October 2003

It’s cold out tonight, and night came early. I never seem to be ready for the sudden shift when we set the clocks back… it’s time to settle in for long evenings of stews and wine and writing and long chats. If only I had a fireplace…

Anyway, it’s been an interesting couple of weeks. Some amazing shows – notably the Frames and Gotan Project, both at Metro. I started to write a review after the Frames show, but waxed so lyrical about it that I couldn’t bring myself to subject the general public to such tripe. I think I’ll leave it at this quote, from a friend who does the booking at the venue: “They are amazing, hands down one of my favorite bands of all time. Bands like the Frames are why I do this job…”

Trust me, you want to check them out.

And Gotan Project. What can I say? Tango (which in and of itself is one of the most fabulous things in the history of time), brilliant musicianship, homage and invention, gorgeous projections… I’ve got to say it was the sexiest show I’ve seen in at least 3 years – or whenever it was that Coz and I saw Prince at the Riv. And not being able to hold a candle to his reviewing skills, I think I’ll just leave it at that.

And there’s this other thing. It’s starting to become hard for me to remember that I’m leaving soon. I can feel the tug of the approaching holidays – I’m already planning my tree-trimming party, I’ll be sending out the Thanksgiving invites soon – it’s just like a normal year at home. I’ve grown attached to Chicago again, or rediscovered my attachment. And to people as well. Some days it’s hard to remember why I’m going. Then again, didn’t I say it would be hard to hang on to what I’d learned on my travels? Like a complex piece of music, it’s sometimes difficult to know which voice to listen to. Also like music, it’s only when you are able to take it in as a whole that it begins to make sense. But does that require stepping back or diving in?

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it’s sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there’s never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile

– e.e. cummings

No, wait:

“The unity of the worldwide Anglican movement hangs in the balance as the national church leaders, or primates, meet in London to discuss the crisis over gay and lesbian clergymen.” [emphasis mine]

The pithy remarks came flooding in so fast that they caused a massive traffic jam right at the exit point of my brain and now I’ve drawn a complete blank. I’m sure you guys will bail me out, though.

Story here..

We’re not going to talk about last night. We’re just not going to talk about it. Except:

After the last out was caught, Phineas put his arm around me and pulled me into a hug. “This,” he said, “Is the true and distilled essence of what it means to be a Cubs fan.”

Instead, a beautiful fall poem, courtesy of my fabulous mother, who sent it to me in a thank you note. I love it that she sends me thank you notes in the mail when she lives right around the corner. Now that’s style.

Der Nebel steigt, as fällt das Laub;
schenk ein den Wein, den holden!
Wir wollen uns den grauen Tag
vergolden, ja vergolden!

Und wimmert auch einmal das Herz –
stoß an und laß es klingen!
Wir wissen’s doch, ein rechtes Herz
ist gar nicht umzubringen.

Wohl ist es Herbst; doch warte nur,
doch warter nur ein Weilchen!
Der Frühling kommt, der Himmel lacht,
es steht die Welt in Veilchen.

Die blauen Tage brechen an,
und ehe sie verfließen,
wir wollen sie, mein wackrer Freund,
genießen, ja genießen!

[Theodor Storm]

Translation (and the full text of the poem) can be found here.

It was a rough night last night. Phineas kept wailing, “What’s happening? I was having such a good time just 5 minutes ago!”

Daria, at 5-3, shouted, “Somebody turn this shit off and put on the game!”

And poor Annie. It was her birthday. Instead of the biggest Chicago birthday party ever in the history of all time, she got a surrealist masterpiece of a nightmare.

Yea verily, it blew goats.

But I still believe. Tonight, we shall prevail. Kerry Wood, one of the best pitchers in the whole wide world (ok, the best), will see us safely home. Repeatedly. And shut out those bastard Marlins.

To the guy whose insurmountable craving for a souvenir set this whole nightmare off (the asshole in the grey sweatshirt, not just the one who’s getting all the press): good luck, bud. Some of us did see your face.

[updated 1:30 pm] To those of you who are wondering about Mr. Grabby, the Sun Times has the dirt.

So today, whilst off on some strange surfing tangent, I came across this, which made me think of our beloved Cubs, and my beloved Red Wings, and the strength of my fabulous friends and family, and every other underdog that’s fought to come out on top:

At the next vacancy for God, if I am elected,
I shall forgive last the delicately wounded who,
having been slugged no harder than anyone else,
never got up again, neither to fight back,
nor to finger their jaws in painful admiration.

They who are wholly broken, and they in whom mercy is understanding,
I shall embrace at once and lead to pillows in heaven.
But they who are the meek by trade, baiting the best of their betters with extortions of a mock-helplessness,
I shall take last to love, and never wholly.

Let them all in Heaven – I abolish Hell –
but let it be read over them as they enter:
"Beware the calculations of the meek, who gambled nothing
gave nothing, and could never receive enough."

[John Ciardi]

Many thanks to the fine folk at Constantly Risking Absurdity for posting this piece where I could stumble across it. If you like poetry, it’s a hell of a site.

Now let’s get out there and finish it up, boys. Go Cubs!