Deja View.

Another snapshot taken along Lake Michigan. What can I say? I’m drawn to this place and therefore feel the need to take pictures of it. Maybe it’s the fact that no matter how stupid things get in the city, there’s always roughly 15 miles of soothing lake shore standing by? Or maybe I’m just drawn to pretty places? Or maybe I just have a thing for ducks. Yeah, I blame the ducks.

The hustle.

Five kids stood on the corner. Their ages ranged greatly—the youngest was probably around four and the oldest was maybe eleven. They were bundled in warm clothes, hats and mittens—a trait that indicated an adult was looking after them in some capacity. Staring in my direction, they waited for Jez and I to cross the street.

“Hey, excuse me,” one of the older girls yelled as Jez and I paused.

“Yeah?” I responded, assuming they wanted to meet the dog.

The pack came closer. Two of them started petting Jez while the  smallest one—a boy—looked up at me as if he were going to cry.

“We need some money…for a charity organization,” she said, looking at her cohorts for confirmation.

“Really, what kind of charity?” I asked, reassured by the fact that I didn’t have my wallet.

“A charity for DOGS,” she said without flinching.

“What’s it called?” I asked, slightly interested, wondering if these kids might actually be good Samaritans.

“…We forgot, but it’s a good organization, it teaches people not to abuse dogs. When we ask people for money they just laugh at us OR they tell us they don’t have any money,” she complained, letting out a sigh.

“You’re not going to believe this, but I don’t have any money,” I said, feeling great about the fact that I wasn’t lying.

The kids stopped petting Jez and their outspoken leader nodded, “OK, thanks.” As they retreated, I wondered if they really were connected to a good cause. Regardless, I admired the leader for her ability to present an argument that would clearly appeal to me—the lonely dogwalker. Whether she chooses to go into advertising, law or politics, I suspect she’ll enjoy a very lucrative career scamming people for  any number of  “good” organizations. Whitney Houston said it best, “the children are our future.”

Happy Thanksgiving.

The city seems deserted to today. Such a lovely time to be here. May your tummies be full and your home appliances be in good working order.

All in the Family: Almost an album review

When I was growing up my cousin John embodied everything that was cool. He had cute girlfriends before most kids were ready to give up their Hot Wheels. He had a closet full of brand name clothes before I’d even heard of Ocean Pacific. As far as I could tell, John absolutely rejected all authority—moms, dads, cops—regardless of what the consequences were.

John’s very presence stirred trouble. Wandering around town with him was like walking with a mob boss. He’d nod his head to the mean kids and give the finger to the dorky ones. Of course, under normal circumstances I WAS one of the dorky ones, but when John and his family came to visit once a year, I was sidekick to the king.

As if an annual dose of empowerment wasn’t enough, Cousin John was also one of the first people who introduced me to music that wasn’t playing on pop radio. Starting with heavy metal and then moving on to West Coast gansta rap a year later, I’ll never forget the summer he gave me a copy of “Appetite for Destruction”.

Now, almost 20 years later, I look back on those days we spent together and feel a little spark of rebellion. A futile attempt to relieve the past, I tuned into the Guns N’ Roses myspace page to listen to their new album. I was hoping it’d give me the same feeling “Appetite” did so many years ago, but it didn’t. Not even close. Sitting here feeling disappointed, I took comfort in the fact that even though Guns N’ Roses has grown lame over the years, the memories of being a nerdy kid with a cool cousin have grown even stronger.

Null.

Cyber-bullies, modern-day pirates at sea and Al-Queda picking fights with Obama. Man, today’s headlines are disturbing and downright strange. I must confess, now that the election is over my interest in current events has waned quite a bit.

So, screw the world, let’s talk about my life. I’ve been busy at work. I mean really involved with a handful of cool projects. I won’t bore you with details. Instead, I’ll simply offer this as at least one excuse for my absence.

Also, I’ve been somewhat involved with the launch of my brand new work site. Thanks to Scott R., Steve and IQ Foundry for making me look so good online. Now I only wish my copywriting skills were as advanced as the site that showcases them. I’m not worthy!

Finally, I just want to send a sincere thanks to all those who stop in regularly to indulge in my randomness. Good or bad, posting a few words every couple of days makes me happy and I can only hope that reading them makes you happy too.

Run for cover.

A crowd had gathered outside the revolving door at 36 East Grand. A woman squealed and a fat man next to her laughed. Business-types in shiny shoes paused for a moment to stare. As I slowly approached, I too was intrigued. What was everyone staring at?

Suddenly, from under a trashcan, a furry critter darted diagonally across the sidewalk and headed North on Wabash. A mouse. A poor, presumably misunderstood creature stuck in the city probably looking for a warm place to hide.

Sure, I’m guilty of setting traps and killing mice. I realize and agree that humans shouldn’t have to share their space with these pests—but I felt bad for this guy. Where I’m from, a mouse at least has a chance to scurry freely and if they find a way inside and get caught in a trap underneath the stove, it’s a fairly private and somewhat humane death. However, this particular mouse had the extremely bad luck of winding up on a really busy street corner in downtown Chicago. His attempt to survive had an audience.

One guy mumbled, “Kill it!” and two ladies backed him up by nodding their heads in unison. I didn’t stick around the see what happened next, but I hope the mouse got away. Or at least made it to the next corner so a whole new cast of characters could squeal, stare, point and maybe, possibly realize that we humans really aren’t that different.

My outlook on the world, in another man’s words.

“One of the effects of middle age is that the things which once seemed funky and fun suddenly start to seem faintly ridiculous.”

-David Willis, BBC News

Read the entire article here

City boy.

Yesterday neighbor Dan and I did some work around the building. I called it “beautification” but all we really did was move a pile of bricks and throw away a couple of cement planters destroyed by neighborhood vandals.

The funny thing is that I’m sore today. Arms. Chest. Stomach. Unbelievable. I used to mow, trim, lug and load, but these days I spend most of my time sitting, texting and typing.  I can only assume that a big soft belly is just around the corner. Soon I’ll be a spectacle—like this poor guy who used to live across the street from my Grandparents. Mr. Cantrell didn’t have a first name—at least not as far as I know—because every time my Grandma spotted him, she’d blurt out, “There goes Old Fat Cantrell!”

Man, I wonder what the neighbors will call me? I suppose I’ll just have to grab a comfortable place on the couch with my laptop, cell phone and some beef jerky and wait for someone to declare my new nickname.

Um.

Obama was elected president and I was in Grant Park for the ceremony thanks to my friend Tina. The only thing better than new presidents are old friends. Oh, beer is pretty good, too.

American identity.

I’m a lucky person. 30 years of restless living and I’ve experienced so many sides of this strange, confused country. I’ve been introduced to Confederate Flag toting 19-year-olds in Yates Center, Kansas and leather-clad dudes with suggestive stares in San Francisco’s Castro district. I’ve heard the N-word tossed around casually. I once nearly lost my life at a Perkins trying to defend a friend for having a pierced tongue.  I’ve been subjected to narrow minds and rotten hearts and come to one simple conclusion: This is still the best damn place on earth.

I don’t know what’s going to happen today, but I feel blessed to witness this historical election. The BBC tells me voter turnout is overwhelming the polls. Good. I’m glad to hear people are getting off their asses and paying attention to something besides reality television. Regardless of whether things go the way of Obama or McCain, I like the idea that the redneck in Kansas or the guy in leather chaps in California feels like their vote could make a difference.

Happy Election Day everyone—no matter where you are or what you believe in.