With friends like these.

Twice in the last week I’ve seen people on bikes wearing their helmets backwards. Like most crappy humans, my first impulse was to laugh hysterically and point at them while peeing my pants with glee. Once the evil streak subsided, I was tempted to approach them and show them the proper way to cover their cranium. But life moves quickly and I didn’t laugh or offer assistance in either instance. Instead, I thought of my friends the Lamers.

You see, a long time ago I bought my first bike. Wearing Red Wing work boots and blue jeans, I took it down to the Kansas River in mid-July looking for some mud. Then the Lamer family came along and showed me the way. I put on a pair of shorts, acquired a pair of Shimano clipless pedals and bought a helmet. As I recall, the helmet was one of the hardest things to get accustomed to. It looked funny, it felt weird and it seemed impossible to adjust. However, thanks to my good-natured friends, I eventually put it on straight, cinched it up tight and rode my ass off with less risk of head injury.

Everyone could use friends like the Lamers. Sure, they taught me the fundamentals of what it takes to be a good friend to others, but most importantly they kept me from looking really stupid while riding my bike.

Further assistance for anyone seeking helmet advice:
http://www.bhsi.org/backward.htm

The WRONG WAY to wear your helmet:

Photo found here…used without permission.

All the labor.

As a regular dog walker, bike rider and pedestrian, I spend a lot of time scanning the alleyways and side-yards around my neighborhood. I see a lot of McDonald’s garbage, an insane number of stained mattresses and every so often a strange object worth retrieving. I have a bolt from a Red Line construction project, a small photo of an Asian man in horn rim glasses and tons of random notes and other forms of hastily scribbled communications that keep me entertained.

There’s only one rule to my urban spelunking—If I pick it up, it’s my responsibility to:
A) Keep it
B) Give it away to someone who might like it more than me
C) Throw it away

Usually all is well in my strange little world, but I happened on to an item the other day that threw my whole game off. Gold-framed, designed to hang on a wall or sit proudly on an end table, I found the ultimate piece of crap. Not quite a picture and not quite a plaque, this made-in-China special features a an ode to loved ones called ‘A True Friend’.

I was sitting there with debating my next move early this morning. Garbage can? Giveaway? Craigslist ad? I thought about the Chinese factory that made this piece of crap. And the truck that drove it to the boat that took it across the sea. And the train that picked it up to take it to another truck that drove it to some crap store in Chicago where a guy put it on a shelf where someone actually bought it. All this—only to wind up in my ungrateful hands? What a shame. I actually felt bad for the piece of crap.

I suppose this is a pretty good argument for the simple notion that we should all buy less crap. Spend an extra 3 seconds to consider whether the thing you’re about to possess is really something worth having. And if you find that you “need” whatever it is that you desire, make sure it doesn’t wind up pitched in the little patch of grass outside our apartment.

Clincher.

It’s a good year to be a Cubs fan. More here from a reputable source.

Open range.

I found a hardback ‘Dennis the Menace’ comic strip collection in the garbage the other day. The copyright date was 1955. Not only are the sketches pretty darn cool, this particular feature offers a nice take on the world. Have a good weekend, everyone.

What’s Nixon got to do with it?

Sorry folks, I really don’t mean to get political on you, but this year it seems unavoidable. While I’ll keep my mostly uneducated take on things to myself, I would like to share another article that adds some historical perspective to the old Democrat VS. Republican debate.

Have a look if you’re so inclined:

‘Richard Milhous McCain’ from the Economist

So sad.

Flooding across the state of Illinois has taken quite a toll. People have died, neighborhoods have been evacuated, roads have been closed and at least one piece of historical architecture is now halfway underwater.

Funny. We’d been talking about touring the Farnsworth House as soon as we could scrape up the money.

Like a good neighbor.

I believe good neighbors are a major component in the daily battle for quality of life. No matter how high the fence or how deep the trench, you’ll inevitably cross paths with the people who dwell around you.

Here in Chicago, our apartment is a box, next to a box, underneath another box. Our ceiling doubles as a floor. Our deck doubles as a stairway. Our mailbox is in the entryway. Look for a wireless signal and you’ll find 10. Blame it on my Kansas roots, but sometimes our home feels more like an oversized dorm room than a house. The surprising part is that I like it. Not only does it improve a person’s social skills, it’s also a great way to get your hands on free stuff.

This week’s tale of inter-building scavenging started with a text message from Neighbor Dan. ‘U want R TV?’

Assuming anything someone would just give away was probably a piece of crap, I decided I’d wait to respond until we could talk it over in person. A week later, we ran into each another on the deck.

“So, you guys bought a new TV? A flat screen or something?” I asked.

“Nope,” Dan replied. “We just want to get rid of our TV and we know you guys watch a lot of movies.”

“Does it work?” I asked, with skepticism showing through.

“Yeah. It’s really nice . . . and BIG. But you know, if you’re not interested, we’ll give it to someone else,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders.

Sensing that I had jeopardized my chance at the loot, I was suddenly REALLY interested.

“It’s mine,” I declared.

So we set everything up late last night just in time to watch a documentary on Jimmy Carter. Sitting there, taking in Jimmy’s huge head (the TV is BIG), I thought about Neighbor Dan, city life and the good side of human nature. I decided the world might not be doomed after all. If people are still compelled to give away perfectly good stuff to others out of sheer kindness, we might be OK for another decade or two. If not, at least I can watch it all crumble on really BIG screen.

Fancy bread. Big world.

Today I was having lunch with my computer when a co-worker stopped by.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to my sandwich.

“Peanut butter and jelly . . . on Ciabatta bread,” I answered, realizing it was the bread she couldn’t identify.

What seemed like a mundane meal to me, appeared to be quite exotic because of the lack of Wonderbread. That’s the beauty of sharing my life with a cook, I suppose. We have a scale for measuring the weights of perfectly legitimate things like sugar and flour. Our cupboards are filled with extracts and gelatin. Open a drawer and you’ll find a Silpat and a candy thermometer.

All this serves as a wonderful reminder that it’s a gigantic planet—full of new things to experience. And if you’re living life to the fullest, even something as simple as bread can be exciting. Or at least different.

A loaf of bread you might find in my kitchen.

A loaf of bread you might find at the grocery store.

Work rules.

I’ve been busy, my friends. It’s hard to pay attention to random life experiences for blog fodder when you’re locked in a dark room on the 3rd floor of 36 E. Grand Avenue. I apologize. But here are few things I’ve been thinking about:

I had a dream last night I was holding a baby. It was mine. It loved me. As you might suspect, I slept better last night than I have in years.

I read a really good article clearly explaining why we’re probably going to have another Republican president come November.

I hear people are stealing cactus in California because of their high resale value.

They filmed a sci-fi movie called ‘Suspension’ around my hometown and the main actress is a girl I went to grade school with. I remember her so well because she used to have a really long hyphenated last name that crowded the margins in our yearbooks. But, alas, she’s shortened it for show business.

You know, when I start thinking about it, I suppose we’re all willing to shorten things for show business.

OPEN TO THE PUBLIC: AWESOME PARK, AMAZING PERFORMER

Sitting in Frank Gehry’s “Pritzker Pavilion” last night listening to Andrew Bird sing, whistle and pluck his way through the evening was enough to remind me how great living in the city of Chicago can be. The sound was incredible. The colorful lights projected on the silver plates that form the curved edges of the bandshell were beautiful. And the evening breeze made the whole thing feel just a little surreal. Did I mention the show was absolutely, 100% free?

Comfortably nestled in my plastic chair, surrounded by tall buildings and strange music, it seemed unfathomable that murder rates are up, the economy is down and thousands of red, white and blue Americans can’t afford to put enough gas in their SUVs to visit Grandma in Iowa. An exercise for my overly pessimistic brain, it felt really nice to think good thoughts. After all, too many bad thoughts will eventually turn me into a bad person and bad people are, well, really damn annoying.

Pritzker Pavilion, Chicago