Quintessentially Chicago

This morning was a rude surprise. I agreed to help a friend out as a pace group leader in a 10 mile training program so I dressed in my winter running gear and went out to run with a group of other crazy people. It was 25 degrees and cloudy with a wind chill of sub-frigid at the lakefront. We only ran 4 miles this morning and it took me 1 1/2 miles to get my blood pumping hard enough to feel my fingers. Next Saturday is officially in the month of March so let us hope that those March warmup trends take effect.

The clouds went away sometime in the middle of the day and the sun was a spirit raiser at least. Looking out the windows on the 14th floor the ice on the lake has done something very odd today. It appears as if there are millions of little white corpuscles within the concrete barrier across the way. Maybe they're icepuscles, the vital defense system of Lake Michigan. Who knows? Anyway the slanting afternoon sunlight is yielding shadows of the high rises along Lake Shore Drive. Tis a lovely sight.

Babs and I are tired of the stay in because it's really cold out and are considering a trip to the Saloon a couple of blocks away for steaks. We're not usually big carnivore types, but occasionally a person just needs the traditional big hunk of meat for dinner. In Chicago there a few things that I can think of that are quintessentially part of the real Chicago experience and a good steak is one of them.

Having deep dish pizza is a real Chicago experience. It is true that you can get it almost anywhere these days, but it was invented here for goodness sakes. We have more varieties of deep dish than a dog has fleas. If you want the real experience, go to Unos. They invented it after all. Wanta be a tourist. Wait 30-40 minutes with drinks so you can experience this. It's worth it.

Going to Second City is another of the gotta do it, for the Chicago experience places to go. There is improv based theater in a great many cities these days, but it was Second City that put improv on the map. It was Second City alumni that put Saturday Night Live on the TV map. As I recall from doing classes and children's shows there, the place smells like stale beer, but it's all a part of the ambience. It's the home of the best comedy theater anywhere, period. It's real Chicago.

When it comes to sports, there are the Bears at Soldier Field (Many locals will tell you it's Soldiers Field, plural). The tickets are God awful expensive and hard to get. There are the Bulls, and I went to see Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen when they played here in the Threepeat years. The Blackhawks? I'm sorry. I grew up in the South and games played on ice skates I just don't get. If I wanted Canadian games I'd move to Montreal. The Chicago White Sox? Please. The real deal in baseball, no matter where you come from is experienced at Wrigley Field. This is Chicago sports. The intimacy of the stadium, the ivy on the walls, the bleacher bums, the people on the roofs across the street from the stadium watching the game. This is an experience only to be had in Chicago. No domes. No jumbotrons. Just baseball.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention the July 3rd fireworks at Grant Park. If you're not from Chicago, your probable reaction to the last statement is "Don't you mean July 4th?" As a matter of fact I don't. In Chicago there is a tradition. On July 3rd the Grant Park symphony plays endless Souza and other assorted American composers and then when the sun goes down, the band strikes up The 1812 Overture and the fireworks go off over the lake, perfectly timed so that when the orchestra goes boom the fireworks go boom. Over a million people converge on the park for the experience. Leaving and going home can be a chore, but it's part of the real Chicago experience. Oh, and what about July 4th? The park is given over on that day to famous rock bands who give free concerts. Ho hum. Just another day in the city.

Anyway, this little tour of quintessentially Chicago experiences started with steaks. There are any number of steak houses in the city of Chicago. A lot of them are very good, but then so are steak houses in any number of cities all across America. What's so Chicago about the steak experience? I have to remind you that this is the city of Ditka and Butkus, and a lot of real down to earth hard-working folks of many sorts. This is "The City That Works." Chicago is a large city with a population measured in the millions, and we have all that that brings. You can get fusion cuisine, Italian cuisine (Northern and Southern), French cuisine, Thai, Chinese, Mexican, Middle Eastern, and Sushi. One of my faves is Ron of Japan. I like to think that someone will one day put in a restaurant next door called Bob of Korea. When you examine the character of the city, though, a kick ass steak joint is what sums up the character of the place.

Sometimes you just have to have a steak. Think I'll celebrate the city that I live in and have one tonight. Have a great Saturday.

Reform the Neighborhoods

Alas, there seems to be a recurrence of winter in Streeterville today. It's 25 degrees with light snow at the Mini. It's days like this that encourage one to make sure there is plenty of good red wine in the house so as to make it nice to stay in. The lake is churning and the waves are breaking over the concrete barrier. It's easy to be content on the inside of the floor to ceiling windows on the 14th floor this afternoon. The gray and cold can stay out there. It's nice and comfy in here.

Three days ago the Chicago Sun-Times ran an op-ed that was titled, "Murder of three teens must spur CPS reform." Being a CPS employee, that title immediately made me bristle. I know the incident being referred to. It did not happen in a school, so how was CPS somehow being held responsible? It seems as though there are an awful lot of headlines in the newspapers these days lamenting the large number of CPS students being shot. It is true that there are a lot of CPS students being shot, but the fact is that they are not being shot at school. They are being shot in the neighborhoods where they live, after school hours. A lot of very young people are dying. Of course they are CPS students. It is state law that they go to school until the age of 17.

As I read the op-ed in question, it turned out that the Sun-Times was advocating programs in schools that address the social and emotional needs of kids who live in the worst neighborhoods and endure endless gang violence. It was advocating that schools work with kids to learn how to get along and solve problems without resorting to confrontation and violence. That in and of itself is great, but the public needs to realize that this will require money, training, and personnel. Counselors in high needs schools are stretched thin. Teachers already have way too many tasks to address in addition to teaching their regular curriculum and they already recognize the need to do some serious socialization for these kids, a great many of whom do not get what they need at home, who turn to gangs for security and guidance.

The schools say bring it on. Just give us the resources to properly do the job. Don't give us an unfunded mandate, that is impossible to follow through on because of lack of resources, manpower, and appropriate training. The schools also say, "Quit printing inflammatory headlines that suggest the schools are somehow to blame for the violence in the streets. The violence is socialized into the kids in their homes and in their neighborhoods where they live. The schools are safe zones."

Every time a headline is published that links murder and violence with students who are part of the CPS, it further cements the idea in the mind of the public that the CPS is somehow to blame. I have worked in high needs schools on the South Side of Chicago for the last 15 years and I have never in all that time seen a single incidence of a student being shot, stabbed or involved in anything beyond a fist fight inside a school building. I'd like to remind people that teenagers, with their hormones pumping away, come into conflict and get into fist fights. This happens everywhere. I, personally, went to a suburban high school and it happened there as well.

I just want to counterbalance this perception that the schools are somehow responsible for the violence and they are all run amuck in rampant violence. We in the schools would love to do something to counteract the bad homelife, the bad street life, the miserable existences many of our students experience outside of school. We, as educators, are there because we care. We resent becoming the whipping boy for something society either cannot or will not deal with, and therefore, shifts the blame to us.

Often bad schools and bad teachers get the blame for students who don't meet standards. Having spent the last 15 years in high needs schools and examined the problems closely, I can tell you that the same social problems that result in the early deaths of our students from gun violence form a disruptive factor in the lives of our students that prevents learning. They don't bring the guns and violence into the school, but they do bring anti-social behaviors that disrupt their own learning processes, and that of those students around them.

Give us the job of socializing and reforming behaviors as well as that of educating students so they can go on to post-secondary education and get jobs and become functional citizens. Give us the resources to do that as well. Just don't continue pointing your fingers at us and blaming us for the violence in the streets while you do nothing but point those fingers and shake your heads.

Caught in the Rain and No Umbrella

It's a very London-like afternoon in Streeterville, 45 degrees and periods of intermitten fog and rain. Funny that I think of London when the weather is like this. It could just be that the weather patterns are changing and the long slow warmup is beginning. Winter isn't over yet, but the below zero stuff is. It may snow overnight tonight when the temperature drops.

The thing is I could think of a lot of things that this could be like, but in my mind it's London. Maybe it's tied to the reason that I own a London Fog overcoat as well, who knows? It could be like my childhood in Arkansas. Typical winter days there tended to hover between 35 and 45 degrees and it rained a lot. Do I think of that? Nope! That weather played hell with my sinuses as a child. I constantly had a runny nose. The doctor had me on nose drops that ran down the back of my throat and they tasted bloody awful. See, there's that London thing coming through again.

I understand that it's like this a lot in the Pacific Northwest. The problem is I have no real memories of that area of the country. I know enough about Seattle to make it up, but it wouldn't be real. Truthfully, the only time I've ever been to Seattle was once when I had a 3 hour layover there when I was flying from Narita, Japan to Minneapolis. The view from the airport was lovely. I could see Mt. Something or other with its white ice cap in the distance. It just doesn't do it for me to compare 45 and foggy and rainy here to that.

I could compare it to San Francisco. I saw a Sam Spade film noir movie that was set in San Francisco and Bogie was walking in the fog. It set quite the tone. My memories of San Francisco, however, involve riding the cable cars, going to Chinatown on Christmas day, eating breakfast in a Jewish Deli on that same Christmas day, and marveling at people ice skating in 65 degree weather with palm trees in the background. Not working for the appropriate analogy here.

Now I did go to New Zealand during our summer which is their winter once. The North Island was one wet place. Can you say rainforest? I bet you can. Very much like the Pacific Northwest so I hear, but with trees that look like oversized ferns and people driving on the left side of the road and guys selling big bags full of kiwis for $2.00 in New Zealand money which is like $1.10 or maybe $1.25 U.S. They sound like Aussies. Couldn't tell the difference. It did rain a lot, but there were these volcanic black sand beaches and people heating their homes with geothermal. Can you say stinky, smelly sulphur water? Needless to say, that's not doing the job for me as metaphor today. Nice people those kiwis, but way too many sheep and hiking people for me.

Nope it's definitely London, beautiful city really. I've walked through Hyde Park and seen Kensington Palace and the black swans in the pond in the park and accidentally stumbled on Herrods Knightsbridge. It's just another friggin department store. It's often foggy and rainy there, though, and cool, not frigid. Comes from living on an island surrounded by lots and lots of water at a high latitude, but with the Gulf Stream rolling by. I remember getting caught in the rain and thinking of buying an umbrella there. There was a whole store dedicated to nothing but umbrellas, or bumbershoots as some might say. Trouble was I was young and on a budget and those were the most godawful expensive umbrellas I'd ever seen in my life. Did without, thank you very much.

As I recall, I also got caught in the rain in Paris on that trip. Early September in Europe, it must rain a lot. Went into a little shop on the Boulevard something or maybe it was the Rue de La Something, but they had umbrellas, parapluies for the Francophones. Now I had 2 years of high school French and 14 semester hours of college French and in about 1970 I was wired for sound with the French stuff. When I actually went to France many, many annees later, I was scared shitless to mouth a single word of French. I depended on Babs to communicate. I walked into that shop, looked in the glass case and pointed to the one I wanted and blurted out, "Je voudrais le paraplui noir pour soixante et quinze francs." The clerk looked at me disgustedly and corrected my French, "Ce n'est pas soixante et quinze. C'est soixante quinze." Inside my head I was thinking, "Hey, I tried asshole. Just give me the fucking umbrella and I'll be out of here." As it happens, everyone in Paris corrects your French. Do we do that to foreigners who are struggling with the language here? NO! We just swipe their Visa cards and smile. Paris doesn't cut the mustard. Still London in my book.

Anyway, when I arrived home in Streeterville this afternoon it was so foggy I couldn't see Lake Michigan across the street. I went to the gym and worked out and when I came back out onto Michigan Ave. it was pouring rain. I didn't bring the umbrella. Just like in London. Just like in Paris. Had a car in New Zealand when it rained. In my head Streeterville and the Gold Coast in the fog and rain at 45 degrees is most like London. Makes me think of those old Werewolf of London movies. Lots of creepy fog. Pouring rain. Then Warren Zevon creeps into my head, "AAAAAAOOOOOO! Werewolves of London! AAAAAOOOO!" Well that's the feeling this afternoon. I walked home with the collar of my coat turned up and my hat dripping rain from the brim. "Better stay away from him. He'll rip your lungs out Jim. AAAAOOOOO!"

Minneapolis Story

It's a perfectly lovely day in Streeterville, 58 degrees under sunny skies at the Mini. It has been so perfect in fact that I elected to go outside for a run along the lakefront. What I discovered was that even though the ice is attempting, doing its level best to melt, there is a lot of it to melt. There are lots of chunks of ice floating around in Lake Michigan yet and piles of ice at points on the running path. Nevertheless 58 degrees is an exceedingly pleasant temperature to run in.

Today is a very special day in Rex and Babs lore. It is the last Wednesday in February and exactly 24 years ago today Rex and Babs met at an establishment, known as Williams Peanut Bar in Minneapolis. It was 2 for 1 Old Style Beer night. That being said, I'd like to tell you all a litte story, a Minneapolis Story.

Minneapolis Story

It was the day before payday and Rex was PDB (pretty damned broke). There were bills that he had just paid and he was looking at the prospect of paying for the repairs on his car. The Pontiac Aster station wagon was in the shop, getting tuned up, getting the oil changed, getting that door fixed that wouldn't stay shut and tended to swing open every time he turned a corner. Rex had been home reading books for what seemed like the entire last decade and frankly he was a little bit tired of the whole thing. He had a cheap stereo that was one of those all in one, radio, turntable, casette tape things with really cheap speakers, and about 5 or 6 albums to his name. His roommate had a TV that picked up exactly 4 channels (on a good night).

It was time to venture out of the house, so Rex checked his wallet and what he saw there was pretty slim. He wondered for a moment how he could parlay this small stash of money into a night out and then he remembered, "Two for one Old Styles at Williams Peanut Bar on Wednesday nights." He also remembered that he knew a female bartender who worked there who would sometimes cash a check for him. What the hell. Tomorrow was payday and by the time the check ran through, the money would be in the bank. The car being in the shop, he walked the two and a half blocks to Lake Street and caught the bus to Uptown.

Rex got off the bus at Hennepin and walked a half block to Williams Pub, went around the side of the building and went downstairs to the Peanut Bar. It was one of those places that give away really salty peanuts to encourage patrons to drink more beer and the patrons throw the peanut shells on the floor. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Rex usually didn't like going into The Peanut Bar because lots of U of Minnesota students tended to hang out there and he, being in his early 30's felt like someone's father or uncle or something. This was extenuating circumstance.

The bar was pretty busy so Rex took a stool at the end of the bar, next to the door, and ordered an Old Style, a 2 for 1 Old Style, a 2 for 1 for a grand total of $1.00 Old Style. Two beers for a buck. Now that's a deal. Of course it was 1985 and there has been a bit of inflation, but it was still a deal.

Rex sat, minding his own business with his Old Styles and peanuts and soaking up the atmosphere when he noticed two young guys in their early 20's walking in. They walked past him, around the corner of the bar and continued on down the length of the bar, circled back and came to rest at the end of the bar on his left. They ordered, you guessed it, Old Styles.

After a moment one of the lads looked at Rex and began talking. What he said was, "Women in this bar are just stuck up man. Nobody will talk to you.....blah, blah, blah." It was not more than 2 minutes after this exchange that a young woman in her early 20's came walking over, sat down on the stool to Rex's right and immediately announced, "You look interesting. I think I'll talk to you." Rex and Babs had met. The lad on Rex's left, well his jaw dropped open noticeably and incredulity filled the air in that little corner of the bar.

As it turns out Babs and her friend Penny had been at Happy Hour at a Mexican restaurant consuming margaritas galore when Penny remembered that a bartender she thought was cute was on this particular Wednesday at The Peanut Bar. Penny seemed to be spending all of her time with said bartender, so Babs was a little bored and went looking for some conversation of her own.

Let me tell you about Babs at this point in time. Babs had had a bad run of luck with men and had come to a decision about them. For one thing she definitely was not going to sleep with any guy the first time she met him. Standards you know. Secondly, any guy she got involved with had to meet 3 criteria. 1. He had to have a job. 2. He could not live with his mother. 3. He had to have a car. Standards you know.

Rex and Babs seemed to hit it off admirably. They talked all night long and consumed copious amounts of Old Style. They talked and talked about this that and the other and Babs began to check off her list. He has a job. Check. His family lives hundreds of miles away in another state, so he definitely does not live with his mother. Check. Then came last call. The lights came up and Rex realized he had missed the last Lake Street bus. He also realized that maybe he should be following up with this girl. He asked her if he could get a ride home. He added that his car was in the shop.

Babs did not wonder aloud, but she wondered to herself, "Oh shit, does he really have a car? Can I fudge that one little criterium?" She gave Rex a ride home. When they arrived at Rex's house, Rex asked if Babs wanted to come in. Babs gave him a good night kiss, but she did not go in. She had standards. She gave Rex her telephone number and drove off into the night thinking to herself that she would definitely never hear from this guy again.

The very next day was payday. Rex called. That weekend Rex got his car out of the shop. Rex and Babs began spending every spare moment together. That June they got an apartment together. That December they moved to Chicago together. The rest is 24 years of history, together. Perhaps one day I'll tell the story of how Babs came to Rex's apartment to pick him up shortly after meeting to discover that his roommate was a woman. Hey she was a friend, a non-sleeping together friend. Well, another time.

Clutter in the Attic, and Cleaning It Out

It's a lovely day in Streeterville as seen from the 14th floor, if you like really big slurpees, that is. The entire lake has turned to slush and is sloshing around in a thick manner that reminds one of nothing so much as a slurpee, sans flavoring, unless you like lake trout flavored slurpees. Ooooohhh! It's 27 degrees and sunny at the Mini. Still no word on the wind chill factor. At any rate, it's still winter and don't you forget it.

March is a mere week away and the office secretary at the Outpost is getting ready to remove the snowmen and put up the shamrocks and leprechauns. School secretaries are amazing people really. They have decorations for every occasion, and quite often cookies and candy for said occasions. This one, Mary we'll call her, is a true Southside Irish lady with a cop for husband and all, so she really gets into her Irish traditions. She listens to loud Van Morrison a lot. Not so big on the more current Irish rockers like U2. More of an oldies gal. We went to different schools together.

For people like Mary there is a certain security in traditions and it just seems wrong not to observe them, in the same way you've observed them for the last umpteen years. All of us have our places we go for security really. Linus has his blanket. Others have their own version.

My cat, Sammie (aka Sammie from Miami), likes to play with those little plastic rings that are around a carton of milk and that come off when you open up the milk. He also is terribly fond of a little red stuffed animal of some sort that he bats around and bites and tosses. Sammie, when he's tired, likes to sleep on my bed. Much like Linus taking his blanket everywhere with him, he takes his little milk carton ring and his little red stuffed animal up on the bed with him. He feels safe and warm and secure. This brings us to that other issue. When he feels like he's going to puke, (Cats do that a lot.) he jumps up on that big safe,secure bed with his toys and lets it out there. Ick!

Babs is under a lot of stress right now. She has a book deadline that is imminent and the book must be finished. When feeling stressed and beyond big hugs from the male of the family, she has her security blanket too. It involves a hot bath, a glass of red wine, and a New Yorker Magazine. It never fails to make her feel a little bit better, a little bit more secure in her existence, in her relationship with the world.

For myself, I am not so much a long hot bath kind of person. I tend to think of that as a female pastime. Girls like those things, along with good smelling candles and bath salts and bubbles and stuff. I am more prone to feeling more at peace with the world when I'm in my jeans and a comfy shirt, not in the dressup, gotta work or go to a function kind of mode. When I'm feeling really at odds with the world, the jeans and a sweatshirt, a glass of red wine, and a Cubs game serve as my security blanket. They put me at peace with the world. So what happens when baseball isn't in season? There are other options, usually revolving around stupid television, Tour de France in early summer, Wimbledon in mid-summer, sometimes a little guitar and songwriting, sometimes a run by the lake. These things are routine and put things in order with the world for me.

Everyone seems to have something. Some people meditate. Some people sing. My father in law works with his hands, carving things, putting together elaborate models. He used to build grandfather clocks, and really nice wooden furniture. My mother in law, well she can't sit still, and sometimes I think her meditation is rearranging furniture and making new curtains. Everyone needs something.

That brings me to a guy I know. It seems the guy is really tied to his work and has never had a hobby to speak of aside from reading science fiction. When he retired he had no clue what to do with himself and he had no meditation, no security blanket, and his wife, I suspect was starting to drive him up a wall. He'd never spent that much time in his life with her even though they had been married for something in excess of 40 years. He took a new job and went back to work. In this case, I guess his security blanket is his job, also his identity. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but for me, I like having a life beyond my work. My work, c'est ne pas moi.

Now if you'll excuse me, I must go see a guy about a running program and quaff a couple of wines with him.

Cabin Fever

At the risk of becoming redundant, I say again, "Enough is enough." The view from the 14th floor is somewhat obscured just now by the snow coming down. As per the National Weather Service, it is 28 degrees in Streeterville. No news from the Mini since I haven't driven anywhere today. I like snow as much as the next guy, okay? It's just that by the end of February one can get mighty tired of it. I'm ready for that trip to Miami in a little over a month.

Babs had a business trip to L.A. this week and came back last night talking about 75 degree temperatures and palm trees swaying in the breeze. Is not torture prohibited by the Geneva Conventions? Forget what went on at Abu Ghraib. Forget what went on at Guantanamo Bay. This is the real deal. Waterboarding? Hah! People talking about palm trees and warm, soft breezes while the Arctic winds are blowing and snow is blowing sideways past my floor to ceiling windows and bringing visibility down to about 5 feet, now that's torture friends.

Hyperbole? Hyperbole you say! Perhaps I exaggerate a wee bit. It is true that I can see more than 5 feet. I can see the shores of Lake Michigan on the other side of Lake Shore Drive. I cannot see Navy Pier or the concrete barrier before the deep water. This is hot toddies by the fireplace weather. It decidedly is not gin and tonics by the pool weather. I am sick of the weather. I am sick of the cold. I am sick of my winter wardrobe.

I grew up in the South and people there ask me how I survive up North with all of that cold weather. Of course people up North ask me how I survived down South with all of that hot, humid weather. Everybody adapts to their own environment and can't imagine how people can exist any other way. Tell it to the Inuit. Tell it to the Bedouins in the desert. Tell it to the tribes of the jungles in Papua New Guinea. Tell it to those crazy off the grid types in the wilderness of Northern Idaho. On second thought, don't tell them, they'll just shoot at you.

Anyway, the thing is, I've been thinking about how I adapted to living in the North. It wasn't hard really. What it takes is coats (plural), sweaters (mucho plural), assorted articles of fleece clothing (plural), hats (plural), including hats with flaps, gloves (plural), boots (plural), scarves (plural), and one good ear covering device for those hats that don't have flaps. That's just the everyday stuff. There are the specialty items also, special clothes for running outside in the winter, winter sports gear of assorted types such as snow shoes and ice skates. Don't own any skis. Have to rent those if I engage in that activity.

Then don't forget about those adaptations that make everyday life manageable. I've found that a car with front wheel drive or all wheel drive fares much better in the snow and ice than traditional rear wheel drive vehicles. While it certainly isn't a necessity, I've found heated seats to be a real comfort as well on those days that your car has sat outside in the parking lot at work all day. Of course you have to have a good scraper for your windshield and windows on your car and one of those brushes to brush the snow off your car that has accumulated since last you drove it.

When I used to live in Andersonville, before I moved to Streeterville, when I lived in a hundred year old house, before I lived on the 14th floor, there were other tools of winter survival I needed. There was a good snow shovel or two, to clear away the sidewalk, both in front of the house and down the side of the house. I lived on the corner. Steps and porch often had to be shoveled as well. The parking spot in front of the house where I parked my Toyota Celica GT convertible had to shoveled out. I also had to have a big car cover for the GT so the rag top wouldn't get trashed by the snow and ice. Had to put that on every time I parked it. Had to take it off every time I drove to work. Some people used snow blowers for the sidewalks. I cleared snow the old fashioned way, by the sweat of my brow. It was good exercise and it didn't pollute the environment.

Of course here in Streeterville, life is a little simpler. There are maintenance guys from the building to clear the snow from the sidewalks and entrances and exits to the garage. The garage is below the building in the basement and sub-basement and are quite warm, so I don't have to clear the snow and ice off the car or sit in it while it warms up as it's already warm. The garage attendant parks it for me and has it ready for me when I go to work in the morning. Oh and the doorman keeps the Jehovah's Witnesses away. Can't complain about that. How bourgeois!

The point is that in December and early January it is easy to embrace the snow and cold. It's unique. It's a bit fun. You can indulge in cold weather rituals. However, by the end of February, it has ceased being any fun and you're wayyyy ready for it to end and for the big warmup to commence. You're tired of donning all of those clothes just to walk 3 blocks to the gym or the grocery store. Hats and gloves and scarves and sweaters and boots every time you walk out the door. You're tired of scraping your windows on your car. You're tired of having to heat your seats in your car. You're tired of meals by a cozy fire. You're tired of wind chills. You're tired as all get out of your winter wardrobe. You begin to long for the simpler attire of warmer climes and warmer times. How nice would it be to suddenly be able to exit in a pair of shorts, a t-shirt, and a pair of flip-flops. Underwear is optional. Nobody will know.

That's the state of affairs on the 14th floor this afternoon. It's gray and snowy and cold and decidedly crappy outside. Did I mention the slush in the street? Think Miami. Think Miami. Think Miami........

TGIF Edition, Actors and Wrestlers

It was actually a fairly pleasant day in Streeterville, and at the outpost in Back of the Yards. Sunny and clear, 32 degrees at the Mini this afternoon. The Ryan Expressway was a piece of cake. The lake was a bit calmer than in previous days. Then they told me. It's supposed to start snowing tonight and last into tomorrow. 6-8 inches they say. OK, enough is enough. I'm ready for shorts and t-shirts. I'm ready for going to the beach weather. Winter's a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there. If I did, I would've stayed in Minnesota, maybe moved to Alaska. Nope. Nix that. Couldn't take a state that elects some nimrod like Sarah Palin as the Governor.

Come to think of it, that might rule out California as well. They not only elected Ronald Reagan as Governor, but Arnold Schwarzenegger. Oh and, My God, that rules out Minnesota categorically too. They elected a friggin professional wrestler as Governor (Remember Jesse, The Body, Ventura? Governor of Minnesota.). Hey, Iowa sent Gopher from The Love Boat to Congress. I'm withholding judgement on the fact that Al Franken of Saturday Night Live fame is in all likelihood going to be a U.S. Senator from Minnesota. He actually seems to have some sense, despite being an actor and writer.

Who are these people out there who are electing actors and wrestlers to run their governments? Is it only a matter of time until Mickey Rourke becomes the darling of one of our national parties? Man, he hits all the right buttons. He's an actor and he's played a wrestler in a movie. He also tried his hand at boxing professionally. Not sure that quite worked out for him. Politics must be the next stop, unless he does something dumb like winning an Oscar and jumpstarting his acting career again.

That being said, Thank God I live in a sane state where we have perfectly normal corrupt politicians who serve time in office and then serve time in a federal penitentiary for assorted briberies, tax evasions, etc. Hey, we produced the current President of the U.S., and he's a Harvard Law grad and pretty much squeaky clean. That is not to say that some of those he has nominated to his cabinet who withdrew are all squeaky clean. Why can't rich, powerful people just pay their damned taxes like the rest of us? Oh wait. I did that rant already....yesterday. Well you get the point, though.

I was thinking that it was a good thing the whole country doesn't go for goofball actors and wrestlers and such, but then I remembered that the U.S. elected Ronald Reagan as President. Not just once mind you, but twice. How could an entire country be that damned stupid? He created the largest national debt in history (At that point. It took GW Bush to top that one. Another Republican.) while cutting taxes and gutting government oversight of business and building up the military to unheard of proportions(Once again, it took GW Bush to top that.). He also claimed that ketchup is a vegetable and that trees are some of the largest polluters. (GW Bush just denied global warming exists and that evolution exists, or that science really exists, I guess. When I was growing up, we had a word for guys like GW Bush. It was dumbass. And he ran the country for two terms...into the ground. Makes the country kind of look like a bunch of dumbasses, for electing him twice.)

I guess I'm just trying to get my head around this thing that allows an entire country to elect celebrities, actors and wrestlers and such, rather than people who are actually trained and educated to handle governance. Apparently, an awful lot of people are susceptible to advertising campaigns, and ad campaigns are the babies of celebrity. People, for some reason, are drawn to people they've seen on TV or in the movies, whether they have any sense or not. If they can create a sound bite that sounds good (if you don't examine it too closely), the electorate will elect the SOB.

Then there is also a distinct anti-intellectual bias in the country. Respect for intelligence? "Nope. Rather elect someone I could sit down and have a beer with and talk good common sense. We all know that intellectuals got no common sense whatsoever. I heard that Einstein couldn't even tie his own shoes..." Where does that come from? I know a lot of smart people, and on the whole they are more competent in all areas, as a result of their smarts. They make smarter decisions. Some can even tie their shoes several different ways. They could run our government in a smarter fashion, and some smart people actually look good on camera. Go figure.

Of course we could just elect Mickey Rourke President and continue bashing the French. I hear French people revere intellectuals.