sissy-dancing-boy Patrick Swayze being passed off as a Zen-guided, backwoods brawler, but for the dialogue that was obviously screen tested for coolness by an arcade-full of mulleted adolescent boys. It’s unintentionally brilliant, but it’s not what we’re looking for here.

We don’t want to know movies that you love for their awfulness, but movies that you honestly think are good and worthwhile, even though it pains you greatly to admit it.*

*Since James Blunt hasn’t yet made his cinematic debut, I’m going to guess that Russ goes with From Justin to Kelly as his favorite guilty pleasure. And I have a feeling that Monkey Boy simply adores anything with Streisand in it, as long as the other monkeys aren't around.

No Concession: If we lose, we win!

2007-07-10T05:55:00.000-05:00

It occurred to me that the most indisputable way for us to prove that we are the real Springfield is to lose a popularity contest to a lesser -field. Winning would feel false and derivative of some idealistic Humbleton. The real Springfield would never win a USA Today contest. It doesn't ring true.

Imagine an episode of the Simpsons in which Ang Lee comes to shoot the Krusty the Clown story for a Lifetime Television feature presentation. Wouldn't he eventually decide, after scouting the town, to shoot the Springfield scenes in some other location. And wouldn't he eventually dump the real Krusty and cast James Woods to play the complicated clown. Now that makes sense.

So shed no tears if we come up short in the final tally. We can only be validated in defeat.

I Like American Music

2007-07-06T09:21:00.000-05:00

As you might remember, this blog called last year’s American Music Show one of the best, if not the best, evenings of live music in the history of Springfield. All indications are that this year’s show will be just as strong so I feel confident in issuing an entreaty to you, the entertainment-starved community. Go see the show. We must support those who would provide us quality music or we’ll be forever damned to Grandstand-level performers.

It would be easy for the organizers of the Taste of Springfield to sign-up some local bands to take the stage and provide background music during the festive eating binge. There’s nothing wrong with local bands, except that, well, they’re local and you can hear them most every weekend. But instead of giving us more of the same, they’ve made the music the highlight of the evening by putting it in the hands of someone who knows good music. You may not have heard of many of the bands set to perform, but you’re bound to like them.

For my entertainment dollar, the Bottle Rockets are the main draw at this year’s show. I’ve seen them several times in the past, opening up for Uncle Tupelo and later Wilco, and they never failed to put on an energetic performance. They have a lot of great songs to draw upon. Brian Henneman is a terrific songwriter who injects a lot of emotion into his fairly straightforward lyrics and puts a little pop in his alt-country numbers. Gravity Fails is a personal favorite.

The Romantics get the official top billing and will probably draw the most enthusiastic response of the evening. I’ve seen them once before, when they opened for the Kinks in Champaign back in the early 80s. I don’t remember being blown away by their performance, although we were sitting up pretty high in the Assembly Hall and only made our way past security and closer to the stage when Ray and Dave started playing. Binky the Broken Bassist (see pics below) said they played a show with the Romantics and they were tearing it up. I think we can expect a rawer, garage rock sound than some of their hits might indicate.

I’ve only heard one track from the Shazam, but it’s a kicker. Sean Burns compared them favorably to Cheap Trick, and I’ve also read comparisons to Badfinger and the aforementioned Kinks. I’m a big fan of power pop when done right (Big Star, the Posies, etc.) I expect an experience similar to what the Woogles provided last year, i.e., a band that I hadn’t heard going in but still blew me away with every song. Silvio Dante and Paul Weller like the Shazam, so that’s saying something.

I’m not too familiar with Rex Hobart, although I know I’ve heard some of his stuff on WQNA. He gets credit for naming his band the Misery Boys, which is so much cooler than the Blowfish.

The Damwell Betters provide the local flavor and I’m looking forward to hearing them along with the nerdabilly stylings of Crazy Joe and the Mad River Outlaws from over Ohio ways.

The only disappointment is that Sarah Borges and the Broken Singles aren’t returning. Maybe next year?

We saw them in Wisconsin a couple of weeks ago and they’re in fine form promoting a great new album. That’s them below performing in Wisconsin and another shot from earlier that evening where they proved to be lovely dinner companions (the east coast rockers sat on one side of the table and the Springfield groupies were on the other.)

It’s also unfortunate that the Second City troupe was booked at the Hoogland on the same night as the American Music Show. I would liked to have seen them and the two events will probably draw from the same crowd, but live music almost always trumps live comedy.

And apparently Saturday kicks off the 150th anniversary of someplace called Ashland, but since that’s a week-long celebration, there is really no reason not to be in downtown Springfield on Saturday night. Is there?

Kicking it in Port Washington.

Sarah, Rob, Mike and Binky

Upon further review

2007-07-05T10:32:00.000-05:00

The consensus in the newspaper, among those who know him, is that Rev. Jerry Doss is a reasonable and compassionate man. So how to we square that with his harsh accusations of injustice over a police action that was executed properly and without injury? Perhaps an analogy would help.

Imagine a football coach, playing on the road in a game in which every call seems to be going against his team. In reality, some of the calls were made incorrectly, while others were just calls he didn’t like. But perception can easily skew reality and the coach is convinced that the refs are playing to the home crowd and his team is the victim of their one-sided decisions.

By the fourth quarter, the coach has had enough and the next time a yellow flag is thrown on one of his players, he storms out onto the field to protest. Only this is one of those times when the correct call was made. In fact, it wasn’t even close. Yet the coach can’t see this, so enraged is he from previous injustices. His players, who were already frustrated by what they perceived as a lack of fairness, are further outraged when they see their normally even-tempered coach dissent so venomously.

Meanwhile, the home team fans are baffled. They saw the replay of the play that caused the coach to blow up and the call was correct (they’ve already forgotten about the previous bad calls where the coach had legitimate grounds to protest.) They immediately think the coach is either delusional or conniving. The boos rain down as the coach is pulled back to the sideline.

When play resumes, tensions between the two teams on the field are even greater, with the refs caught in the middle. Hopefully, the game will end before an all-out brawl ensues.

The Secret Police

2007-07-02T16:00:00.000-05:00

Okay, I’m back. Man, them chicks is loco.

It’s been brought to my attention that this blog has been lacking in substance in recent months. I admit that I have been trending towards the light and breezy, in part because of an increased inkling that my thoughtful commentary comes across as foolish blowhardedness. This explains my recent foray into blog theatre; if I'm going to be thought a fool I might as well enjoy acting as one. But I didn’t garner the most intelligent commentors in the blogosphere by dodging the serious issues of the day. So here’s a little red meat for some of you regulars (if you’re still out there) to chew on.

I’ve never worn a badge and I’m probably not fit to carry a gun. But I don’t believe that this disqualifies me from commenting on the Springfield Police Department and their festering image problem. In fact, as an average citizen with little experience dealing with the police in an official capacity, I think that I can see, maybe better than those with a more active stake, how and why a group that is comprised generally of well-meaning and hard-working individuals can be seen as manipulative, furtive, and bigoted by so many in our community.

I don’t mean to suggest that the SPD’s problems are simply a matter of image. There are clearly issues that need to be addressed. But if I wish to speak with any authority at all in hopes of having my words taken seriously, which will be increasingly more difficult after the hostage charade, then I must limit my commentary to an area on which I do have some expertise: public relations and in particular, how it is viewed through the media.

I don’t know if Don Kliment was a good chief. I have no reason to doubt that he was at the very least competent at administering to the inner workings of the department. But I do think a legitimate criticism can be made about how he dealt with the external goings-on. In short, we seldom saw or heard from the guy.

The chief needs to be a public figure. Ideally he or she would be a well-liked and trusted figure who cuts an impressive image, but at the very least this person should be recognizable, accessible, and exhibit all of the outward signs of proper hygiene.

Whenever there is an issue involving the department, the chief should be out in front of it, instead of tucked away in city hall. When reporters call, the chief should be answering the phone. When TV20 comes scooping around, it should be the chief’s mug on the nightly news.

The chief should be someone who will openly defend the officers when they’re wrongly accused, even if it means angering the accusers. But also someone who will acknowledge when mistakes are made and who will be as open and upfront as the law and the sensitivity of their work allows. In short, we need Frank Furillo, except he shouldn’t be carrying on with the DA, not that there’s anything wrong with that.

My initial impressions are that Ralph Caldwell will be better as the public face for the department, at least to the extent that he is allowed to be. He seems like he will be more comfortable in the public eye and in all other ways he seems qualified for the job. But even in handing him the reigns, the department, and probably to a larger extent the mayor’s office, bungled the public relations aspect.

First off, they need to relieve themselves of the 2,300 page albatross. Someone should do an assessment of the risk in releasing the infamous ISP report to determine if the potential harm is greater than the suspicion it continues to generate by remaining concealed. One of two things could happen if they release the report, either the public would see that their clamoring was for naught or the department would be forced to deal publicly with some problems that might look clearer once exposed to the sun. Of course a third possibility is a lawsuit, but that’s why we have Jennifer Johnson.

Secondly, a nationwide search for a new chief should have been conducted.

The argument against looking outside the department largely consists of pointing to former chief Harris as reason enough to hire from within. But were Harris’ problems the result of his not being a veteran of the SPD or were other shortcomings to blame?

Sports teams don’t automatically hire the long-time assistant when the head coaching job comes open, why is it assumed by those in the department that there isn’t a Belichick-type cop from some other burg who could come in and shape the troops into a championship force? If, after a good long look, Caldwell was still the best man for the job, then he’d have been given a leg up in the credibility department because it would have helped dispel the notion that he is the mayor’s boy and the rank and file’s crony.

There pervades in the SPD, an attitude of “we know what’s best and if everyone would just leave well enough alone then we can get on with our jobs.” I don’t dispute the fact that the police are the experts when it comes to policing and that much of the criticism leveled against them is unfounded or misguided. But theirs is clearly one of the most scrutinized and sensitive of occupations and since they’re compensated through taxpayers’ dollars, you can’t expect the public not to take an interest in their work.

Even if every officer were honest, upstanding, and vigorously tolerant of all races, colors and creeds, there still would be the impression that prejudice taints the enforcement of justice. Circling the wagons at every accusation of wrong doing only exasperates that notion, even if the accusation is bogus. The unfortunate truth, however, is that not every officer is Andy Taylor and not every cry of police misconduct is without merit.

I appreciate the work that police officers do. I understand that they must confront the dangers that we civilians can flee from. I also understand that much of the work they do is confidential. But from my perspective, the Thin Blue Line would be more formidable if it were more perceptible. I hope the new chief appreciates this and becomes a more active advocate for his officers and a more responsive servant to the citizenry.

Mea Culpa: Ave Red Hat

2007-07-01T20:25:00.000-05:00

Red Hats - Black Hearts

2007-06-15T12:07:00.000-05:00

While the local media continues its coverage of hot-button issues, I feel, in light of a recent incident, that it is incumbant upon me to continue my crusade to expose one of the most depraved and surreptitious organizations to ever cast its dark hand over our fair city. I speak of course of the ominous Re

BlogFree or Die!

2007-06-10T19:47:00.001-05:00

I will not be silenced!

Things to do in Springfield when your iPod's dead

2007-06-08T11:02:00.000-05:00

Heritage Days at Little Flower is this weekend and the weather should be fine for celebrating in the time-honored Catholic tradition of combining family fun with beer. There will be 80s cover bands performing on Friday and Saturday nights, games for the kids, ethnic foods, and BEER. For you bargain hunters/skinflints, there will be a massive, 15,000-item garage sell on Saturday morning.

And get this – for $50 you can purchase a raffle ticket guaranteed to win you $25,000 provided that it is picked out of the drum at the opportune time on Sunday afternoon. Otherwise it will guarantee you to win $2,500, $1,000, $100, or, in a worst case scenario, nothing. But why dwell on the negative; you’re going to win the big prize.

Anyway, they’ll be more fun than you can shake a stick at. I wanted to book a performance by the BlogFreeSpringfield Dancers, but they were already committed to a month-long gig in Tunica. Maybe next year.

Locals like to ponder why the citizenry here won’t support a professional sports organization. I think I know the answer: we’re theatre people.

I went to the Muni last night to see Miss Saigon and was quite impressed, in light of threatening weather conditions and the weekday performance, with the number of people in attendance. It’s obvious that we Springfieldians have an appreciation of the theatrical arts and would rather spend our time in the company of thespians and altos rather than southpaws and shortstops. So forget all that nonsense of Springfield being filled with rubes and philistines, we’re actually tony sophisticates, albeit ones who still enjoy a good parish festival (see above.)

As for last night’s show, there were some very impressive performances to be enjoyed and if you like your musicals a little racy and heartbreaking, Miss Saigon is for you. Be sure to bring along, as Russ did, some 33 Export Lager to fully immerse yourself into the Vietnamese culture depicted on stage.

Since this post is largely self-serving, as opposed to the usual posts which are largely boring, I thought I’d seek advice on a recent technological calamity that has thrown my world into a dither. I believe my iPod is in need of a new battery, if it isn’t all together fried. I’ve read that it is much cheaper to replace the battery yourself rather than sending it in to Apple. Has anyone attempted this delicate procedure and if so, do you offer any helpful tips?

Take the AnComm Challenge

2007-06-06T09:18:00.000-05:00

Over at the Anonymous Communist blog, people are baring their souls and revealing the guilty pleasures that reside in their music collections. It’s quite shameful what some of them bop their heads to when no one else is around. Nick Rogers? Really!

Anyway, I took the challenge and found it quite cathartic, despite the potential derision I might face now that my passive Bread fetish is on public record.

I encourage you to wash away your guilt by going there and confessing to your most sordid musical dalliances. The truth will set you free. Unless, of course, you have a secret crush on the Winger discography, in which case you’ll be mercilessly and rightfully ridiculed.

Infidels in My iPod

2007-06-04T12:44:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer: Sometimes these things just kind of write themselves. Feel free to stop reading if it gets too ridiculous. Because it does. It’s also excruciatingly boring, but that pretty much goes without saying.

Note: This post was originally written two weeks ago and since that time I’ve experienced difficulties with my iPod, which is currently listed in unstable condition. This isn't a coincidence.

Most of us who aren’t subservient to our own ravenous appetites place certain virtues above our own well-being and will go to great lengths to protect them when threatened by a heretical combatant. Among those things that I will fight to defend are the welfare of my children, the good name of my family, and the sanctity of my iPod. It is the last of these that has recently become compromised by an unholy attack.

Early Monday morning, while browsing through my iTunes library, I detected the presence of a musical genre I find most repellent – sex-crazed, DBR-promoted dance pop. A quick check of the Recently Purchased folder confirmed by suspicions. There, to my great horror, sat tracks by Fergie, Bouncy Knowles, and the great devil himself, Justine Timberlake.

What makes this breach even more distressing is that these heathenish acts gained access through the willful abetment of my wife, a woman I once trusted. Not only had she allowed this axis of evil to infiltrate the sacred ground of my music collection, she actually paid 99¢ per desecration. Her act of betrayal stung like the cold steel of one thousand sabers.

Allow me now to retell the horror so that you might know the truth and be saved.

For years, ever since I came to peace with the digital revolution, my wife maintained a secular relationship with the iTunes deity. She would occasional beseech me to compile a list of tracks for a workout CD, and I would dutifully comply with a collection of upbeat indie rock and alt-country selections. All was peaceful then.

Such was my devotion for my wife, I even compromised my musical faith at times to accommodate her amoral leanings. Once I heeded her request to upload a Sheryl Crow album, despite the fact that the lords have made very clear that her music is pedestrian and not treyf. The Great One sent us Lucinda Williams so that we would not be tempted by Kid Rock duetresses.

I should have been alerted to my wife’s eventual conversion to the dark side when, one evening, a gathering of her co-workers culminated with a pilgrimage to Karma, the local discoteria. She came home reeking of rapacious beats and stupid lyrics. I deluded myself into thinking that consistent exposure to the Replacements and Uncle Tupelo had immunized her against an attack of sleazy dance remixes.

In the months that followed, she was able to mask her attraction to the allure of the Myhumpians. She kept the car stereo tuned to an innocuous, if not banal, country music station. I had no idea the spell she had been cast under, nor the jihad she was about to issue.

Last Saturday night, she came home speaking of a great song she had heard on WQNA. Never before had she spoke of the great non-commercial station that plays some of the best music in the city. I was gladdened.

My hopes were dashed somewhat when a Google search of the lyrics determined it was a Coldplay song that had entranced her, but I gladly downloaded it for anyway. Little did I know that it was all a ruse and she was covertly surveying my every move in an attempt to learn how to access the iTunes store. She struck the next day.

As I slept peacefully on Sunday night, she, fully possessed by Timbaland’s satanic production, set out to debauch by association every Twin Tone and Sub Pop recording in my digital library. Aided by the speed of DSL, she downloaded 16 of the vilest tunes ever to defile the human ear. Now I’m faced with how to respond to this scourge in a manner that is respectful to my musical taste, yet won’t lead me into damnation against an enemy much more imposing than I.

As most of you know, the next time I update my iPod all of her sickening songs will enter the device and could conceivably start playing if I set it to shuffle mode, an event that would surely have me longing for the sweet release of death. My only recourse is to banish the songs from iTunes, and risk whatever fate awaits me on the domestic battlefield. If I never post here again, know that I went down protecting the honor of my iPod. Veneration shall be mine.

Beer and a Movie

2007-05-29T15:01:00.000-05:00

What better way to unwind after a long holiday weekend than by taking in a heartwarming tale of an innocent young sprite who helps a disillusioned assassin rediscover the joy of racking up a body count. The Movie Geek’s Club will be showing Leon (The Professional) at 7:30 this evening at the Capital City Bar and Grill. The movie stars Jean Reno as Leon and a too-young-to-ogle Natalie Portman as Mathilda. All the cool people will be there and you should too.

Victor Needs a Ride

2007-05-24T12:31:00.000-05:00

I’m looking to buy a used bike for my son Victor, preferably a 12 -inch model. If you or someone you know are in possession of a late-model two-wheeler in reasonably good condition, please respond to this post.

In the interest of making this a legitimate blog post and not just a classified ad, I’ll share the story of how we came to need a used bike.

We bought Victor a brand-spanking-new bike this spring, but in the interest of long-term usability, we went with an 18-inch model with training wheels. Shortly thereafter, a friend let Victor have her daughter’s old 12-inch girlie bike* after he taught himself to ride it sans training wheels while visiting. Unfortunately, the tire on the mini-femm bike blew out on Sunday and he can’t yet manage the bigger manly bike as a two-wheel conveyance. Not wishing for him to revert back to training wheels, I’d like to find a used bike to get him through the summer or until he hits a growth spurt.

Victor, even more than his two bike-riding-age sisters, loves to be out on the open sidewalk. He rides every chance he gets, even when he’s supposed to be getting in the van to head to school. But it’s been four days now since he last rode and he’s becoming despondent. His mother and I fear that he will turn to drugs to fill the void in his life that had been filled with exhilarating rides through our neighbors’ yards. Please help Victor avoid this dire fate and get back up on his own two wheels.

*He rode it without shame, but has requested something less purple and pink for his next bike.

After the Paint Dries

2007-05-21T12:32:00.000-05:00

One of things I looked forward to when I started writing for the newspaper is getting to write one of those column’s in which I respond to readers’ comments or questions. Unfortunately, I don’t get enough response to do a full-blown, readers’ mail column. I do, however, have one reader who has taken the time to respond to my last column by posting a comment on the SJ-R’s Web site and so I’ll use this space to respond to her kind words.

Congratulations. This is even more boring than the typical Bakke column.
Daphne

Thanks for the kudos Daphne. I consider it high praise indeed to be mentioned in the same class as a seasoned professional such as Mr. Bakke, who has been boring people for a lot longer than I. Now that I’ve been at this column writing thing for over a year now I have to admit, it’s a lot harder than it looks.

It really is quite difficult to avoid topics of interest and I find myself racking my brain each month in search of the superficial and the tedious. But you know what, every time the muse of the mundane fails to visit and I think I might have to settle for writing something meaningful, I’m suddenly hit by inspiration. It never fails. And before you know it I’ll have scribbled off 630 words of pointless blather that I get to share with totally disinterested readers such as yourself. It’s a gift, and one for which I’m very grateful.

I should also say that it helps to know that there are readers out there who actually get it. Sometimes when I’m in the middle of writing another ennui-inducing column, I’ll stop and say to myself: “What’s the point? Am I actually even boring anyone or am I just kidding myself here?” I guess it’s part of the lonely life of the writer that you never get to hear the yawns.

Oh well, I better sign off. I just proofread what I wrote here and I’m starting to get sleepy.

Keep reading and I’ll keep boring the pants off you,
Dan

P.S. If there are any topics that you find particularly tiresome, drop me a line and I’ll see if I can work them into a future column.

Very Important Things You Should Know About

2007-05-17T12:32:00.000-05:00

Don't be stupid, be a smarty, come and join the Red Hat party
I read where the dastardly Red Hats are being celebrated in a musical that’s playing in Chicago. I’m sure it’s in the vein of the Franz Liebkind-penned production of Springtime for Hitler, and similarly inspired. No doubt it glosses over all of the bunco schemes and beat downs in painting them as a benevolent, senior-empowering group of civic-minded citizens. History will tell a far less kind story, my friends.

Speaking Power to Truth
Can anyone provide a literal definition of this phrase? It’s quite popular with the radical set, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out what it means, other than shorthand for “I’m about to say something that the man doesn’t want you to hear.” There’s something quite insufferable about people like that.

No Idols, Just American Music
For everyone complaining about the Grandstand lineup, and you’re certainly justified in doing so, take heart in the upcoming American Music Show at the Taste of Springfield on July 7. I plan to blog about the event more extensively when the date draws nearer, but know that while it may not offer the recognizable names that you desire, the lineup is long on sheer quality. No cheesey ballads or concocted anthems, just real rock and roll and hardcore country. The Bottle Rockets are going to be here for chrissakes, that should more than make up for whatever muck that Daughtry character has in store for us.

We’re not going to Moscow. Zip in. Zip out. It’s like going to Wisconsin
Speaking of the American Music Show, we’ll be traveling to Wisconsin next month to see one of last year’s headliners, Sarah Borges and the Broken Singles*. They’re playing in Port Washington at a free show in a park right off Lake Michigan. If you have the means, I highly recommend making the trip. It promises to be a kickin’-good time. And if you’re still not sold, Russ will be there.

Come on!
The SJ-R publishes a report on the Springfield Police Department’s purchae of two Segways, almost 40 people have commented on the story online, and not one mention of Gob Bluth, the man who came to personify the tackiest mode of travel ever invented? Sometimes I feel as if I’m surrounded by a cultural void.

*Be sure to pickup a copy of their new CD that’s due out on June 12. The new Wilco is out now. If anyone's heard it, please comment.

On the Dole Again

2007-05-14T14:05:00.000-05:00

If you’ve been following the series of articles in the SJ-R about the state’s health insurance plans for children, you’ll have read about the experiences of families who have signed on to the wonderful new programs to improve healthcare and make benefit glorious leader Rod Blagojevich. And you’ll have been somewhat surprised to learn that some of these families are earning a more than respectable wage, yet are still availing themselves of state-funded coverage for their children.

When you look at what the state is offering, it does seem like an attractive deal. It’s much cheaper and is more comprehensive than many employer-sponsored health plans. And if you have more than two kids, the annual income threshold is unexpectedly high, making it a viable option for many middle class families. So why not seek wellness by suckling on the government’s curative teat?

When we think of Medicaid and similar programs, we think of the poor and indigent. In short, we think welfare. And no matter which side you approach it from – as a liberal who feels welfare is compassionate or a conservative who feels that it breeds complacency – most of us who read blogs would feel it below our station to go on the dole. We’ve been taught to work hard and sacrifice to avoid the plight, and the stigma, associated with living on the government’s dime.

Yet there is also the feeling that if the state is going to offer it and we’re going to fund it with our tax dollars, then why not exact as much back as possible by letting the state pay for the kids’ annual physicals and the occasional emergency room pebblectomy.*

So where do you stand? If you could cut in half the amount you pay now for health insurance and still keep your favorite pediatrician, would pride alone prevent you from signing-on to a from of Medicaid?

*This procedure, I'm told, is quite rare and as such may not be covered under even the most comprehensive of plans.

Dining with the Enemy*

2007-05-09T10:54:00.000-05:00

We’ve all played the little getting-to-know-you game in which we take turns naming three famous people we’d like to have dinner with. The idea here is that the choice of dinner companions, and perhaps more importantly, the topic of dinner conversations that would arise, reveals something about a person’s character.

For example, if one were to choose to break bread crumbs with Gandhi, we can assume that this person is a deep-thinking, peace-loving soul. Or a pretentious twit.

On the other hand, someone who wants to smash a fruit and vegetable platter with Gallagher isn’t the least bit pretentious, but probably a twit just the same.

It’s a worthwhile exercise, provided you don’t slip into Mike Lupica-stlye sentimentality. In the interest of stirring up some commentor-generated content, I thought we’d try it here, only with a twist.

Instead of naming three people, you’ll be dining intimately with just one guest. And this person should be your ideological opposite. If you’re a liberal, pick a conservative. If you’re a right winger, pick a leftie.

But the idea here isn’t to provide you an opportunity to throw consommé in their face or jam a chicken bone down their throat.

Instead, pick someone who, for all of your differences, you harbor a quiet respect. Someone whose intelligence you value and whose point-of-view you would like to get a deeper understanding of.

I’ll start it off. Since I’m a moderate who votes both sides of the aisle, I’ll be dining with two others.

Now if Amanda Peet were a white separatist and Angelina Jolie were out blowing up Humvee dealerships, then my choices would be clear and you can be darned sure I’d be asking to look at a dessert menu.** But since they both probably share a lot of the same political views and I wouldn’t want to offend by choosing one over the other, I’ll have to look elsewhere.

With that said, sitting to my left will be none other than William Jefferson Clinton. Yes he disgraced the presidency with his randiness and we’re starting to hear from former Friends of Bill, who have shifted their support to Obama, that the Clinton’s aren’t the most loyal or trustworthy of allies. Still, he is a very intelligent person who certainly doesn’t lack for charisma. If he were candid in his thoughts and wasn’t worried about his comments being leaked to the media, it could make for a fascinating conversation.

To balance out the table, to my right will sit Walter Williams, libertarian/conservative columnist. I admit this is kind of last minute invitation, but I was intrigued by his column in today’s SJ-R***. I use to read Williams quite frequently and although we disagree on many things, in particular on smoking bans, I still enjoy reading his views. He’d make for a delightful dinner companion, provided he didn’t flout the law and light up.

I’d let Bill and Walter do most of the talking while I listened and enjoyed a savory tuna steak accompanied by a nice ale or two. It would be a civil and enlightening affair, and hopefully Bill could charge it all to Hillary’s campaign.

Now your turn. For whom would you cross the political divide to dine with?

*This title was taken from the movie Sleeping With the Enemy, a 1991 Julia Roberts/Patrick Bergin vehicle that was awful in ways too many to mention. Although my wife got to hear them all when we watched it together some years back.

**I’m not sure what this means, but it means something.

***I particularly liked this line: “True compassion for our fellow man requires that we examine not the intentions behind public policy but the effects of that policy.”

A Simpsons Plan

2007-05-03T15:25:00.000-05:00

The mayor recently announced that our city will indeed compete to host the premiere of the upcoming Simpsons movie by proving that ours is the real Springfield. I hate to be pessimistic, but based on what I’ve read, I don’t think we’ve developed a winning strategy.

It seems that we will be betting on the fact that we are home to a donut factory, a power plant, and a bald man who runs the power plant.

Yes there are similarities between our hometown and the animated Springfield, but after 400 episodes of the show, I would think that even the inhabitants of a remote fishing village in Southeast Asia could come up with enough resemblances to stake a claim as the real Springfield (That Nguyen Duy Phong. He always drunk, just like your Barney Gumble!)

The show’s creators aren’t scouting a shooting location or looking to cast parts; they simply want a real life place that captures the spirit of the Springfield that they’ve created. And it’s here that we do have a real advantage, but we won’t sell it by having Fox 55 personalities dress up in Marge and Homer Halloween costumes or coaxing a bad Monty Burns impersonation out of Todd Renfrow. We have to be willing to show our vulnerable side.

Our Springfield, just like Bart’s Springfield, has an inferiority complex. Shelbyville isn’t our Shelbyville, Chicago is our Shelbyville.

We need to convey the jealously that we feel as Illinois’ second city (or third, or fourth). How we seethe with contempt whenever one of their big city newspaper columnists suggests that we live in a backwater burg. How we scream foul when our tax dollars our exported north of I-80. And how the governor of the state refuses to live in the capital city, lest he be contaminated by its corruption. And then we hit them with the story that will surely resonate inside Matt Groening’s soul.

A common plot on the Simpsons involves the town trying to overcome its second-class status by gathering all of the mettle they can muster to achieve some goal that will prove their worthiness to the outside world. And then they fall flat on their face, the victim of their own avarice or ineptitude.

Or in case of the episode titled Marge vs. the Monorail, the victim of a slick con man named Lyle Lanley who rides into town and convinces the city to empty its coffers into his pockets. Sound familiar, long-time Springfield residents?

I’m a little sketchy on the details, but once upon a time a swindler by the name of George Celani convinced us that he was going to bring jobs and wealth to our community by turning Capital Airport into the hub for his fledgling Kayport express shipping empire. Deals were made and money was invested before Celani disappeared into the night. I’m told that a taunting, Nelson-like Ha! Ha! could be heard echoing throughout the city once the swindle was uncovered.

So here is what I propose. We produce a brief mockumentary of the Christopher Guest variety. In it, we convey the message that we’d love to host the movie’s premiere, but that we’re a little leery of slick-talking outsiders offering to put us on the map. Then we tell our woeful story.

Taking considerable dramatic license, we have citizens/actors tell of how they tied their hopes to the coming of this wonderful new enterprise, and how they’re still struggling in the aftermath of those shattered dreams. They could mention the governor refusing to live here and talk about how our annual civic-pride festival had to be cancelled because people got a bit overzealous in drowning their sorrows. Maybe we could even get Richard Roeper or some other Chicago columnist to play himself while heaping ridicule on us poor Springfieldians.

And then the film would end, in true Simpsons spirit, on an optimistic note with the townsfolk again coming together and willing to take another chance to demonstrate our community’s virtues.

With a good script and the right local acting talent, there is great comedic potential in this approach. But this idea will never make it past this blog.

I suspect that those in charge of host-the-Simpsons campaign will take the sunny, happy approach favored by tourism councils and highlight all of the quirky coincidences that tie our Springfield to theirs. And of course they’ll play the Abe card. But I know about Jebediah Springfield and Abraham Lincoln is no Jebediah Springfield. Lincoln is a dignified figure, revered by all and the butt of no jokes. How un-Simpsons like!

My Top Boss Hitbound iTunes Singles

2007-05-01T18:38:00.000-05:00

Russ, Shoo, Anon Com, and Brad have posted their Top 20 Most Played Artists according to their digital music delivery system of choice. I can't figure out how to find the top 20 artists on iTunes so I'll list the top 20 most-played songs. And of course, I'll provide a prologue and then comment on each selection.

As others have predicated, these aren’t the songs that would make it on to an all-time favorites list. They simply encapsulate my inaugural venture into digital music and the somewhat unfortunate practice of listening to singles rather than entire albums.

I should say at the onset that that airplay was heavily influenced by frequent family dance parties. Several of these tunes are among the most requested by my kids. It makes me proud that I’m able to influence their musical taste at an early age so that they might never fall victim to the scourge of Top 40 radio.

I’m surprised that several of their other favorites (Float On by Modest Mouse and Cool by Gwen Stefani [Tessie and Maria in particular]) didn’t make the top 20, which causes me to doubt the accuracy of the iTunes most-popular logarithm. Included in the top 25 was a Todd Rundgren song that I rarely play, except when it shows up in shuffle mode.

Notably absent from this list are any of the bands from my early indie rock years (the Replacements, Galaxie 500, Sonic Youth, the Velvet Underground.) This shows that, unlike baby boomers who never venture beyond the now-classic rock of their youth, Generation X is far more progressive in their musical tastes and thus maintains a stronger connection to youth culture.

Also absent are any of my many favorite slow songs. I’m a big fan of sitting in the dark with headphones on after everyone is asleep and just turning my mind over to the music. I suppose that I’ve compiled so many songs that are good for this purpose that I don’t repeat them enough to make any most-played list. And in the case of Aimee Mann, I tend to listen to her by the album rather than by the single.

And now, without further ado, is my iTunes Top 20 most-played singles.

1. The Notre Dame Victory March - The University of Notre Dame Marching Band
My kids call it the stomping song and it's always good for rallying the troops after too-much TV has left them listless.

2. Ohh, La La - The Ditty Bops
I love this song; I can't believe I missed them at the Underground City Tavern. The kids also like the Ditty Bops, especially the tall one.

3. Sister Kate - The Ditty Bops
I love this song too. It's a cover. Think the Andrew Sisters at their naughtiest.

4. You Really Got Me - The Kinks
My son Victor has chosen this as his personal anthem. He doesn't understand what it's about yet, but he will someday.

5. Do You Want To - Franz Ferdinand
I was kind of surprised to see this so high on the list. I must have worn it out when I first got the CD. Great beat, easy to dance to. I give it a 9.2.

6. You Are Invited - The Dismemberment Plan
I have Acrylic Afternoons, a now defunct WQNA program, to thank for this one. A very simple yet catchy melody.

7. Where Were You - The Mekons
For some reason this song sounds political, but the lyrics suggests lovelornness. I suppose there isn’t any difference. (read into that what you may; I’m not sure what it means.)

8. Heavy 33 - Verlaines
From the popular No Alternative compilation. An eerie and intense number from a Dunedin, New Zealand band.

9. Outtasite (Outtamind) - Wilco
An upbeat song from one of the best bands currently working in America. I’ve seen Wilco live three or four times, but not in the last several years. This song makes me want to buck-up for their increasingly more expensive concert tickets.

10. Joed Out - Barbara Manning
Also from the No Alternative album and a cover of the Verlaines. I love her voice and this a very cool tune.

11. Slow Dog - Belly
Another dance party favorite. I’m not sure what it’s about, but I like it just the same. Tanya Donelly, a former Thrown Muse, has a very expressive vocal style.

12. I’d Run Away - the Jayhawks
These guys should be huge. And since they’re not, they should play in Springfield some time.

13. Academy Fight Song - Mission of Burma
This is one of those songs that early indie rockers cited as a favorite. It should be a favorite of yours as well.

14. Rose of Jericho - Eleventh Dream Day
Fans of some of my early compilation cassettes will remember this song (Melissa likes to dance real slow) from one of Chicago’s best bands.

15. Smoking Daddy - Freakwater
Featuring a member of EDD (see #14), these two women rip it up with their backwoods harmonies.

16. Amie - Pure Prairie League
The first 300 or so times I heard this song I thought it was okay, but not great. Then one day not long ago, while driving to work, I heard it while flipping through 101.9 and for some reason cranked up the volume. It really is a great song.

17. With Arms Outstretched - Rilo Kiley
Another song I cribbed from Acrylic Afternoons. There’s an indescribable allure to this song. It might be Jenny Lewis’ voice, or just Jenny Lewis.

18. Star Sign - Teenage Fanclub
Hey there's a side of me unknown, big deal.
And say, should this unknown force be shown, big deal.

19. Same Old 45 - Sarah Borges and the Broken Singles
We’re going to see them again in Wisconsin next month, marking the fourth state my wife has seen them play in less than a year. I’m really looking forward to the show and their upcoming release.

20. Sunless Saturday - Fishbone
If I played a professional sport that required me to get geeked up before competing, this is one of the songs I would listen to in the locker room.

Well, that’s it. Those of you who are blogless are free to post your top 20 in the comments section.

Welcome Cruciverbalists

2007-04-30T11:20:00.000-05:00

For those of you who read my feature in yesterday’s SJ-R, which was totally upstaged by Dave Bakke’s goose noir column, I thought I’d share some additional information on crossword puzzles. I did enough research that I could have filled the entire Parade supplement with interesting-at-least-to-me crossword minutiae, but then we would have missed out on Walter Scott’s riveting answers to important questions from real-life readers who aren’t celebrity publicists just shilling to get their clients’ name in front of the much-sought-after Parade demographic.

Anyway.

I’ve you’re a fan on the NY Times puzzle, there’s a guy, goes by the name of Rex Parker, who blogs about his daily crossword experience. I email-interviewed him, but he’s not from around these parts and so he didn’t fit with the local angle of the story.

On his blog, Rex Parker Does the NYT Crossword Puzzle, he writes about the clues he liked, the ones he didn’t like, and the one’s that gave him the most trouble. Rex said his commentary is in the spirit of the great “Mystery Science Theater 3000”, although it’s somewhat more serious. He also includes pictures that correspond to some of the clues.

It’s endlessly entertaining if you’re into that sort of thing. It’s especially interesting to a middling cruciverbalist such as myself who can delve into the mind of an expert in hopes of divining some deeper understanding of the way of the crossword.

I also interviewed, through SIU School of Medicine’s Public Affairs Office, Dr. Robert Struble, Professor of Neurology, Psychiatry and Pathology.

He said that a study found that people who were highly intellectually active had a decreased risk for dementia and that crossword puzzles were good for keeping the mind mentally fit, which means that I should be able to blog about Red Hat conspiracies well into my nineties.

I got to correspond several times with Will Shortz, who is probably only the biggest crossword celebrity in the world, thank you very much. As a point of comparison, my talking to him would be like a string theory enthusiast getting to meet Yoichiro Nambu or a garlic fanatic sharing a kitchen with Emeril Lagasse. See what I mean; this was big time.

Shortz, or Will as I came to address him, is a really nice guy and from what I understand he’s living quite comfortably having parlayed his love of puzzles into a small fortune.

Of course all of this - the article, the column and now this blog post - has forced me to face a harsh reality. I may be a nerd. I mean, we’re talking about crossword puzzles here. Yes they’re intellectually stimulating and a lot of really interesting and accomplished individuals share my passion for them, but it isn’t exactly a glamorous or daring pursuit. You won’t see the winner of the American Crossword Puzzle Tournament with Amanda Peet or Angelina Jolie on his arm.

Actually, I don’t think I’m a nerd. I just haven’t posted this picture since October and was looking for a proper segue. Okay, maybe I am.

What's Your Favorite Song?

2007-04-25T21:24:00.000-05:00

On the McSweeney's Web site, they ran a series of short essays celebrating favorite songs. I thought it might be interesting to do the same here. It's also a good way to keep BFS active without relying too heavily on me to generate content. Your encouraged to post your own essay on your favorite song. It doesn't have to be as long as what I've written, but it would be nice if it were as maudlin and overblown. Or you can play it straight. Just don't reveal any private personnel matters that might get me into trouble.

Drownin' in this City

I first heard “Within Your Reach,” the last song on the Replacement’s Hootenanny album, while in college. It wasn’t until I bought the album in 1989 (and yes I do mean album, as in LP, as in pressed vinyl) that the power of the song really struck me. The song has soul. Deep, indelible soul.

Here on this classic post-punk album, amidst a collection of drunken and rollicking numbers, was an aching ballad that was more real than any song I had ever heard. Paul Westerberg recorded the song by himself with just a guitar, an effects pedal, and a cheap drum machine. The chords ascend and then descend throughout the song, creating a ethereal numbness to accompany the lyrics that are as pointed and direct as pointed daggers being directed at you.

Ah, the lyrics. Simple, yet powerful and perfect. Angst wrapped in anger topped off with a dollop of self-pity. Resignation climaxing in a wail of defiance. The perfect song for anyone who didn’t get the girl, knows they’ll never get the girl, still wants the girl, and wants her to know it and somehow feel bad about it, but of course she won’t feel bad about it because she’s probably into Richard Marx.

The lyrics play off the classic R and B song, “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.” But while that song is optimistic that true love will conquer all, the singer here is stricken helpless by love. He lacks all perspective with no hope of traversing natural barriers that metaphorically separate him from love.

“Reach” found some success after it was included in the soundtrack to the movie Say Anything. Fans of the film will remember that it played as the Lloyd and Diane sat pensively on an airplane, waiting to set-out on their life together. Totally inappropriate.

It’s said that Cameron Crowe, the movie’s director, had originally intended for the song to play during the movie’s most memorable scene. When the recently dumped Lloyd stands beneath Diane’s bedroom window, rain beating down upon him as a baptism on his soul, he holds a boom box defiantly over his head. The song that plays is meant to convey the contents of his tortured soul. “Reach” would have captured perfectly the torment that was welling up inside of him.

The movie’s producers probably recognized that this was the money scene, however, and wanted something by a more established artist to drive sales of the soundtrack. So instead we heard Peter Gabriel “In Your Eyes”, a good-enough song, I suppose, but ultimately unsatisfying knowing what could have been.

“Reach” also received extended play on my answering machine during the early- to mid- nineties, a fifteen-second snippet of which preceded the standard “leave a message” request. It annoyed friends, confused relatives, perhaps even vexed a telemarketer or two, but it never achieved the desired effect – to impress girls with my sensitivity and outsider taste in music. For girls to have been impressed, they would not only have had to have been Replacement fans, or at least like the song, but they would have also have had to call. Few did. And thus the song’s pathos touched me even deeper.

The song obviously doesn’t speak to me today as it did then. I no longer play it five or six times in a row. Maturity has a way of wising-up a rebel without a clue. But it is still one of the most powerful songs that I have ever heard. And if you don’t get it, then you ain’t got no soul.

Hang the DJ /Hang the DJ /Hang the DJ (scenes from a father/daughter dance)

2007-04-15T20:36:00.000-05:00

I’ve never been a DJ-for-hire, but I would think that to be a good one, it would take more than just a killer CD collection.

I would think that rather than working off a predetermined set list, that you would have to be able to read the audience and see what songs are getting the best reaction and then spin accordingly.

And I would think, and maybe you would too, that even before the first song is cued up, that a good DJ would take a look at who is gathered to hear the music and maybe even take a moment to consider something about them. There could be some clues there as to which songs would be best to play.

For example, if the audience consists of Catholic school girls who range in age from five to 14, but trend towards the younger,

and if the girls’ escorts for the evening are their fiercely protective fathers who are notorious for being militantly old-fashioned when it comes to their daughters’ virtue,

then you would think that a good DJ would immediately scratch Nelly’s Hot in Herre from the playlist.

Wouldn’t you?

Scandal on the Airwaves

2007-04-11T12:44:00.000-05:00

My interest isn’t normally piqued when a car salesman changes dealerships. In fact, I’m usually not even notified when such transactions take place. But Walt Skube isn’t just any car dealer and as a blogger who enjoys the occasional foray into media critiquing, I would be remiss if I didn’t comment on the news that shocked both the AM morning talk show community and the local advertising world.

It wasn’t unusual to hear Walt’s voice coming out of my radio this morning at approximately 8:52 AM. This is normally the time he calls into AM Springfield and chats briefly with congenial host Sam Madonia (although his boss, Bob Ridings, usually takes the Wednesday morning spot), while pitching the latest deals on new and pre-owned vehicles. But there Walt was, engaging in some comfortable banter with . . . Jim Leach?

It was like hearing Ed McMahon guffawing to Dick Cavett jokes. Taking nothing away from Leach and his fine morning program, it just didn’t sound right. In fact, I felt that I was witness to an act of betrayal, a secret rendezvous between two secret lovers. At that very moment, Atlantic Starr was playing on sister station, WNNS. Or they might have been, I didn’t dial over to check.

It wasn’t until I was over the initial shock and regained my faculties that I was able to focus on their conversation. This moment of relative calm was itself shattered when I heard Walt say that he had left the Ridings family of dealerships and that I was no longer 30 miles away from Walt Skube. More like three miles. It seems that he is now plying his considerable auto trading talents for Springfield-based Landmark Ford. And with this, I’m left with more questions than answers.

Did Skube and Ridings part amicably?

Did Landmark lure him away, like Couric to the Eye?

Is there any animosity between Skube and Madonia or the WFMB sales staff?

Can Skube and Leach be happy together once the initial excitement of their freshly blooming relationship begins to autumn?

Has Bob Murray been seen keeping company with Warren the Painter?

Suffice to say this turn of events has turned my morning commute topsy-turvy. To me, this story is every bit as big as the canning of Brian, Kellie, and Barstool Bob. But you just watch, the liberal/conservative/moderate mainstream media will completely ignore it. Thank God for us bloggers.

*UPDATE*
I didn't expect anyone to actually have any inside scope on this. But I fear that now that someone has come forth with allegations, my carefree, albeit little seen blog could stir up some unwanted controversy from the outside. So it was with heavy heart that I deleted some comments. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but it made me uneasy having them there. I suppose this is one instance when blogging unanonymously has a downside.

Thanks for commenting,
Dan

Resolved: Michael Scott is not a jerk.

2007-04-10T10:44:00.000-05:00

Although this topic generated a lukewarm response at a Saturday night poker gathering, I believe that it is a topic rife for debate.

I maintain, that despite his many faults and shortcomings, Michael Scott, regional manager of the Scranton branch of Dunder-Mifflin, is not a jerk. He is egotistical, immature, self-absorbed, oblivious, dense, inappropriate, and often grossly unempathetic. But the only time he is really a jerk is in his dealings with Toby. When he insults or offends anyone else, it’s usually not his intent to do so. He also has a tremendous desire to be liked and accepted, although he’d prefer to be honored and adored. And, finally, except for the aforementioned Toby, he seems to genuinely like everyone else in the office, especially and curiously, Ryan. Therefore, in my estimation, he is not a jerk and shouldn’t be characterized as such.

Now, you can call Andy a jerk, because he is manipulative and scheming, and doesn’t care what people think about him. Dwight could be considered a jerk, at times, but I don’t believe he should be held responsible for what the voices inside his head tell him to do. Angela can be a jerk, in a prudish sort of way, but her meanness is born of intense fear and debilitating repression, so we’re more likely to pity her than dismiss her. But Michael is just a fool, a jester who thinks that we are all laughing with him, when often we are laughing at him.

So now I put it to you, Dear Commentors, is Michael Scott a jerk?

Coming Soon!

2007-03-29T16:51:00.000-05:00

To a computer screen near you. From the people who brought you Red Hats at Sunrise and A Seasoned Greeting. An original BlogFreeSpringfield production. Check Spfldbloggers.com for dates and times.

Hard to Defraud: Subscription to destruction

2007-03-19T16:27:00.000-05:00

Last week, for the first time ever, I donned the cape of crusading consumer and filed a complaint with the Better Business Bureau because I believe that just because meth is illegal doesn’t mean that those who sell it shouldn’t be held to the same standards of business ethics that more licit concerns must abide by.

Actually, it wasn’t a drug deal gone bad that prompted me to go all Clark Howard*, it was my poorly thought-out decision to try and procure magazines through a cut-rate, Web-based subscription service. And I thought that, while the good folks at the BBB are hot on the case, I’d turn up the heat even further by publicly upbraiding, in front of the tens of readers who visit BFS, the dastardly bastards who made off with my $24.79: halfpricedmags.com (just typing their name causes the venom to build in my throat.)

First off, let me explain how I came to be seduced by the siren of greatly discounted magazine subscriptions despite the fact that I am naturally skeptical of deals too “super” to believe.

I love to read. Throughout the day, whenever I have even a minute or two of down time, I quickly search for something to read. Since the newspaper is usually exhausted by breakfast’s end and my current book is relegated to the night stand for nocturnal enjoyment, I’ve found magazines to be indispensable for feeding my reading jones throughout the day.**

Last summer I gradually let most of my subscriptions expire. Some I had grown tired of and others forced my hand with their high renewal fees. And so it was that I found myself one day pitifully flipping through one of my wife’s copies of Good Housekeeping, trying in vain to find a story that wasn’t about the triumph of the human spirit, or weight loss. It’s clear to me now that I was in the full throes of withdrawal and, in my desperation, I succumbed to the call of a Web site offering one full-year of the New Yorker for $6.84, that’s 47 issues at a mere fraction of the newsstand price. It was such an enticing deal that I also signed-up for Men’s Health and a few magazines for my wife and kids.

I was informed at checkout that it would be 8-10 weeks before the magazines would arrive; a devastating lag time for a rag junkie, but the penny pincher in me convinced me that I could hold out. That was back on September 2, of last year. Here we are now, halfway through March, and I’ve yet to receive a single issue of any of the magazines.

I contacted them numerous times through their online order inquiry application and through email. Most of my pleas for satisfaction went unheeded. The one response I did receive told me that the order was delayed and it would be another six weeks. When that proved to be an empty promise, I continued to email, but my pleadings fell on absent ears. I became convinced that they had me pegged for a patsy who would continue to politely inquire about my order without ever doing anything about it. Little did they know that they would push me to the tipping point.

After one more inquiry went unanswered, I stormed over to the BBB’s Web site to lodge my complaint. With a steely intensity that was reminiscent of Charles Bronson at his most vengeful, I undauntedly filled out their online complaint form. After reviewing my entry for accuracy, I coldly took aim on the send button. With my finger hovering just over the mouse, I took a moment to imagine the executives of halfpricedmags.com, sitting around an oak-paneled conference room and laughing through their expensive cigars, cigars partially financed by my ill-gotten $24.79. The anger rose up inside me and I slammed my finger down on the mouse.*** The blast from my right-click caused my desk chair to recoil a good twenty feet.

As I pushed myself back towards the desk and the smoke cleared from the computer screen, a calming sensation came over me. I realized that I had just single-handedly brought down their entire operation. Sure, maybe some innocent IT people will lose their jobs as a result, but collateral damage is to be expected when you’re dead-set on justice.

I was naïve in thinking that I could ever get the New Yorker for 14.5 cents an issue. But halfpricedmags.com was stupid in thinking that I was just another deep-pocketed sophisticate who likes obscure comics that provide “commentary on contemporary mores.”**** Now that they’ve felt the heat from my wrath they’ll probably embark on some safer venture, like hijacking cocaine shipments being smuggle by murderous Peruvian drug cartels.

Oh yeah, one more thing, don’t buy magazines at halfpricedmags.com. The final twist of the sword.

*I thought of using Ralph Nader here, but today he is less known as a consumer advocate than as a third-party disruptor. Clark Howard, if you don’t know, hosts a nationally syndicated consumer affairs show on WMAY. The guy has make a mint from being a tightwad and whistleblower, and his show is quite entertaining, in an informative kind of way.

** Magazines are also great for shoring up any deficiencies you might have on popular topics of conversation. For example, my ability to converse somewhat intelligently on sports isn’t the result of actually watching events as they unfold live, but rather from my periodic perusals of Sports Illustrated (along with my daily digestion of the sports page.) As a result, I can speak quite confidently and with reasonable authority when saying that SIU-Carbondale courted a better basketball team than our flagship U of I team this year, and this despite the fact that I didn’t witness a dribble of action in either’s postseason games.

***I was going to say something cool before I shot off my complaint but I didn’t want to appear trite.

****A BFS t-shirt to the first person who can name the actor who recited this line.

So Nobody Does the Sunday Crossword?

2007-03-03T22:16:00.000-06:00

I'm so sure people. Somebody besides Russ must know someone who kicks out the Sunday crossword each week. Don't tell me BFS attracts a Jumble crowd.

I wrote a story for this week's Heartland Magazine about a dance class for people with Down Syndrome. Much better than my words are Lane Christiansen's pictures. It's quite inspirational.

I plan to write more about it later, but I heartily endorse attendence at the Movie Geeks Club.

I just downloaded the Style Council's "My Ever Changing Mood." Like a bottle of good wine, it's grown more interesting with age.

I think that the Abstract Prosaic should start blogging again because there are too many bloggers who aren't witty and non-sociopathic. There's a void.

Crossword Puzzle Players Sought

2007-02-26T11:26:00.000-06:00

Hey kids, are you like me, do you like to do the Sunday crossword puzzle? Unlike me, are you occasionally able to finish one? If so, and if you would like a chance to be interviewed for a newspaper article, please contact me through my Web site at www.naumo.com.

Serious inquiries preferred; subjects may be asked to demonstrate their crossword prowess. Fanaticism a plus. Referrals are appreciated.

Bordering on Prolificacy*

2007-02-23T16:16:00.000-06:00

Oscar
I don’t see many movies in the theatre so I’m usually a year behind at Oscar time. But here’s what I do know about this year’s competition. Maggie Gylelehyaleonl (sic, I think) should have been nominated for her performance in Sherrybaby. I didn’t like the ending to the Departed, Scorsese went a little heavy with the execution-style killings, but overall it was good. I went into my viewing of Little Miss Sunshine with too high of expectations and was somewhat disappointed. Although they didn’t distinguish themselves in any performances this past year, I hope the show’s producers have the good sense to include a special tribute, including a 15-minute video montage, to the two finest actresses of all time:

Banter
I won’t speculate on what events may have lead to the demise of Brian and Kellie in the morning, although it’s clear that Dave wields a powerful and vengeful sword when crossed. There’s a pretty impressive display of support for the delightful couple over in the comments section of the SJ-R’s report of their ouster. I’m puzzled, however, by those who said how funny the two morning hosts were. Based on what I had heard while passing through the dial, Brian and Kellie were funny in the same way that Oprah is funny, which is not very. Affable and pleasant for sure. Good-humoured, but not really humorous. I think that we humans have the ability to detect when somebody is trying to be funny and for some of us, that’s good enough to let go with a chuckle.

F-Troop
I shed no tears for the chief, mostly because I’m not an Illini fan. If it really is offensive to those who might legitimately be offended, then I suppose it’s for the best. Just don’t claim, as the NCAA does, that the way the chief depicted Indian culture was “hostile and abusive.” You can be insensitive, even prejudice, and not really mean to be. But to rise to the level of hostile and abusive, intent to inflict harm is required. And I don’t think anyone could argue that the school was purposely trying to demean Indians.

Commercial
Bona fide bloggers spat upon their bogus brethren who use their blogs as a marketing tool, especially if they’re trying to entice readers to join them in being swindled in a Ponzi scheme. It’s true that I will occasionally pitch my freelance writing services here, but I don’t claim that hiring me will promote weight loss, provide financial independence, or enhance “intimacy” in the bedroom. Although, I’m not certain that won’t be the case either. So if you or someone you know is in need of any type of business or editorial copy, click on the little ad to the right and soon you’ll be living the life you’ve always dreamed of.

Envy
My favorite line of the week comes from Stephen Metcalf, writing for Slate.com. If you like the Police, but find Sting to be a bit of a wanker and think his solo work is perfect background music for people who do pottery while mourning the loss of their boyfriend, Patrick Swayze, then you should appreciate this:

Copeland, who founded the band and whose intricately manic polyrhythms define
its sound, prevented Sting from impressing too much of his character on its
music. Unyoked from Copeland, Sting was free to become what he is today:
one-third spirit in the material world, two-thirds scented candle.

I really wish I’d come up that line. I bet Brian and Kellie’s fans wouldn’t find it funny.

*This is the second post this week. Damn impressive.

Hey, look! I posted something on my blog.

2007-02-20T16:21:00.000-06:00

Who is Larry Washington? Is he an honest citizen, a former gang member who has gone straight but is now being unfairly targeted by police? Or is he a still-active drug dealer who dabbles in arson and abusing women?

If you read the Illinois Times, you’re more likely to believe the former. If you’re an SJ-R subscriber, you probably lean towards the shady version. And if you read both, you’re probably confused how two articles on the same subject and published a mere three days apart could paint such a different picture of the same individual.

Let me say that the only thing I know about Washington is from what I read from the two stories. I don’t have any insider information and I’ve never discussed his story with any one who has or claims to have any down low. Let me also say that I believe that both stories are factually correct. So the discrepancy arises from how the facts are presented, what facts are left out, and what facts are simply not known.

It would be pointless for me, and probably for most of you, to speculate on which story more accurately portrays Mr. Washington’s character. But what I do think we are qualified to discuss is whether the two media outlets have a responsibility to the citizens that they both serve to follow-up on their stories based on what the other has written.

For instance, the IT uses the word “fire” five times in its article, three of them in reference to former SPD detectives, but it does not mention the suspicious fires that Washington has been linked to in various ways. It also doesn’t mention the accusations of abuse from former girlfriends. Perhaps the IT investigated these aspects of his story and decided that they lacked merit and would unfairly taint him. But if this is the case, should they now publicly report this, knowing that many of their readers also read the SJ-R?

The SJ-R doesn’t quote Alderman McNeil or any of the other sources who vouched for Washington’s character in the IT article. Should they now seek comment from them?

I realize that we are talking about two different stories, even though the subject of each is the same. The IT story focused on the possibility that Washington was set up in a drug bust. The SJ-R story focused on the suspicious fires that may be linked to him. The reporting doesn’t contradict each other.

But in my reading of the stories, I did get the impression, a vibe if you will, that I was supposed to feel a certain way about Washington. And these vibes did contradict. The IT seemed to want me to pity him as a victim of a roguish police force. The SJ-R seemed to want me to be outraged that a convicted felon was getting away with more crimes. I can’t say if it was the reporters’ intentions to elicit these emotions, but I doubt that I am alone in forming these impressions.

This isn’t really that uncommon of an occurrence. If you read the New York Times you’ll get a decidedly different impression of how the president is performing than you would if you read the Washington Times. Even if you skip the editorials and columnists and stick to the fact-based reporting, there is still an editorial opinion being communicated.

What makes the Washington stories interesting is that you would think that the question of whether a local man, who isn’t surrounded by consultants and PR hacks, is flouting the law or is being persecuted by law enforcement would by less subjective. I’m not criticizing either story; I just want to know what to think

Take your hat off, when you’re talking to me and be there when I feed the blog*

2007-02-08T16:12:00.000-06:00

As it was so aptly, and anonymously, suggested in the comments section, this blog is getting moldy. I can assure you that my lack of production isn’t because I’ve taken up some nefarious activities such as joining the Roman Cultural Society.

I recognize that a blog must be fed regularly if it is to remain healthy and vibrant. But I decided early on that I would not tide BFS over by stuffing it with junk food or tossing it tiny morsels unfit for consumption. If I lacked the resources to serve BFS a hearty and satisfying offering, then it would just have to go hungry. And here, the food analogy thankfully comes to a close.

It would be a shame, however, to see BFS whither away from malnutrition (the analogy returns), so I will offer you a little something to chew on until something more substantial can be prepared.

I was chatting with an old friend last night. He is a fellow at the Morgue Institute, a privately-funded think tank that was founded on the campus of Quincy College in the late 80s. We discussed the last BFS post on education and intelligence. He suggested an analogy that I found quite apt despite the fact that it didn’t have anything to do with nutrition or sustenance.

His analogy compared intelligence with athleticism. Both require training to maximize their potential, but that potential is also limited by our innate abilities, or lack thereof.

For example, I could have spent every minute that I devoted as a youth to collecting Wizard of Oz memorabilia and instead spent that time at the Nelson Center and I still wouldn’t have risen to the level of the incomparable Brian Boitano.

So if it is foolish to train every child for a career in professional sports, and I think that we can agree that it is, is it not also foolish to send each child down an educational path designed to go through college and into a white collar career?

That’s not to say that education can’t be beneficial to every child, but that there is a point where the complexity of the subject matter surpasses some people’s ability to comprehend it. There’s a reason I haven’t pursued my doctorate in molecular immunology and it’s not because I’m not drawn to their lifestyle, what with the bling and the Benjamins and what not. I’m simply not smart enough to grasp the intricacies of fungal toxins.

Or am I selling myself short? If I had grown up idolizing Dr. Janko Nikolich-Zugich instead of Judy Garland**, would my passion for antigen/antibody interaction have propelled me to the upper echelons of scholarship in the field of biology? Or would my dreams of Nobel prizes been crushed under a pile of incomprehensible physicochemical properties?

I guess we’ll never know for sure. I’ve often thought that the only thing that stood between me and a lucrative career as a physician was that I have a lousy memory. I could probably hack med school, but it would take me twice the allowed time to graduate. And no one wants to see a doctor who’s slow on the take.

But what about you? Do you believe that your mind is infinitely capable of deciphering even the most complex of subjects? Or have you come to concede some cognitive shortcomings? Your thoughtful and lengthy comments will help to keep BFS from going hungry.

*Tanya Donelly’s all right!

**I’m not sure why the idolization of Judy Garland is funny. It just is. If you don’t believe me, check out the movie After Hours sometime.

Is some people unsmart?

2007-01-26T16:10:00.000-06:00

Disclaimer: I don’t profess to be an expert on education. I know that there are some readers of BFS who are. Feel free to critique my opinions vigorously, but please be kind. I’m just a guy trying to keep his blog from becoming irrelevant. Some of these local bloggers are posting several times a day and I just can’t keep up.

As a society, we tend to lament children who do poorly in school because of their wasted potential. A student who struggles to achieve Cs or settles into a pattern of doing D work is said to be the product of one of many factors: a lack of effort on their part, a lack of involvement from their parent(s), unqualified teachers, under-funded schools, mercury in the drinking water, Pepsi in the vending machines. A recent three-part article in the Wall Street Journal suggests another possibility, however, one that most of us would be uncomfortable in accepting – perhaps the D student simply lacks the intellect to do any better.

It’s easy to reject this theory at hand because it seems to unfairly denigrate a certain segment of the population. And, of course, we’ve all heard stories about how a very gifted teacher, who will later be portrayed on screen by Edward James Olmos or Ashley Judd, has been able to transform a classroom of half-witted layabouts into standardized-test-taking whizzes. So the problem, we presume, isn’t with the children, it’s with society.

But maybe the author of the article, Charles Murray, is on to something. His theory isn’t based on empirical data; he has science to back it up. It involves the general intelligence factor, which is said to be a widely accepted but controversial construct used in the field of psychology. I’m not smart enough to completely understand the precepts behind the construct, I blame my Kindergarten teacher Ms. Blackburn for that, but it’s related to intelligence quotients.

I’m sure there are plenty of researchers chomping at the bit to debunk the author’s conclusions, perhaps some already have, but in the interest of being progressive thinkers open to the challenge of considering unconventional and uncomfortable theories, let’s assume for the moment that some people just don’t have the intellect to perform at the level we think they should at school. What would this mean?

Well, for one, it would mean that No Child Left Behind is futile, something that a lot of people already feel, but for different reasons. But it would also mean that our entire education system is inadequate. Instead of educating children in groups based on age, they should be grouped by cognitive ability. This way, kids with less ability wouldn’t constantly be meeting with failure and those with greater ability would be continually challenged. It seems cruel to segregate children based on intelligence, but it also seems cruel to require kids to perform at a level that they aren’t capable of attaining.

One of the points the author makes in the article is that far too many people are attending college and far too many jobs require a college degree. This, perhaps more than anything else in the article, rang true to me.

Several years ago, the Illinois Department of Revenue made a four-year college degree a prerequisite for being hired as a Revenue Tax Specialist, those useful souls who answer our questions about the arcane system of taxation. But the degree didn’t have to be in finance or accounting, it could be in theology or physical therapy as well.

The department continues to train the specialists as they had in the past, teaching them everything they need to know, but they use the degree requirement as a screening process. The thinking goes, as it does in many organizations, that a person who puts it the commitment to earn a degree can generally be assumed to have a bit more going for them in terms of reliability and intellect than someone who ended their formal education after high school. And there is some truth to this, but only because so many kids today are told they must go to college if they want to get a good job.

But why should a person have to pay $40,000 for a degree that in no way aids them in doing the job they are eventually hired to do? There must be some less expensive way to find employees who possess both the analytical skills and work ethic to succeed in a job that they will be trained to do anyway, regardless of their educational background.

Back to the question of whether some people lack the intellect to do well in school, at least in its current structure, I think that there must be some truth to it. Most of us have no problem admitting that people such as Stephen Hawking are a lot smarter then we are. And even if we’re too humble to say it aloud, we believe that some people just don’t measure up to our own impressive intellect. So why is it so taboo to suggest that the reason Susie does better in school than Johnny is because Susie has a higher functioning brain?

Ad Review: Turning on the Dimmers

2007-01-19T15:51:00.000-06:00

If you travel the Stanford overpass heading east, you’ve probably seen this billboard for Zara’s Collision Center: “We’ve replaced more headlights than Pamela Anderson.” Let’s review.

First off, Ms. Anderson-Lee-Rock didn’t replace those headlights* herself; she enlisted the services of a plastic surgeon. So what they mean to say is “We’ve replaced more headlights than Pamela Anderson’s surgeon has replaced on Pamela Anderson.” Not nearly as catchy, but it more clearly communicates what they are trying to say.

I’d be willing to accept the slightly misleading statement for the sake of a punchy headline, but only if it were actually saying something that would make me want to go to Zara’s for my next headlight replacement. Claiming that they’ve replaced more headlights than Pamela doesn’t really speak well to Zara’s experience because what they’re saying is that they’ve replaced more than two (or four, if you count her breast reduction surgery as another set of replacements.) So in their quest to be clever, they’ve unintentionally sent out the erroneous message that they may be novices.

My third quibble is this, and it’s a big one. Actually, it’s two big ones.

The only reason to include Pamela Anderson in an advertising campaign is because she can be expected to show up at the photo shoot with her, well, her headlights. She isn’t prized as an endorser because she is a savvy consumer or a trusted public figure. PETA doesn’t use her in ads because is able to effectively articulate that the cruelties being inflicted upon animals is a pox on our humanity. No, they hire her in hopes that people who are drawn to gaze at her breasts will divert their eyes just long enough to read whatever words are floating around beside them. Passing on the photo shoot and merely printing her name on a billboard doesn’t produce the same effect.

Having said all that, I’m sure there is no shortage of people who will get a chuckle out of the billboards. For some, that chuckle will erupt into a guffaw and perhaps they will crash into the car in front of them. And who would a person like that call to have their headlights and bumper replaced? Probably a plastic surgeon.

*I'm assuming that they are using this as a euphemism for breasts. If they're not, no need to read any further.

Instant Camaraderie's Gonna Get You

2007-01-17T16:25:00.000-06:00

There’s an interesting dialogue on race going on in the comments section of the previous post. Since things are going quite nicely without my input there, I thought I’d offer something new here.

I’ve recently been contemplating a concept that I like to call instant camaraderie, or IC.

IC occurs naturally in most humans, I would imagine. It manifests itself when we discover something about another person that instantly raises their worth in our eyes. This discovery might be made when you meet someone for the first time, which can lead to the phenomena known as becoming “fast friends.” Or it might be after you’ve seemingly gotten to know someone well, in which case the discovery is even more profound and satisfying.

And what is the substance of such a discovery? Allow me to explain by way of example.

On New Year’s Eve last, my wife and I decided to bridge the gap between a quiet evening at home and a raucous night on the town. We invited over two couples and their children for a light social gathering replete with tasty appetizers and tastier ales, except not for the kids who were furnished with hot dogs and juice boxes.

One of the couples, let’s call them the B.s, we came to know because their children go to school and play soccer with some of our own. We aren’t by any means close friends, but have passed the stage of being mere acquaintances. They’re nice people and good company, however, and this is important, they didn’t seem to be of the same crowd that we would normally hang out with. Little did we know.

The first instance of IC occurred that evening when my wife learned that the B.s are euchre enthusiasts, an affinity that instantly placed them in the upper echelon of all people she has ever met, perhaps even above her own children who haven’t yet learned the hearts-like card game. Imagine the joy that a young Hebrew gentleman living in New Berlin would feel upon meeting a nice Jewish girl at the weekly Lenten fish fry, and you’ll get some idea of the rapture that embraces my wife’s soul when meeting a fellow euchre aficionado. Her excitement was palpable as she immediately began preparing a deck of cards for play.

While engaged in a round of euchre, a second instance of IC transpired. My iPod shuffled through a party mix, landing on “Little Mascara” by the Replacements. After picking up trump, Mrs. B. said the words that will forever guarantee her a place in my heart, “Oh, are you a Westerberg (Paul: singer, songwriter, guitarist) fan?”

I would have never in a million years pegged her for a Replacements fan, yet there she sat, all along a comrade in the indie rock war against stadium acts and radio-friendly popsters.

From there we began to share stories of our affinity for one of the greatest and least appreciated rock bands of all time. We compared discographies, right down to solo efforts and soundtrack contributions. We each shared our one experience seeing the Mighty Mats live. It was if I had found a new best friend. This was clearly a case of instant camaraderie.

In my experiences, IC is most commonly induced when I find out that someone shares the love that I have for a relatively obscure, at least in these parts, band, movie or author. Unless you’re extremely wanton and morally suspect, IC will occur only rarely, on those occasions when someone connects with something that you treasure but that the general populace just doesn’t get.

So perhaps you would like to share what the one thing is that you can discover about a person, even if initially he seems a scoundrel or she a ne’er-do-well, that will immediately and unquestionably make them aces in your book.

Get Ready to Rumble

2007-01-11T18:46:00.000-06:00

As mentioned in my last posting, I’ve been neglecting This Old Blog while I try to land more writing assignments of the paying variety (not that writing for you good people isn’t rewarding, it just doesn’t pay my kids’ tuition.) I did, in fact, receive a paying assignment yesterday, along with one from my daughter’s school that I’m doing for free. Add this to my regular gig for the SJ-R and guess where BFS lands on the list of priorities. I still have no plans to close up shop here, but my visits will be brief for the time being.

Anyway, I do miss the passionate debate in the comment’s section, so, just to stir the pot a bit, here’s my no-punches-pulled, albeit abbreviated, take on today’s hot issues. Don't be afraid to fire back with your opinions.

Boy, that whole Kerosotes thing is a hornet’s nest.

How about those homeless people showing up at Alderman Bartolomucci’s fundraiser! Did that ever make a poignant statement. Or were the homeless exploited for political gain? Hmmm.

Those Christians and Agnostics are at each other’s throats in the letters-to-the-editor page again. Will they ever learn?

They may do away with the psychological assessment portion of the police and firemen’s test. That could be good, or bad.

The weather’s been pretty nice, but it’s starting to get worse. Which only goes to prove that . . . well, you know what that means.

Another bar closed it’s doors this week. The smoking ban went into effect last fall. Correlation? Causation? Coincidence? Go ahead, prove me wrong.

A halfhearted attempt to keep this blog updated

2007-01-04T16:43:00.000-06:00

Even by my own lax standards, blogging has been light here at BFS. The holidays and the quest for more paying writing assignments are to blame. When I have the time, I will continue to post the type of thoughtful discourses on the important local issues of the day that you’ve come to expect. Until then, you’re stuck with this bloggy tripe.

Daniel Pike wrote about American Movie in today’s SJ-R. If you haven’t already, you really should see this movie. It’s a documentary, although some insisted that it had to be one of those Guestian mockumentaries because the characters and the comedy are just too perfect. I haven’t seen it in about eight years, but it was one of the first movies I searched for when I signed up for Netflix last week, so I experienced a déjà vu-like feeling when I opened to Pike’s article this morning.

My latest musical find is the Ditty Bops, two sweet-voiced ladies who play music with roots that extend into various decades of the twentieth century. I’ve heard them compared to the Andrew Sisters and I could agree with that had Maxene, LaVerne, and Patty been a bit more randy. Their music is really quite mesmerizing. I’m introducing them a song at a time into my collection and I’m currently up to three MP3s and one video, which has my two-year-old son fascinated (“Let’s do that again!”). The Ditty Bops played in Springfield last summer but I missed them, a mistake I will not repeat should they pedal their way back here.

On the literary front, I just finished a very interesting book on race relations, titled “White Guilt: How Blacks and Whites Together Destroyed the Promise of the Civil Rights Era.” It was written by Shelby Steele, who sounds like the author of bodice-ripping romance novels. But as the colon in the book’s title indicates, this is a scholarly work and Steele is an intellectual of some renown. He’s a black conservative, which is rare in itself, but one of the reasons I bought the book is because I read many positive things about it from columnists of the liberal persuasion. Such crossover praise is even more rare and to me, quite persuading. No matter if you agree with Steele’s theories on race relations or not, you’re sure to find them thought provoking.

I’m following-up with another non-fiction selection. It’s a book called “Looming Tower” that examines the 9/11 plot. I’ve yet to read a negative review on it, although I’m sure some exist, and it’s shaping up to be a very interesting read.

I traditionally only devote time to one primetime television show each week. This demands that I exercise great discernment and thus my viewership should be considered more valuable than an Emmy. Today - following in the footsteps of such luminaries as Hill Street Blues, Seinfeld, the Simpsons and Arrested Development - my current show of choice is The Office. Steve Carell is a very talented comedic actor with some of the best facial expressions going. Although some of the other characters have a limited bag of tricks from which to elicit laughs, it is a large enough ensemble that, for now anyway, no one has gotten stale. And Pam couldn’t be any more adorable.

Well, that’s it. That’s how I’ve been spending my downtime. Aren’t you glad you stopped by?

Blogstradamus

2006-12-28T16:34:00.000-06:00

I thought about penning a year-in-review column, but anyone can rehash history. Instead I’ve chosen to portend the feature, using the keen insight I’ve developed as a blogger.

Attorney Courtney Cox greets the New Year by filing two new lawsuits against the Springfield Police Department, pending allegations of some sort.

After early polls show him to be a lock for reelection, Mayor Tim “Dear Leader” Davlin issues a proclamation demanding that all campaign contributions be accompanied by panegyrical poems or songs written in his honor. The odes are read by Todd Renfrow in a weekly simulcast that preempts A.M Springfield and the Jim Leach Show.

IKEA releases plans to build a 200,000 sq.-ft. factory outlet store in the middle of the Cobblestone subdivision, displacing dozens of homes. Neighbors, including those forced to relocate, welcome the move, hailing the development as a boon to economic progress that will provide a much-needed boost to neighborhood traffic.

Hundreds of non-smokers “Pick-up the Habit” in the name of freedom and in deviance of the local oxygen Nazis. In related news, residents of Jerome enjoy a sunless summer as the smog emanating from the Barrel Head enshrouds the village.

In a case of art imitating life, a front page story reports on an SHG student who commandeered and disarmed a runaway bus that was rigged to explode if its speed dropped below 50 mph, thus saving the lives of a terrified and ethnically diverse group of commuters. Commenters on the SJ-R’s Web site complain that the story isn’t newsworthy and is just another example of how the private school has a stranglehold on the local media. Others assert that the student was recruited to the school for the sole purpose of performing Hollywood-grade rescues, and that he never had to pay tuition or attend class.

The Illinois Times discontinues Jim Hightower’s column and replaces it with “The View from the Canopy”, a weekly tirade from someone calling himself Monkey Boy.

After further tightening its grip on the underground canasta racket, the Red Hat Society muscles-in on local craft bazaars, demanding protection money and a taste of the action. Knitters of decorative lawn geese clothing are left shaken.

Frightened by an early rush of ticket sales, state fair management cancels a scheduled appearance by John Mellencamp and replaces him on the bill with fair-friendly Montgomery-Gentry, assuring that no crowd control expenses will be incurred.

Ex-aldermen Redpath, McNeil and Yeager form a dissident coalition and attempt to overthrow city government. Their coup is thwarted by Dear Leader’s newly-formed royal guard. The three are exiled to Grandview where they resort to blogging about the city’s inept government. They finish second in the IT’s Best Blogger category, barely losing out to . . .

Who I'm tipping this holiday season

2006-12-19T16:32:00.000-06:00

Because so much of the Christmas tradition involves parting with our hard-earned cash, I thought we set aside the smoking ban issue for a bit and instead discuss what obligations we have to provide gifts ($) to our favorite service providers as a sign of appreciation and good cheer.

Many publications publish helpful tips on tipping during the holiday season so that we can know who has something coming and how much we owe them. Higher class rags will have you gifting everyone from the doorman to the manicurist of the lady who cuts your personal trainer’s hair. Those magazines with a more bucolic sensibility will merely suggest that you leave a little something extra for your favorite waitress down at the diner, say, maybe 15 percent.

My wife and I tend to fall towards the bucolic. If you have served us in some way in the past year, please know that we hold you in the highest esteem, but the chances are good that we won’t be expressing our gratitude monetarily.* Unless, you are one of the following:

The garbage men are always due a gratuity. We pay to have two barrels-full disposed of each week and on those occasions when we go over by an extra bag or so, they can always be counted on to haul away the excess refuse. And even though they knew it was a dirty job when they signed on, I can’t help but feel we contribute excessively to the displeasing nature of their work. We’ve given them seven solid years of damp and soiled diapers to contend with so it’s only good form to acknowledge them on the holidays with something green and crispy.

Anyone carrying on the fine tradition of newspaper carrier deserves a tip as well. I’ve found that trying to eat breakfast without a newspaper to read is quite disorientating, almost to the point of being debilitating. I’m quite certain that if I didn’t have such a reliable carrier who never fails to deliver by the breakfast hour, that I would be wasting away late into the morning, rocking in my chair in a trance-like state while mumbling incoherently into my omelet. That has to be worth a double sawbuck, right?

Our recycling agent received a tip for the first time last year and appeared so grateful that it would be cruel to deny her this year. Her job doesn’t seem as onerous as garbage hauler, but things can get sticky and unpleasant when my wife fails to rinse out the wretchedness from her vile Miller High Life cans.**

Then, of course, there are the gifts to teachers and the babysitter, although they are already the richer, and wiser, for having the good fortune to spend time in the company of my progeny.*** Still, they must be shown our appreciation.

But that’s about it for us. We’ve never tipped the mail carrier; we hardly ever see him or her and so are of the mind that the mail just magically appears in the box six days a week. We don’t have any personal attendants or favorite maitre d's, and although several of my fellow bloggers have provided me a consistent source of entertainment and insight this past year and surely merit my benefaction, most blog anonymously so I don’t know where to send the cash-stuffed Christmas cards. Same goes for the regulars in the comments section. Alas.

And now it is your turn to confess or herald the extent of your largess to those who worked on your behalf this past year. Even though you already paid them at the time of service, did you recently hand over a little something extra in the spirit of the season?

*This somewhat stingy attitude doesn’t apply to charitable giving. I’ve yet to turn down an opportunity this year to add an extra dollar to my grocery bill to benefit the less fortunate.

**If you read the Christmas message I posted here last year, you’ll recall that I wrote about how my wife had just recently kicked the latest in a series of drug addictions. Just to be clear, that was satire. And while she does enjoy an occasional beer, drinking straight from the can most times, I don’t want to imply that our recycling bin is overflowing each week with her empty beer cans. There are, however, always a lot of empty Sudafed boxes in there. She doesn’t have allergies so I’m not sure what she does with it all.

***You might be tempted to read this as satire, but I truly believe it to be true.

A Dateline exclusive: Thirst Parlor or Gulag?

2006-12-13T16:45:00.000-06:00

This week’s winner for best hyperbolic sentiment in a letter-to-the-editor goes to Glenn Stevens for his portrayal of the smoking ban as a dictator inflicting torture on the destitute. It was a chilling performance, almost Ceausescu-esque in its brutality. I, for one, am ashamed of my support of the smoking ban and my complicity in allowing this reign of violence to terrorize innocent Romanians, I mean smokers.

Let’s set aside the sarcasm and get psychoanalytical for a moment.* This letter, which at first glance appears to be nothing more than the effects of extreme nicotine withdrawal, is actually quite revealing. Despite all of the protestations concerning freedom and property-owner rights, the real reason that some smokers are so incensed over the ban is because it forces them to face the fact that they are hopelessly addicted. Freud might add that they are also exhibiting behavior consistent with a maladaptive oral fixation and that they subconsciously long to be nurtured by a mother figure, which means, if you buy into all of this, that Betty Crocker would probably do better at hawking smokes than the Marlboro Man, although I should add that many of Ziggy’s theories have been debunked over the years.

The situation chronic smokers** face in a post-ban society is analogous to a scene in the movie “The Lost Weekend” where the main character, a binge alcoholic, explains why he needs to have alcohol readily available, even during periods of sobriety:

What you don't understand, all of you, is that I've got to know it's around. That I can have it if I need it. I can't be cut off completely. That's the devil. That's what drives you crazy.

And so it is with hardcore puffers. It’s not necessarily that they can’t physically get through a horseshoe and a pint without lighting up, it’s the distress that is caused by knowing that they can’t reflexively slide a butt between their lips should that urge arise. And I believe the alcohol analogy is an apt one.

If I find out that the wedding reception I’ll be attending will be a dry one, it may temper my enthusiasm a bit, but it wouldn’t keep me from going, although the thought of being made to listen to REO Speedwagon ballads without the buffer of a slight buzz is pretty distressing. An alcoholic, however, would be utterly dismayed and would most likely decline the invitation, especially if that skimpy dress she just bought won’t conceal the necessary flask.

Likewise, hardcore smokers are now turning down invitations to eat and drink in public because of the embarrassing incontinence they would suffer. Without their drug, their eyes turn red and their noses run. They begin to twitch and turn surly, as if an Adam Sandler film festival were playing inside their head. Rather than bear the shame of revealing the depths of their jones, they stay home or travel to villages where it is safe for them to fix in public.

It’s sad really, that they’d rather fight than quit. But it’s their choice to inhale and I wouldn’t deny them that, they just can’t exhale all over the public.

*If this sentence doesn’t immediately send you searching for another blog, you are a faithful BFS reader indeed.
**Notice that I qualify so as to not paint all smokers with the same brush. Some do enjoy whatever pleasure can be derived by introducing smoke into the lungs without suffering from the vapors when in a non-smoking environment.

Who wants to be an alderman?

2006-12-07T16:41:00.000-06:00

Recently, the SJ-R has been reporting on the candidates who have announced the will seek an aldermanic seat. Reading the background information provided for each, I admit to being a bit underwhelmed in most cases. These people don’t seem any more qualified than I am and I certainly wouldn’t expect anyone to vote for me for anything (except maybe Best Blogger in the Illinois Times 2007 Best of Springfield contest that will be upon us again before you know it.)

When I was younger, I assumed that people elected to public office must be ahead of the curve in terms of intelligence. I figured that they must be highly motivated to serve the public, even those who only saw it as a means to power and prestige. Even as I grew more skeptical about their character of some of these office holders, I still thought that you had to have something pretty positive going for you to get people to vote you into office.

As I’ve become more astute in the ways of politics, I’ve come to realize that there isn’t necessarily anything special about politicians. Sure, some are really intelligent, others may drip with Clinton-like charisma, and the occasional one will provide a combination of both. But for the most part, they’re just average Joes and Janes, especially at the local level.

While being an alderman is an important job, it doesn’t seem all that desirable. It doesn’t pay well and you’ll still have to buy your clothes off the rack. It won’t get you into the Sangamo Club and it offers little in the way of graft. And as Chuck Redpath can attest, the job isn’t necessarily a springboard to higher office.

It seems an ideal job for retirees. They no longer have a full-time job to contend with and if they have kids, they’re probably out on their own. This leaves plenty of time to bone-up on the issues and field complaints from people who feel CWLP is acting out on a personal vendetta by denying them electricity. Then there’s that whole with age comes wisdom thing. Of course we wouldn’t want an entire council of retired people or there’d soon be an Old Country Buffet in every neighborhood and designated Rascal paths along every thoroughfare.

But if a candidate isn’t yet retired, does it matter what she does for a living? Is an insurance agent more likely to do a better job than a waitress? Is the business owner running to look after his own interests? Is the state worker campaigning on state time?

I know people who would be good aldermen, but none of them seem inclined to run. But I don’t know any of the people who are running, so how do I know who’s worthy?

Such quandaries call for a litmus test, a single issue on which a candidate’s response will determine their worthiness. For many, the test would involve party affiliation. For others, it might come down to smoking or non-smoking, or deal or no deal when the Sierra Club is at the negotiating table. Or it might involve something trivial such as their zodiac signs or if they wear white after Labor Day. Personally, I think that I can devine all I need to know about a person by their taste in music (Is there or has there ever been any James Blunt in your iPod?).

But I’ll put it to you. If you had one question to ask the candidates who are running in your ward (or any local election), and you had to base your vote solely on how they answer, what would that question be?

(This post doesn't merit a clever headline)

2006-12-04T19:45:00.000-06:00

My first story for the SJ-R’s Heartland Magazine ran on Friday. Given the widespread power outages, I’m assuming that a good number of subscribers used it for kindling. So in that respect, I suppose you could say it was a very enlightening story. (Get it? Because it was used to light fires.)

As far as I can tell, the Heartland stories aren’t available online so I’ll reprint the first couple of paragraphs here.

It's 6 p.m. on a Saturday, and the temperature sits just above freezing on this late autumn evening. On the north side of town, they're kicking off the Class 5A state football semifinals. On the south side, the stage is being set for a more visceral competition. It's trivia night - firefighter style.

In the Springfield area, trivia nights are fast becoming a popular alternative to going to the movies or bars on a Saturday night. They’re also popular fundraisers for the schools and organizations that host the events. From fall through spring, a trivia night can be found almost every weekend. Tonight, the action is at the Firefighters Lake Club.

The rest of the article is a gripping, real-time account of the event. I hope in at least some small way, it helped to keep people warm.

Although it pales in comparison to the smoking ban, the proposed ordinance requiring filling stations to adopt a pay first policy is generating some debate locally.

When analyzing issues such as this, I tend to downplay such aspects as constitutionality, business owner’s rights, and the public good, and instead determine its relative merit based on how it will affect me personally. It won’t, so go ahead and pass the ordinance. What do I care.

I pay exclusively at the pump through the magic of the debit card. I don’t drink coffee or 67oz. Mountain Dews so I seldom venture into the convenience store, save for the occasional emergency gallon of milk or six pack. And I never drive off without paying. Since this ordinance will not hamper my fueling habits in any way, it’s beyond me why anyone would oppose it. I love democracy.

Jeff at the Occasional Potato has a feature called Cool Band Names where he post a list of fictional band names. (I’m pretty sure he thinks them up all by himself.) Anyway, there’s always some good ones and I thought it might be fun to provide brief fictional bios to some of the bands. So I did, and it was. You should try it.

Why must they rain on the victory parade?

2006-11-28T16:20:00.000-06:00

Is Springfield a town filled with petty and bickering citizens who never miss an opportunity to spew vitriol or rain on someone else’s parade? I only ask because it recently occurred to me, and others, that there are a lot of petty people who spend a good amount of time bickering. I just don’t know if Springfield is unique in this way.

This observation arose after I spent Sunday evening reading the comments posted to the SJ-R’s online coverage of SHG’s run to the state championship. What I saw as a monumental achievement for the team and a source of pride for the community, was viewed by many others as the triumph of evil over good. Or more to the point, the triumph of the elite over the common man, although in the case of the particular people outraged at this event, the word “common” should be replaced by “simple”, or perhaps “pathetic.”

On the articles previewing the game, there were comments predicting that the Cyclones would go down hard in defeat. It’s doubtful that this prognosis was based on football-related knowledge of the team or their opponent; it was simply the wishful thinking of people who couldn’t stand the thought of them prevailing. After SHG won the championship, there were countless comments filled with disgust, accusations of injustice, and outright hatred. Sort of like what the reaction in the comments section here would be like if I announced that the Illinois Times had just won a Pulitzer Price.

Some of the criticism leveled did have merit, although most of it was just the paranoid ramblings from a group of people who obviously have little to be proud of and so would deny others that pleasure.

Yes SHG does have an advantage in that they aren’t restricted by public school boundaries. But this advantage is offset in a number of ways. There is the high cost of tuition, the higher than average academic eligibility requirements, and the IHSA’s multiplier rule designed to keep private schools competing in a higher class. Of course a delusional mind can easily discount these by stating, with all certainty, that SHG football players aren’t required to pay tuition or to go to class, and that they should be competing professionally because they are being paid. The people saying these things are the same ones who claim that the moon landing took place on a Hollywood sound stage and that the CIA is monitoring their thoughts through the neighbor’s satellite dish.

The reason that I asked the question on whether Springfield is unique in its divisiveness is because there were a couple of comments from non-Springfieldians who were amazed at the discord that erupted online over an amateur football game. Are the people in Addison or Bloomington-Normal up in arms because teams from their towns won championships this year and their own hometown alma mater didn’t? I don’t expect everyone to like SHG or to care that they won another state championship, but I do expect that adults would have enough dignity to not publicly condemn the achievements of a bunch of high school kids.

Full disclosure: I did attend Griffin High School, and I also took my elder son to the game in Champaign last Saturday. Perhaps someday he will play football for the Cyclones. We sure could use the money.

Kid! Be careful - broken glass!

2006-11-20T17:01:00.000-06:00

Blogging will again be light this week as other writing assignments are coming due. It shouldn’t make much of a difference as Nancy and Monkey Boy have been carrying the weight around here recently. Their discussion on police and the media is quite interesting.

I will interject one bit of new commentary. This weekend was the first time I was in a bar since the smoking ban went into effect. It occurred to me that there is a flaw in the amend-the-smoking-ban argument that I haven’t seen addressed, so I’ll take a moment to do so now.

The smoking ban wasn’t put into place to revitalize bar business by making taverns more tolerable to the non-smoking majority. It was enacted because it was determined that smoke-filled rooms are a health hazard that the government has a duty to protect the public against (you can argue with that if you like, but that’s why it was done.) Therefore, you can’t say that the smoking ban failed and should be amended because bar owners are losing business. If people are breathing in less secondhand smoke, which I would assume to be the case although I don’t know how you’d prove it, then the ban has been affective.

Some how, this needs to be explained to those who believe that health codes can not be enacted at the expense of turning a healthy profit. Allow me to try, using an analogy courtesy of the Not Ready for Primetime Players.

Mainway Industries - makers of such toys as Bag O’ Glass* (a bag of glass bits that teaches kids about light refraction), along with the Pretty Peggy Ear-Piercing Set, Mr. Skin-Grafter, and a Halloween costume called the Invisible Pedestrian – is a profitable company operating legally under what, at the time, are the applicable laws. A stinging exposé by Joan Face spurs a public outcry against Mainway, which results in the Consumer Product Safety Commission banning most of its products.

Company president Irwin Mainway is outraged, although would probably still like to take Ms. Face out for drinks. His company loses revenue, his distributors go out of business, and his customers can no longer sate their perverse desire to ply their children with dangerous toys. So what should be done?

According to the logic being deployed by the Illinois Licensed Beverage Association, the ban on Johnny Switchblade: Adventure Punk and other products that endanger the public health should be lifted so that Irwin can still afford to buy leisure suits with the money he makes selling said merchandise. It would be nice if he could make a living selling safe toys, but if his customers want to put an element of danger under the Christmas tree, then government has no right to interfere.

Of course this isn’t a perfect analogy because bars aren’t selling secondhand smoke, it’s simply a byproduct. But unlike lrwin, bar owners aren’t being forced to give up their livelihood, they just have to adjust to changing market conditions. It’s unfortunate that those conditions aren’t balanced at the present time (see: the Barrel Head), but just because kids in North Korea can still get a General Tron's Secret Police Confession Kit for their birthday, doesn’t mean that we should put them back on the market here.

*The company did include a warning with this product: "Kid! Be careful - broken glass!"

Hang Your Head Greg Hullum

2006-11-15T18:13:00.000-06:00

When the news first hit that Springfield was under siege from a serial bandit, I, like most of you, had one question foremost in my mind: Was the holdup person wearing a red hat? Even after a physical description was released indicating that the perpetrator was a 6 foot tall black man, I still didn’t completely dismiss the possibility of a red scourge, knowing how several of the “Society’s” made members are masters of disguise. It wasn’t until a drapery shop was hit and there were no reports of taffeta curtains being purloined that I felt comfortable that the Red Hats were not involved.

After rationally dismissing my arch enemies, I did let my imagination wander a bit as to the robber’s identity. I figured that he fancied himself a Robin Hood or Billy the Kid type character. Perhaps he imagined that the downtrodden and the working class were cheering on his brazen crime spree as it played out on the front page. Perhaps he thought some lonely convenience store clerk, a beauty lost in a world of beef jerky and 98oz. soft drinks, would see past his revolver and into his heart, and impulsively run away with him to the getaway car. Perhaps he yearned to be understood and hoped that someday, some dark troubadour would pen a folk song in his honor. Or maybe he just needed money for crack.

The one thing that I did know for sure was that if I entered a Qik-n-EZ and saw someone matching his description brandishing a weapon, I had the option of turning around and heading out the door. I’m relatively certain that I would have just that. But it’s important to remember that not everyone had the option. I speak, of course, of our men and women in blue.

It’s doubtful that many of us who aren’t police officers or who haven’t served in the military, know what it is like to have to confront someone who may try to kill us. The police knew the suspect was armed and that he wasn’t wary of pulling the trigger, yet they pursued and apprehended him, because, that’s their job. And it’s a job that most of us wouldn’t want.

This isn’t to suggest that the police’s bravery puts them above criticism when they run afoul of the law or exhibit objectionable behavior. But it should remind us that the people we’ve grown accustomed to slinging arrows at, are willing to take a bullet for us. That point probably doesn't get made enough.

I Wanted to Incinerate November*

2006-11-10T17:39:00.000-06:00

There is something Rockwellian about doing yard work in autumn. Just a man, his rake, and the vestiges of spring laid fallen at his feet. Maybe his children are about as well, jumping into piles of fallow-colored leaves that crumble and stick to their wool jackets. And that's mother there on the porch, a bottle of absinth in one hand and a scythe in the other, standing beside her midget manservant who is vigorously whistling the love theme to Titanic.

Oh, wait . . . I said Rockwellian, not David Lynchian. Scratch the liquor and the midget and give mom some cups of hot cider to hold.

Anyway, my point is that I find raking leaves to be a spiritually satisfying experience. It's a nostalgic endeavor that beckons to a simpler time when man was more in touch with nature. And more likely to set fire to it.

I'm old enough to remember when folks used to rake their leaves onto the street curb and then light a match. Maybe this wasn't the safest means to dispose of leaves, but we didn't lose anybody either, at least not in my family.

The flames brought ritual to the autumn season as the smoke venerated the air in preparation for the cold fronts that would descend from the north. There was also something~ transcendent in seeing a maple's worth of leaves reduced to a small pile of ash.

But that idyllic scene only exists in memories or in unincorporated areas of the city. Raking leaves has lost much of its luster now that the matches have been taken away and we're forced to cram all of the damn things into paper sacks. There has to be better way.

Far be it for me to light a fire and curse another's breathing difficulties, but surely a community can remain in harmony and still allow a couple of fall Saturdays for the burning of the leaves. Perhaps we could arrange a sister city agreement with Decatur for alternate weekend burnings. Springfield could ship its asthmatics to the Soybean City on even weekends and Springfield could return the favor on odd weekends. Anyone averse to the smell of burning foliage could leave town at dawn and return at nightfall, once the smoke had cleared.

It occurs to me that this solution might also appease those upset with the smoking ban. Smokers could dine and imbibe in Springfield on odd days and in Decatur on even days. Of course, if this plan were to be implemented the section of I-72 that connects the two cities would have to be renamed the Gary Busey Expressway in honor of all the impaired drivers who would attempt the commute. Perhaps this is not one of my better ideas.

As of this writing, 10 sacks of leaves line the terrace next to my mailbox. The paper bags are already brittle from the weekend's rain. Should the bottom fall out of the sacks as the disposal agent is hoisting them into his truck, there will be left another pile of leaves for me to deal with. If I'm lucky, a wild at heart Elvis acolyte will drive by in a convertible and, in slow motion as Chris Isaak plays on the car radio, he'll flip his lit cigarette into the pile of leaves that will ignite in a flash, as if doused in gasoline. Sometimes, we need to get a little Lynchian with our yard work.

Postscript
I wrote this mostly satirical post earlier this week. Coincidently, in the SJ-R's special 175th anniversary edition** today, there is an article on how and why the leaf burning ban went into effect in the 1980s. Apparently it was more of a health hazard than I remember. So in the interest of public health any lifting of the leaf burning ban should be restricted to rakers/bloggers of Lithuanian origin. That should keep the smoke to a minimum.

*This title reads catchier if you're familiar with the Teenage Fanclub song, "December."

**This is quite an impressive piece of work that provides a walk through Springfield's past. In addition to all of the great articles and pictures, there is one ad with beautifully-written copy.

~Thanks to Josh Durham for catching this mistake.

Oy Vey!

2006-11-08T16:43:00.000-06:00

I could not be more disappointed in my fellow electorate than I am right now. Although in a world where Titanic can win Best Picture, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that Rod Blagojevich was elected to a second term.

After being thoroughly dismayed upon reading this morning’s headline in the SJ-R, a gloom that was lifted momentarily upon reading the editorial staff’s opion piece*, I was left with this thought. If you were to put L. Madigan, D. Hynes, and J. White in a room with Blagojevich, who in their right mind would pick Rod to be the boss? Meritocracy was clearly not in play here. Democrats have a lot to crow about nationally today, but they should stop and think how they allowed the crude to rise to the top when there was plenty of cream in the state’s cup.

I can’t recall ever disliking a politician as much as I do Blagojevich. Although I had a rather low opinion of George Ryan, somehow his grumpy personae made his corruptive activities more tolerable. He was a shady politician who had the decency to look and act the part. Sure he would deny allegations of wrong doing, but he never gave the impression that he cared if you believed him.

Blagojevich, on the other hand, wants you to love him while he’s lying to you. He wants you to belove him as a great leader for providing healthcare to children, but he wants you to be dim enough not to notice that the state can’t afford it. Even though the curtain has been pulled back for some time now, he’s still pretending to be the great and powerful Blag. Dorothy and I aren’t buying it, but apparently there are a lot of munchkins out there whose knowledge of state government is limited to what can be found in 30 second campaign commercials.

One more thing. I don’t like to comment on superficialities, but this opinion surfaced again a couple of times recently and so I’m compelled to ask: among which species is Blagojevich considered handsome? If all it takes to be considered a good looking guy is a full head of hair, then why wasn’t Emo Phillips asked to star opposite Julia Roberts in Pretty Women? It might have made that insipid movie somewhat tolerable.

Okay, that’s it for the election coverage. I’ll stop being bitter now. We survived Pretty Woman 2 and, somehow, we’ll survive the Return of Virility.

*They called the governor a pansy. Actually they were telling him to stop being a pansy. Same thing though.

Should this be allowed?

2006-11-02T16:57:00.000-06:00

It seems, at times, that the public participation portion the SJ-R’s editorial page is nothing more than personal squabbles between partisans and severely rehashed arguments concerning the smoking ban. Occasionally, however, a letter will appear that peaks one’s interest because it brings to light an infrequently pondered issue.

Earlier this week, a letter was printed from a local high school soccer player who was voicing his displeasure at what he felt was a slight directed at one of his teammates. Last weekend, the day after his team had been eliminated from state playoff competition, the SJ-R published a story on the game that included a photograph of his side’s vanquished goalie, a picture taken just after their opponents had scored the winning goal.

The letter writer* felt that the combination of the photograph, that showed his friend splayed face first in the turf, along with the chosen wording of the caption, painted an unfair picture of the effort put forth by his fallen comrade.

The caption read: “SHG goalie Zach Lloyd lies on the ground after allowing Quincy’s game-winning goal in overtime.”

I read this caption when it was first published and don’t recall giving it a second thought. Even now that I’ve considered it further, I still don’t think that there was an attempt by the caption writer to be snarky or otherwise inject his or her opinion of the goalie’s performance that evening. Yet I see where the letter writer is coming from.

At issue here is the use of the word “allowing”, and how it has come to have a specialized meaning on the sports page.

We often read such things as the pitcher “allowed seven bases-on-balls over six innings” or the defense “allowed their opponent to get in field goal range in the game’s final minute.”

“Allowed” is a common locution in sports vernacular where it doesn’t really adhere to the usual meanings such as “conceded” or “permitted to happen”. It is more accurately interpreted to mean “failed to prevent.”

However, for someone not familiar with the routine meaning of this word when used on the sports page, it could easily be read to mean that pitcher or defense shamefully and intentionally ceded their duties and allowed their opponent the advantage. Or in the case of the goalie, that he was laying down on the job, the impression that the young letter writer was left with.

Perhaps the first sports writer who used the word “allowed” did suspect that the subject he was writing about had given up or failed to exert the proper effort, and thus he carefully chose this word to subtly pass along his assessment to the reader. Perhaps, on occasion, it is still used today to interject a bit of editorial comment. But mostly it’s just a space-saving way to write “failed to stop.”

That said, I do think that it is a poor choice of words that, however unintentional, demeans the person or team it is directed towards. The courageous and plucky Limeys didn’t “allow” my daughter to score two goals, standing idly by as victory was snatched from their tight grasp, they were simply overwhelmed by a force greater than themselves. To suggest otherwise is to disparage those young sportsmen in a manner most unfair.

Okay, so maybe you didn’t find this letter as thought provoking as I did. It still beats reading the ramblings of yet another letter writer who thinks that it is the height of cleverness to wonder sarcastically if the city will now ban cheeseburgers because they too are a health hazard. Why do they allow that crap in the newspaper?

*Full disclosure: The letter-writing soccer player happens to be the nephew of an old college buddy, a circumstance that played no part in my choosing to blog about this topic.

Sexist Press Attacks Working Women: Updated

2006-10-31T16:20:00.000-06:00

Here’s my question to the journalists working the governor beat: When the governor says something that defies logic and reason for the sole purpose of deflecting legitimate inquiries into allegations of wrongdoing, why do you dignify such assaults on common sense by reporting them?

As you may know, BFS reader, it has come to light that the governor’s wife (a woman) earned a rather significant chunk of change on a real estate transaction with a person (another woman) who in turn conducts business with the state (a unit of a nation). Many people, especially those who are familiar with the state’s ethics test, think that this little arrangement at the very least gives the perception of impropriety and is not becoming a reformer's better half.

What did the governor think about people questioning his wife's dealings? Probably not much until his spin doctors came up with a counter punch that I’m sure they imagined would leave their detractors doubled over in shame.

The governor, again channeling Jackie Childs, said that anyone who would question the legitimacy of his wife's business transactions is a Neandrethal who probably thinks that women should be kept barefoot and pregnant. You see, this story isn’t about selling government favor, it’s about the media’s dogged pursuit to keep women oppressed. Because we know that most reporters, even women reporters, would like nothing more than to see society return to an earlier time, circa Father Knows Best, when the fairer sex didn’t have to concern themselves with anything more serious than not burning the pot roast and getting Kitten off to school on time. So let’s just leave all of this confusing real estate business to the men, shall we.

Anyone even remotely conscious knows that this line of defense, to borrow a couple of his administration’s favorite words, is ridiculous and ludicrous. So why bother reporting it? And if you are going to cover it, make him first identify exactly who he is calling a Neandrethal and then provide evidence to backup his claim. Of course he wouldn’t answer because the team of scientists who prepare him for public appearances didn’t condition him to respond to those questions.

It could be said that by running with his comments, the media is allowing the governor to embarrass himself more publicly. And to the rational segment of the populace, he has. But there are some people, those who fell in love with the heroic man-of-the-people depicted in his political ads, who will think that his poor wife is under attack by the evil forces of the ultra-conservative media.

Let the governor spin yarns as much as he wants when he’s paying for media space, don’t let him do it for free.

Postscript
To everyone who voted for Blagojevich in the Democratic primary four years ago, please note: His opponent in that election, Paul Vallas, was just named one of America’s best leaders by U.S. News and World Report. Vallas became the superintendent of Philadelphia public schools after you decided that Illinois would be better served by someone pretending to be a leader. Even though he is currently under fire from Philadelphia’s mayor for a school budget shortfall of around $80M, that fact that Vallas isn’t proposing to sell and lease back all of the city’s high schools is a good indication that Illinois would be in better shape today, and tomorrow, if you hadn’t fallen for that whole Elvis shtick. Hope you’re happy.

UPDATE:
I do realize that if the press wants to question the governor on this issue, that they have to report his response, however stupid it may be. It's frustrating to me, however, how easily the governor and his people can use the media to distract voters from the real issue.

Here's another take on this issue that a Monkey recommended.

Ave Maria

2006-10-28T20:04:00.000-05:00

I don't blog about sports very often, but I think that it is safe to say that anyone who witnessed that game will never forget it. Decades from now, when a new era of degraded sporting competition causes us purists to yearn for the day when pride really mattered, contemporaries will look at each other and say: "Where were you when Shoe Carnival beat that team with the fluorescent lime jerseys?"

The Shoes had dominated their YMCA soccer competition, playing with a spunky determination that quickly won the hearts of their parents, grandparents, and the occasional passerby. But on this Saturday, the deck would be stacked against them.

A series of family commitments conspired into a perfect storm of player absences, leaving the depleted Shoes left to compete with the minimum of six players plus goalie. A good deal of the team's fire power would not take the field this day, as the Limeys were surely aware of. But little did they know that their bravado would soon be deflated, punctured by the right foot of a Shoe who was different than all the others.

Fast forward to the second half. With no substitutes to spell them, the Shoes stout seven – who history will remember as Quin, Neil, Felix, Noah, Billy, Patch, and Maria - were beginning to fade. The ferocious attack that so many times had sent the opposing goalie running into the corn fields was but a faint breeze that chilled no one. Trailing two goals to one, victory was escaping from their grasp with every passing second. Hope, it seemed, had left to go watch the SHG game.

That is, dear sports fan, until the daughter of a certain blogger decided that failure did not become the Shoes' proud tradition. Her AWOL teammates would not be made to taste defeat from afar, not if she, the only girl on their team, had anything to say about it.

Midway through the third quarter, Maria took an errant pass at midfield and made her way upfield. With a determination not seen since the allies stormed Normandy, Maria took the ball directly at the defenders. The crowd stood frozen. Despite the Limeys' three to one advantage, they could sense that something was afoot. Something was! The ball, which settled into the right corner of the net for the tying goal.

A renewed vigor raced through the Shoes and their fans. Defeat no longer seemed imminent. But dare they dream of victory? One did.

Just minutes later, in a scene that surely sent chills of deja vu down the spines of the Limeys, Maria again took possession at midfield. As she raced downfield, she eyed not the defenders who awaited her, but the big prize that she aimed to shoot down. The Limeys attacked, determined not to fall behind and miss the chance to avenge an earlier loss. Their resistance proved futile as Maria fired the ball towards the goal, this time coming to rest in the left side of the net. Shoes 3, Limeys 2.

The scoring was done for the day. Maria and Neil Brown had tallied the winning goals. The Limeys would mount several respectable attacks in the fourth quarter, but their fate had already been determined when they failed to account for the girl who was coming off of her second three-goal game of the season just the week before.

There are those who will say that Maria's performance would have been more impressive had it come in the game's waning minutes. But such last-second, depicted in slow-motion moments have become clichéd in the sporting world and she would never sacrifice true heroics for cheap dramatics. This was, in its essence, the spirit of athletic competition personified, and no Hollywood reinterpretation could ever render it more impressive.

Where was I when Shoe Carnival beat that team with the fluorescent lime jerseys? I was there, man, I was right there. And I couldn't have been prouder.

Endorsing the Horse Race

2006-10-24T16:46:00.000-05:00

As announced in an editorial on Monday, the SJ-R has started making their endorsements for the November elections. Not surprisingly, that liberal mainstream media outlet kicked things off by casting their lot with two Democratic candidates running for the Illinois House. Or is the real story here that the notoriously conservative newspaper again bowed to their corporate masters by endorsing a Republican in the 18th Congressional District. Either way, their endorsements will surely rankle folks on both sides of the political divide. That’s a good sign for anyone who prefers to vote for a candidate rather than the parenthesized initial that follows their name.

People who nod approvingly to every utterance that escapes Rush’s lips or take as gospel every word posted by the faithful on Daily Kos, for some reason get offended when a newspaper deigns to weigh-in with who they think will best serve the public’s interest. Having gotten used to being preached at from their comfy place in the choir loft, these party zealot’s become confused when presented with divergent points of view and attribute the dissonance to any number of faults or shortcomings harbored by those who don’t sing the same hymns of praise.

While the Web holds the possibility of opening us up to the entire spectrum of political thought, it has better served to reinforce our previously held convictions. No matter how delusional your world view, you can find someone who agrees with you and together you can mock and distrust the rest of us idiots.

That’s why it’s important, for those who don’t view elections as contests between blue and red, to occassionally wade into the media’s mainsteam for a little perspective. And I do think that newspaper endorsements, for the most part, are made with more consideration of more diverse factors than is offered by the Limbaughs and Zunigas of the world.

Not that their endorsements should be written down on the palm of your hand before you enter the voting booth. Their rationale for picking a certain candidate might provide the very thing that sways you to vote for the opponent. If so, then you have still been done a service.

Is there a reason to listen to the people who make up a newspaper’s editorial board any more intently than the five guys who hold court down at the end of the bar? After all, editorial boards are made up of people and all people have biases that slant their objectivity. You can’t assume that the J-schooled bunch is more politically aware than the PBR-fueled bunch, and the guys in the bar may have interests more closely related to your own.

The difference lies in access. Political candidates, especially those running above the local level, aren’t likely to sit down at Pat’s Tap for a little Q&A with the regulars. Those candidates do sit down with the editorial boards. Newspapers also have teams of reporters who attend every press conference and media event. They hear the things being muttered below the din of all the grandly pronounced slogans and promises. It’s almost as if the media in these instances are acting as the eyes and ears of the public - a fourth estate, if you will, to help the public check the powers of the other three branches of government.

That is exactly what a newspaper and other media are supposed to do. Obviously, some fail at this mission. But part of this failure lies not in their inability to report the news, or offer endorsements, with a reasonable degree of objectivity, but in the public’s steadfast refusal to believe anything that challenges their preconceived notions. As any grad student in communications can tell you, sometimes it’s not the message or the messenger that distorts reality, but the receiver.

As stated in Monday’s editorial, the reasons that some newspapers have stopped giving endorsements is because of the perception that it will slant future reporting on the candidates and that the media shouldn’t be in the business of king making. If you do think that all newspapers immediately bow down to the candidates they “coronate”, consider this: while the editorial board at the Chicago Sun-Times was endorsing Rod Blagojevich, the paper’s reporters were busy uncovering more evidence linking the governor to some shady dealings with his recently indicted fundraiser and intimate, Tony Rezko. This does make me question the soundness of their endorsement, but it also affirms that they are still committed to the public’s interest.

It’s amusing that if someone distrusts the SJ-R to the degree that they would respond contrarily to their every endorsement, that that person would be voting across party lines. That’s at least a step in the right direction, even if it is being made blindly.

Postscript

I have, in the past, shown my preference in certain races by not voting for any candidate. To paraphrase Geddy Lee, something I do sparingly as it tends to hurt my throat, by choosing not to decide, I still have made a choice. Some consider this derelict of my duties as citizen in a democracy. I consider it a silent protest. So is voter apathy, when borne out of disgust rather than laziness, a meaningful expression of political preference?

Newspaper stuff, a question for bloggers, and how AC/DC let me down

2006-10-17T20:31:00.000-05:00

My monthly SJ-R column celebrated International Newspaper Carrier Day by harkening back to my days as a paper boy. Here’s just a sample of what at-home subscribers were asked to stomach while sipping their morning coffee last Sunday.

It was the ability to consistently answer the early-morning call that separated us paperboys from our contemporaries, who chose pampered pursuits such as store clerk or burger flipper to earn a little spending money. While the rest of the town lay snuggly in their beds, we were setting the day into motion by greasing the wheels of civic life through the delivery of the local daily, the lifeblood of the community.

There was a special camaraderie among paperboys in those days. A few of my fellow carriers and I occasionally would gather on the corner after completing our rounds. Here we would swap stories of bravely facing down vicious dogs and espying comely housewives as they attempted to stealthily retrieve their paper while still in their nighties. Old man Fishburn, our district manager, would drive up to say hello while suspiciously eyeing our bags to see that all of our papers had been delivered.

So it turns out that detectives in trouble aren’t a temporary thing, as I so cleverly and erroneously opined last summer. I’ve kept quiet as more and more published reports have questioned their ethics and practices in carrying out their duties. The Bloggers Code of Conduct dictates that I now speak.

Although I never defended the detectives beyond the fact that no charges were ever filed against them, I did suggest that a certain weekly publication was slanting their coverage to disparage the duo. After reading parts of the report that the SJ-R has posted online, it seems that the IT was on to something with their renegade cops angle. They’ve earned the right to gloat a bit in the comment’s section, but I suspect that they won’t.

I had some down time this weekend so I decided to look-up the lyrics to AC/DC’s “Givin’ the Dog a Bone.” I was appalled, nay, sickened at what I discovered. That song’s not about forced child labor in third world Asian countries. It about advocating the teachings of the Crawlin’ Kingsnake John Lee. Just when you think you know a band.

Call it vanity if you will, but I occasionally Google BlogFreeSpringfield to see what blogs and other Web sites are referencing or linking to my work here. Most bloggers will tell you that such searches will occasionally result in a surprise or two. Someone unknown to them will have stumbled across something on their blog and found it compelling or ridiculous enough to mention on their own site.

I was fortunate enough to find something that I wrote here about Barack Obama on the Chicago Tribune Web site. They didn’t credit me personally, but they did mention BFS. What’s more, I must have been making sense at the time I wrote the passage because it wasn’t listed under a category called “Idiot Ramblings of Downstate Bloggers.”

A question then for all of you bloggers: where was the most surprising place you found a link or a reference to your blog?

Where I'm Calling From II

2006-10-13T16:16:00.000-05:00

I hadn’t planned on taking requests for this feature, but last week new BFS reader Mick Shrimpton was hollering for one of his favorites. So Mick, this goes out to you.

I admit I’ve never heard AC/DC’s “Givin’ the Dog a Bone.” I am, however, familiar enough with the band that I can probably give you a pretty could analysis of the song’s subtext.

It’s well known that AC/DC is one of the most socially conscious and politically astute bands in the history of rock ‘n’ roll. Long before Bono thought to use his celebrity to lobby heads of state on behalf of the poor, the boys from Australia were fighting against injustice throughout the world. They used the stage as a soapbox and their amplifiers as bullhorns to deliver their call for righteous upheaval against the status quo.

Born on the left and nurtured on Marxist philosophy, AC/DC seized the torch that shed light on the rampant capitalism that was preying upon third world nations. Although he played a secondary role during their musical performances, rhythm guitarist Malcolm Young took the lead from his brother Angus and late frontman Bon Scott in screaming out against forced corporate servitude. Malcolm was particularly sympathetic to the underclass in oppressed Asian nations, where he visited as part of an Amnesty International fact finding tour in the late 70s, right before the band commenced writing songs for the Back in Black album. It’s based on this knowledge that I assume that Malcolm was responsible for the lyrics to “Givin the Dog a Bone.”

As I said, I’ve never heard the song and I can’t be bothered to look up the lyrics, but really, the title says it all. I’ve also been told that the word “union” is in the song, which is in keeping with my assumption and the band’s alliance with the workers’ movement.

The “dog” referred to in the title comes from the phrase “worked like dogs” and is a symbol for Taiwanese sweatshop slaves. Singer Brian Johnson is most likely calling attention to the children who are forced into labor in textile plants, although some would argue that AC/DC would have called the song “Givin’ the Puppy a Bone” if this were the case. I disagree. The dog and bone metaphor is more commonly known, and, despite the fact that the AC/DC fan base is probably one of the more sophisticated you’ll find, Malcolm nevertheless would not have wanted to confuse the message over such a trivial matter.

The “bone” that he demands be delivered to the workers signifies many things. A living wage. Proper healthcare. Better working conditions. A sense of respect. In short, the humanity that these children deserve.

The message of “Givin’ the Dog a Bone” is as simple as it is powerful. I’m sure the ruling class was none too happy to hear it blaring over their FM tuners while they slept walked through the Reagan years. Great pressure surely came down from the band’s corporate record label to tone down the band’s incendiary political views. But one listen to “Put the Finger on You” from the band’s follow-up album, For Those About to Rock, will tell you that their beliefs could not be suppressed and that AC/DC would never fall into the mold of just another stupid, sex-crazed rock band.

Some have suggested that “Givin’ the Dog a Bone” is about a series of promiscuous sexual encounters. This is clearly a lazy interpretation rooted in the retarded sexuality of certain depraved listeners. If such raunchy romps are your cup of tea, however, I would recommend that you listen to “Beds are Burning” by another Aussie favorite, the sugar-coated boy band, Midnight Oil. The title really does say it all in that sleazy song.

Should this anthem for the oppressed ever be made into a movie, I envision Givin’ the Dog a Bone along the lines of Norma Rae or Gung Ho - a stirring epic that speaks to the audience’s sense of justice for the working man.

For the role of the foreign liberator who fights on behalf of the subjugated workers, there is really only one choice: Edward James Olmos. His steely compassion and barely contained rage will instantly attract the peasants while making their corporate overlords quake in their Italian shoes (made in Korea.)

As the de facto leaders of the fractured children’s resistance movement: Haley Joel Osment and Dakota Fanning. It may seem odd in a movie based in Taiwan to pick two actors with decidedly un-Occidental features, but trust me, you need sweet and wholesome if you expect Western audiences to sit still through a three-hour docu-drama on the plight of the underclass in a forcibly industrialized nation.

The only other major characters in the film will be the children’s haggard-but-not-broken mothers. Both are seamstresses who also double as models for Nike’s sweatshop-produced swim wear. We viewers will be appalled at the way Michael Jordon’s corporate masters exploit cheap labor, but impressed with the new line of high-performance bikinis. Regular readers to this blog can probably guess which actresses will take on these critical roles and fill a majority of the 180-minute screen time.*

Well that’s it for this week. Tune in again next time, although I can’t promise when that will be. Unless I get another request, I’ll probably take Laura’s advice and cover the Capra-esque “Mr. Harris” by Aimee Mann, a song about the great Steeler running back and his quest to find love outside the huddle.

Amanda Peet and Angelina Jolie are Taiwanese seamstresses who struggle for their children’s future in Givin' the Dog a Bone.

Burn Down the Mansion

2006-10-12T16:55:00.000-05:00

Occasionally, although rarely, a college athletic program will become so rife with such violations as payments to recruits, no-show jobs for players, tutors completing class assignments and professors in bed with the coach, that it is considered recidivist. The level of corruption is so abhorrent and inherent that the university determines that a new coach or stricter restrictions won’t be enough to clean up the mess, so they pull the plug on the entire operation. We may have reached that point with the office of governor for the state of Illinois.

With our previous governor headed for prison and our current governor itching to join him, it could be that corruption is so ingrained in the governorship that even if someone as seemingly honest as Glen Poshard would have been elected, he too would have surrounded himself with money-grubbing backroom dealers and ethically-devoid spin doctors. So let’s burn down the mansion and try to make a go of it the ungubernatorially way.

This may upset the plans of Judy Barr Topinka and Rich Whitney, but probably not.

It appears obvious that Topinka doesn’t really want the job. As I recall, she took over the Republican Party leadership for a couple of years quite reluctantly, driven only by a sense of loyalty. Based on her half-hearted campaign for governor, it appears that duty inspired her to run, but nothing is inspiring her to win.

As for Whitney, he should know that he stands no chance in our restrictive two-party system and if he believes otherwise, he’s unfortunately too delusional to serve. We’ve already seen what delusions can do at the highest ranks of state government.

Abolishing the governorship will not cure the state’s most pressing ailments; we’re still headed for financial ruin and legislators will still be too cowardly to deal with it prudently. But it will save us further embarrassment and Patrick Fitzgerald will have more time to spend with his family.

Now, we’ll just need to decide what native son or daughter’s name will be on the highway signs welcoming travelers to Illinois. Jeff Tweedy? Joan Cusack? Cindy Crawford? Barack Obama? As long as it isn’t Oprah.

Where I'm Calling From

2006-10-06T16:07:00.000-05:00

Here’s the new semi-regular feature I warned you about last week. I’ve added pictures to keep you interested should you grow weary from the text.

Also in the interest of making this feature less boring, since most of you probably aren’t familiar with this song, I thought it might be interesting to cast the parts if this song were ever to be made into a short feature. But first, our feature presentation.

This week’s entry is from Tom Waits. Delivered as they are from his skid-row troubadour personae, Waits’ lyrics often run from fiendishly funny to downright disturbing. But on the song “I Hope That I Don’t Fall in Love with You” he delves compassionately into the soul of a lonesome barfly who lives life in his head, while his head is in a bottle.

As the song starts, the lead actor, who we’ll call Tom, is at his usual place. We assume he’s been there for some time, probably years. Tom spots a woman from across the room. With the music playing in the bar supplying the soundtrack, his liquor-fortified imagination sets the reel rolling on a love story, if only it could be.

Without a word spoken or a glance exchanged, Tom picks-up on her heart’s yearning for him. He pretends to resist, telling himself that he doesn’t need the heartache. Another beer, and he can hear her calling to him.

By the second verse he seems less sure of her attraction and he wonders if he should approach. Would she take pity on a lonely fool? Does she understand those “tomcat feelings” that make men start to pine when darkness falls?

Tom searches for an in, a way of introduction. Maybe she is just as lonely as he is and it would simply be a matter of bumming a smoke. As each verse ends, he protects himself from the inevitable heartbreak by repeating to himself that he doesn’t want to fall in love again.

As time passes, the only interaction he is able to muster is with his glass. Rising from his stupor, induced by equal parts reverie and whiskey, Tom realizes that the music has stopped playing. A hazy search across the bar reveals that she has gone. It’s closing time. He fell in love.

The cast of I Hope I Don't Fall in Love with You

The obviously choice to play Tom is Waits himself. He’s demonstrated his acting chops in several films, but his turns usually have a comedic element to them that would distract from the forlornness of our tale.

Paul Giamatti would be a good choice based on his expressive face and ability to communicate emotion without words, but he ultimately lacks the Bohemian-ness the role requires.

So we’ll have to get Sean Penn down off of his soapbox to play the part. Nobody broods and mumbles as artfully as Mr. Spicoli. His ability to seem rugged yet vulnerable makes him the perfect choice to play a hardened character who douses his melting heart with alcohol.

For the role of the anonymous dame who stirs Tom’s imagination, it’s tempting to go with Angelina Jolie or Amanda Peet. Of course, if I were casting the role of Eleanor in an FDR biopic, I’d be tempted to sign-up Angelina or Amanda. The more movies these two are in, the better for all of us.** Although it pains me to say this, perhaps we shouldn’t let infatuation interfere with the artistic integrity of the production.

Faye Dunaway has to be considered based on the strength of her performance as Wanda in Barfly. She was a drunken mess of emotions in that film, but we need someone with an outward appearance of grace that only hints at an inner turmoil.

Ellen Barkin, she of the wide-set eyes and crooked smile, has an offbeat sexiness that would shine through in even the dimmest and smoke-filled of bars. She’s also a bit crazy, a trait that comes through in all of her roles. I could believe that Tom would fall for her. He’d think her approachable if he could just bottled-up enough courage, yet unattainable enough that he would never make it off of his stool.

The only other role that could reasonably be written-in to the film would be that of the bartender.

We could go the comedic cameo route and cast Woody Harrelson, but that would be too jokey and distracting. Steve Buscemi is always great at bringing eccentricity and peculiarity to nondescript roles such as this. But this is Seymour Cassel’s part to lose. If you walked into some seedy tavern tonight and saw him tending bar, even if you did recognize him from Rushmore or the Royal Tenenbaums, you wouldn’t think it odd when he poured you a rye and asked about that shiner under your left eye.

And that’s my little attempt at artistic interpretation for this week. After writing this, it occurred to me that it would be easier to write about songs that I despise. Believe you me; I have quite a few things to say about the lyrics to that inane James Blunt song.

*The title comes from my favorite collection of short stories, written by Raymond Carver.

** See what I mean

It's outrageous! Egregious! Preposterous!

2006-10-04T18:26:00.000-05:00

In legal circles, at least in those depicted in television sitcoms, there is a strategy known as the Jackie Childs defense. It requires that the accused, or their representation, not only claim innocence to whatever charges have been brought forth, but also demonstrate outrage that such accusations could ever be seriously considered in the first place. It’s an abomination. A dereliction. A grievous transgression. Rhyming is important in selling this defense, as is the ability to portray righteous indignation in the face of damning evidence. And it works.. Just ask O.J., who had the good fortune of being represented by Childs’ mentor, the late Johnnie Cochran.

Recently, this defense has been taken out of the criminal court house and into the court of public opinion by politicians who are being forced to address embarrassing, and possibly even unethical or illegal, behavior.

Rod Blagojevich has used the “ludicrous and ridiculous” rebuttal numerous times to avoid answering direct questions about a $1,500 check of suspicious intent. And today, we hear U.S. Representative John Shimkus use the same spiel, right down to employing the same two words, to deflect accusations that he was derelict in his duties in protecting young boys from a miscreant* House member.

Even those people who aren’t familiar with the satirical stylings of Phil Morris** can recognize when someone doth protest too much. By taking such dramatic offense at legitimate inquiries into their actions, rapscallions doth shroud themselves in guilt’s cloak.***

Without getting into any argument as to their relative innocence or guilt in these matters, allow me to posit a strategy that would allow Blagojevich and Shimkus to come across more like men of valor and less like politicians.

Blagojevich might say something along these lines: “I realize that a $1,500 check given to my daughter by a friend whose wife was just hired by the state has raised some red flags for many of you, but let me assure, it was a legitimate gift.”

Shimkus might say something like this: “As head of the page program I take full responsibility for what transpired, but my ability to act appropriately was impeded by Mr. Foley’s deceit.”

You might still say “Bullsh**!”, but at least you wouldn’t say it as vehemently as you do now in response to their acting as if they are the victim of a lynch mob. You’d also be more willing to hear their side of the story.

Not that these issues aren’t being politicized to some extent. It would be naive to think that there aren’t some Democrats who are strategizing over how to inflict the most political damage to the GOP as a result of the Foley scandal. It also seems obvious that some Republicans have let damage control get in the way of doing the right thing. The thing to remember here, however, is that most people’s primary concern isn’t who controls the House after the next election, but whether or not are elected leaders can be trusted to protect the welfare of teenagers put into their charge.

If politicians simply don’t have it in them to be humble or contrite in the face of allegations, at least they can channel Jackie Childs in one of less boisterous moments and declare: "This is the most public yet of my many humiliations." I think that would merit a Huzzah! from the jury.

*So as not to offend the Friends of Karr, let me say that I hope that Mark Foley receives a spirited defense from a valiant defense lawyer, and only then should he rot in jail.

**The actor who played Jackie Childs. For a free, “We’re #2”, BFS t-shirt, should they become available, name the TV show that Morris’ father played in. A Springfield Rewind foam visor if you also get the character name. The No Google Rule is in effect.

***It’s hard not to mimic the language of the Bard, whoever he may be.

Blogs and Broken Singles

2006-09-29T16:29:00.000-05:00

First things first. Sarah Borges and the Broken Singles are playing at the Underground City Tavern on October 7. I hate to put this in such stark terms, but this is definitely a “be there or be square event” if you fancy yourself a music lover with a hipster bent.

Sarah recently won the Boston Music Award for best local female vocalist, and not without reason. She’s good the way Lucinda Williams is good and that’s real good. And so is her band. So I’m playing Leonard Trumper here and trying to promote the show. Here's a post I did on there last Springfield appearance.

Speaking of music, the Abstract Prosaic is making like Griel Marcus over at the Occasional Potato. If that isn’t clear to you, and for the life of me I can't figure out why it wouldn't be, try this: Jeff has posted some critical analysis/musings on two of the seminal records of the early nineties. It’s interesting stuff if you fancy yourself a music lover with a hipster bent.

Inspired by Jeff’s new direction and ThirtyWhat blog’s signature lyric coda, I’ve decided to start a new irregular feature to replace the classic From the Treadmill series that has laid dormant for many months now.

On each entry, this new feature will focus on a song that is exemplified by the craftsmanship of its lyrics. These type of songs speak more to the heart and mind then to those nether regions that popular music is often accused of appealing to. They have literary qualities and are often structured like a short story with a beginning, a middle, and an end, only instead of residing on the pages of a book or on a movie screen, the action transpires within the music.
For songs of this type to work, the lyrics have to be weaved into a melody. I’ve never cared for those folk singers who recite poetry or protest speeches over a C-A-D chord progression and try to pass it off as a song. They’ll be none of that here.

I’ve already several songs in mind for this feature, but I’ve yet to decide how to approach the review. I don’t want to get too academic in my analysis so that BFS doesn’t turn into 100-level poetry class, although I may point out literary devices used and try to ascribe meaning where none exists. Sounds boring already.

I also need a catchy title for the feature, something a little less stupid than “From the Treadmill.”

Anyway, look for it soon, or don’t, because I may not do it.

Of Kings and Kingston's

2006-09-26T19:07:00.000-05:00

A King's Ransom

No doubt some bloggers will take issue with the recent disclosure that Barak Obama is raking it in hand over fist. I find it reassuring.

An AP report states that the Obamas took in a cool $1.67 million last year, with Mrs. O chiming in with about $350,000 of that from her gigs as a hospital administrator and a board of directors member.

I don’t blame the senator for cashing in on his popularity with book deals and what not. As long as he has cash flowing in from publishing houses, he’ll be less tempted by the graft from the Jack Abramoff’s of the world. And although I do not doubt Michelle Obama’s qualifications, I can also understand why her employer might want to promote her and triple her salary. I’m sure that if my wife’s name was being bandied about as a possible presidential candidate, then my bosses would throw some extra dough my way so that I might remember them fondly should I ever become First Gentleman.

I’ve long held to the theory that the reason so many politicians are either lacking in aptitude or are just plain corrupt is because the job doesn’t pay well enough. Smart, honest people seek their fortunes elsewhere and slick, dishonest people see government as their personal treasury. Maybe Obama will serve to break this mold.

Fiscal conservatives might find something to hang their hat on with the Obama’s financial disclosure as well. I’m sure they’re hoping that the $545,614 in federal taxes that the senator paid last year will bring him around to the merits of the flat tax. I doubt it though.

The report also mentioned that the Obamas claimed childcare expenses. It doesn’t specify an amount, but I’d think that it must be rather high. That’s the one thing that puts a damper on the story of their rise to political and corporate royalty.

Everyone knows the hectic lifestyle of a senator, especially one with presidential aspirations. And everyone knows that executives pulling down what Michelle Obama makes typically put in a lot more than 40 hours a week. So as the Obamas become increasingly important to so many people, with money come demands after all, I just wonder how much time they spend with the two people to whom they are most important – their two daughters.

After the Smoke Cleared

The first tale of woe in a post-smoke society made its way to the letters-to-the-editor section today. The aggrieved proprietor of a local business was looking for answers. The smokers have abandoned him. Sales are down. His employees face dismissal. His suppliers wait on hold. Where, he demanded, are the non-smoking customers who were promised to him by the proponents of the smoking ban?

Well, his letter sure won’t help to draw them in because he neglects to give the name of his establishment.

If a person doesn’t have the sense to give his business a plug in a letter that is meant, at least in part, to drum up business, then perhaps he lacks the acumen to succeed, ban or no ban.

Speaking of the smoking ban, here’s an interesting story that someone could pursue. What percentage of the soon-to-be reconstructed Barrel Head will be designated as the smoking section? I know that the trend in recent years has been for larger smoke-free areas as the number of smokers has decreased. But the Barrel Head, tucked away as it is in the puff-friendly hamlet of Jerome, is in a unique position.

Even if you believe that the ban won’t have a detrimental effect on most businesses, it’s foolish to think that the BH isn’t going to siphon off some smoking patrons from the likes of D’Arcy’s and the Dublin Pub. So what’s the smart move here for the Brother Davlin?

If he grants complete asylum to the refugees from Carcinogenesia and promises an ash tray on every table, he risks turning the place into a nicotine den. On the other hand, if he allots half the restaurant as a safe-breathing zone, he might end up leaving some smokers waiting outside for a table while the smoke-free area remains unoccupied.

What would you do, if profit were your only motive?

We didn't start the fire*

2006-09-21T18:58:00.000-05:00

That Chris Britt is a very good editorial cartoonist is evident in his ability to present his viewpoint in such way that it instantly sparks debate. Often, vigorous debate. Such as the one I hope to have here now.

In today's offering, Britt show the Pope pouring fuel on the flames of Islamic bigotry. It's an interesting take.

There's no doubt that Islamic bigotry is on the rise, probably more so in European countries where Muslim immigrants are more segregated than they are in the U.S. Yet it's true that there are more negative feelings towards Islam here, and I admit to harboring some myself. In particular, I have trouble with the belief that the Islamic version of an eternal weekend in Vegas can be won by strapping a bomb to your chest and heading down to the deli. But I understand that not every Muslim shares in this belief and it's not fair to judge them as if they do.

I do wonder, however, if Britt doesn't overstate the effects of the Pope's words on Islamic bigotry. I haven't read any reports of mosques being burned, Imam's being murdered, or mass protests where likenesses of Mohammed are burned in effigy. So the Pope didn't douse an anti-Islamic uprising with gasoline, so much as squirt a little lighter fluid on people's quietly-held prejudices.

The Pope's comments did prove to be quite incendiary to some Islamics, who in response attacked Christian churches, murdered a nun, and set fire to papal-like puppets while demanding an apology or his pointy-hatted head on a platter.

It strikes me as more than a bit absurd to respond to accusations that your religion spurs violence by becoming violent. If being called a lush sends you straight to the bottle, then the problem isn't the name caller.

There are more important lessons to be learned from this incident than simply that the Pope should be more careful to not offend Muslims. For example, that people should be free to practice whichever religion they choose, or no religion at all. That criticism often leads to understanding, even though it may sting a bit at first. And most importantly, that free speech is essential to a free society and should be fiercely defended.

Anne Applebaum, writing for Slate**, made this last point quite well while addressing the Western response to this incident:

I don't mean that we all need to rush to defend or to analyze this particular sermon: I leave that to experts on Byzantine theology (and to my colleague Christopher Hitchens). But we can all unite in our support for freedom of speech-surely the pope is allowed to quote medieval texts-and of the press. And we can also unite-loudly-in our condemnation of violent, unprovoked attacks on churches, embassies, and elderly nuns. By "we" I mean here the White House, the Vatican, the German Greens, the French Foreign Ministry, NATO, Greenpeace, Le Monde, editorial cartoonists (amendment mine) and Fox News. Western institutions of the left, the right, and everything in between. True, these principles sound pretty elementary-"we're pro-free speech and anti-gratuitous violence"-but in the days since the pope's sermon, I don't feel that I've heard them defended in anything like a unanimous chorus.

I don't know why we aren't singing in harmony on this one, but she's right that there a good number of people taking the Pope to task while almost taking for granted the extremist response throughout the Middle East.

I seem to recall, in the aftermath of the Danish cartoon furor, that Britt sided with his ink-stained brethren against Muslim condemnation. I wonder why the Pope isn't afforded this same freedom of expression. Granted, you can believe that the Pope had the right to say what he did and still have been wrong for saying it, but when you choose to only address the latter, bloggers like me will question why you ignored the former.

As to the larger issue of global unrest, some are of the opinion that what we are experiencing is a clash of civilizations brought about by advances in technology and communication that have thrust modern beliefs and values on people who would prefer to live more insularly lives. There is hope in this theory. Once the culture shock wears off, understanding and acceptance could follow. I read something recently that might give credence to this:

Speaking at campuses, mosques, and the homes of Muslims, the Al Qasemi (an Islamic institute of higher learning) faculty said that it is time for Muslims to quit blaming others and examine their own responsibility for the troubles of Islamic civilization; time for Arab Israelis to call themselves Israelis, not Palestinians; and, above all, time for women to have full equality with men in the Muslim world.

All these assertions are considered radical, even incendiary, in much of the Arab Muslim world. But Mohammad Essawi, the president of the college, said such changes in thinking are needed to transform an education system in the Islamic world "that is still in the 12th century and does not have an open mind."

It's comforting to hear this type of liberal thinking amidst so much theological fascism. But where in the Middle East, you may be wondering, would a group of Islamic educators dare call for such progressive changes in attitude? In Israel, the home of Al Qasemi College. When a rabbinical school opens in Iran, we'll know that the educators' message is taking hold.

*Forgive me for cribbing titles from Billy Joel.

**If you aren't familiar with Slate and are on the verge of accusing me of being manipulated by right wing doctrine, Slate was founded by Michael Kinsley and still leans to the left most of the time. It's one of my favorite online sources for commentary.

Thanks for Something

2006-09-21T12:23:00.000-05:00

Thanks to everyone who voted BFS as the second best local blog, and to everyone who reads this blog but didn’t vote for me. I hope that you all took my snippiness as the end of my last post with the satirical spirit in which it was intended.

Thanks too to the Illinois Times. Given all the abuse that has been heaped on them here over the past year, it would have been perfectly understandable if they had filed my votes away in the trash next to their copy of Ann Coulter’s latest book.

Taking second place to Rich Miller and his Capitol Fax blog is quite an honor. I prefer his blog to mine as well. If you are at all interested in state politics, or even if you’re just a conscientious voter, you will benefit from reading his work.

As I said earlier in the comments section, I doubt that there was much separating me from many of the other local bloggers in terms of votes, and I know that there isn’t anything separating us in terms of quality.

Okay, enough of this sappiness. All of this false modesty is killing me.

Concession of a Blogger

2006-09-19T20:36:00.000-05:00

The last vote has long since been tallied and the outcome determined. On Thursday the Illinois Times will name the Best Local Blogger in their annual Best of Springfield contest. I respectfully concede to the winner this prestigious and coveted title.

It was here, on a lonely May evening back in 2005, that I posted my first blog entry. Inspired by the wondrous opportunities inherent in this new technology, I set out with little to guide me but a vision. A vision that in its quintessence would offer a better way for everyone in our community, borne from the humble insights and observations that would pour from my figurative pen.

And with your generous comments and my ever rising hit counts, you let me know that you believed in the dream as well. Together we would make BlogFreeSpringfield a harbinger for a new day in public discourse in our town. A place where every voice could be heard, and then put down in a flurry of personal insults. A place where people could gather in anonymity and spout opinions that good taste and decorum would prohibit them from saying in public. A place where Angelina Jolie could be exalted and James Blunt scorned. Compared to the intelligentsia that would gather at BFS, the Proustian salons of Paris were filled with a pack of Jerry Springer guests

It was never my intent with this blog to win a popularity contest, focused as I was on the loftier goals of community enlightenment and uplift. Until, that is, the IT added a blogging category to their populist survey. At that point, being coronated by a people who think that the Olive Garden is fine dining became my mania. My raison d'etre. But tonight, I have come to accept it isn’t to be.

It would be easy to look back on my past blogging miscues as the reason that our dream fell short this year. From my sporadic posting schedule, to my tiresome polemics, and on to that unfortunate encounter with Dr. Doriginality, my failures as a blogger are many.

Perhaps my biggest downfall was cleaving to the courage of my convictions in my mission to shed light on the criminal activities of the Red Hat Society. In them I made a ruthless and formidable enemy, who no doubt used every weapon in their illicit arsenal to upend my candidacy. I will not be Best Blogger. I regret nothing.

But as I ponder my own shortcomings, it occurs to me that the real reason that someone else is being bestowed with the title Best Blogger is because you people probably never bothered to actually pick up a damn ballot and vote for me. Sure, it’s good fun to come here and spout your opinions about the ethics of police detectives or the plight of the moderate Muslim, but it’s apparently too much to actually log on to the IT’s Web site and cast a vote for the person who provided you the forum for your rantings.

Thanks for nothing.

Lucky Strikes

2006-09-13T19:56:00.000-05:00

We all knew it would happen. When the city council passed the smoking ban last spring, we just knew that something would happen between then and September 17, that would allow the ban to be skirted by some or all. I expected a weasely amendment introduced by one of the alderman that would have redefined a “public space” in such a way to exclude establishment’s named for real or fictional characters ( Marley’s=smoke ‘em, The Alamo=snuff ‘em out.)

The aldermen, however, stood strong in the face of minority opposition. With just days to go before the ban is to go into effect, smokers were down to their last gasp. And then, the answer appeared on the front page of the newspaper.

The SJ-R reported that the state might not enforce the city’s ban in some of its facilities because it contradicts agreements spelled out in union contracts. And no politician wants to mess with the unions, a group of individuals who always seem to be itching for a fight. Could it be that they could take the fight even further, beyond state property and into Lu’s Home Tavern?

I’m not talking about the Illinois Licensed Beverage Association, which proved itself almost completely lacking in rational thought during the smoking ban debate, but a new union tasked with protecting those who will be forced to practice their trade in alleys and on street curbs this winter: The United Brotherhood of Hackers.

I’m not sure what kind of bargaining power a group of yellow-toothed barflies would hold against city government, but as loyal sons and daughters of Hoffa, it’s certain that they would be pandered to. If they could band together as a unified voting bloc and actually unglue themselves from their bar stools on election day, they just might make some noise during the next aldermanic election.

If the city did stick to its guns, I’m not sure that the threat of a strike would hold much sway, however. The smokers’ major grievance is that they don’t want to be forced to walk out of anywhere.

There are other problems to organizing labored breathers* as well. The union might spring for some snazzy satin jackets, but there would be little to offer in terms of benefits beyond being allowed to wallow in your own carcinogens. They probably wouldn’t be able to negotiate any type of health coverage, and collecting pension contributions would be a hard sell to a three pack-a-day smoker.

*I know, that's pretty weak. But it's in keeping with this entire post and most of the ones preceding it.

Jimerica Industries

2006-09-13T19:52:00.000-05:00

Jim Leach blogging again, too late, I might add, to stage a last minute run at the IT’s best blogger title. I’m convinced that Gotshoo will win thanks to his offer of a free blogger party should he emerge victorious. It’s a shameless offer to be sure, but also fiendishly clever.

Back to Jim. I have to admit that I was a bit surprised to receive an email from his “webmaster” asking me to update my link to Abelog’s new URL. I was immediately reminded of Darren from Kramerica Industries when he called to set-up a lunch engagement between Jerry and his boss. A blogger with a webmaster?

I’ve always considered blogging a solo pursuit, just a man or woman and his free software. Hiring staff adds a whole new dimension. It creates a caste system that could upset the delicate balance of the local blogging scene. What’s next, a team of interns, schooled in the political philosophies of the Jim Leach Show, who ghost-write Jim’s blog entries while he sips cognac with Jeff Lynne in a Birmingham recording studio. These big media types are all alike.