Darwin, can you hear me?

This morning, Dennis Miller came up with the best Darwin line I've ever heard. Ready?

"God created Darwin."

And so...

It's been awhile. I'm grateful for my friends on Facebook - sort of a new venture. A lot of opportunities are opening up for me, just wish some would pay the bills.

Upcoming concert: The Jamezband, Wednesday Aug. 26 at The Bollingbrook Theater for the Performing Arts. James is James Fairs, a true visionary. In another life long ago yet not so far away, he co-founded the Cryan' Shames. They delighted our world in the late 60s.

For the few of you who might not know, that's James to my right in the photo. We jammed at his house in May, and if I am further blessed, we'll do it again.

I am wrapping up my house and home and moving on - we fervently hope - to greener pastures.

Chicago IS Siberia in the winter! But...sometimes in winter...

What a summer! Except for the parking fees and murders, Chicago should be the resort capitol of the season. We have some of the coolest attractions anywhere. Anybody know if the "Chahooly" (I have no idea how to spell his last name) glass exhibit is still at Garfield Park? GP was, only a couple of years back, the center of murder in Chicagoland. Creepy, but I'm still shaking off the effects of watching The Tingler - the old Vincent Price tour de force that was on Svengoolie over the weekend.


Keep on keepin' on Rev Swing Orch. Dot comm. Watching too much Peanut/Jeff Done Hamm. Dot cahmm.

It's great and noble being one of many "keepers of the flame" regarding big band music, but as someone said a few months back when we were playing a club across the street from a cemetery: "All we need to do is turn up. Our fan base is over there!"

Not so true. My friend, Jon McGahan has put together a new band, Stardust, and he has astutely gone into the Lincoln Park neighborhood where his excellent band has been well-received by the young locals.

Till next time!

Why Do Pigeons Have Red Eyes? And Why I Can’t Stop Singing Sam Cooke’s “Cupid.”

I took the L downtown this morning and when you haven’t ridden the L for a long time, you notice things you used to take for granted.

There weren't many people on the train, and today was a perfect summer day. I almost missed the old commute. A little voice reminded me of the early 80s when I did it daily, through the winter, and at both rush hours, dogged tired. It’s when you learn to sleep standing up.

I think the Lord painted pigeons into the urban landscape when He created it. Ever wonder what pigeons know? Or if they know anything? Pigeons probably covered the dinosaurs. But they have red eyes. OK, blue blocker sunglasses are red. That’s why. Pigeons must be able to see like crazy. You drop a peanut or a piece of popcorn, blam, that pigeon gets it. You don’t give up a morsel, you become a target. Life’s balance.

There are always a few spectacular girls with spectacular figures riding the L. They watch to see if you notice. And it’s cool if you do. But there’s an entire L unspoken, non-verbal communication etiquette. Basically, you DON’T start conversations. “Nice day, isn’t it?” That’s taboo. Read your newspaper or look around, focused, and yet removed. “Thank you,” “Excuse me.” That’s about it.

Everyone observes. There isn’t a soul who doesn’t. Riding the L in the 80s, even before that, is how I learned to create characters. I listened to the conversations, watched what people wore, how they carried themselves, how they looked around, all the while observing L etiquette - be there and at the same time, pretend not to be there.

My business downtown only took a short time, so I walked around and noticed how spruced up the theater district is now, then went back to the subway to catch the train home.

There was a Spanish kid driving his mom crazy because he kept putting his toes over the edge of the platform and leaned over to see if the train was coming. I broke the rule and smiled at her, thinking of stunts my own son has pulled.

It was awhile before the train came. A black guy who I thought was waiting for the eastbound train – he had been there almost as long as us – suddenly broke into song.

He was a busker – you have to have a license for it and I’ve been thinking of doing it. But this guy had a sweet voice like an angel. “Cupid, draw back your bow, oh-ee-oh-oh. And let your arrow go. Straight to my lover’s heart for me.”

I walked over and put a buck in his little bag. He looked me in the eye, nodded, and kept singing. By now (I’m writing this a couple hours later) I bet his bag is filled. The Spanish kid walked over and gave him some change.

The train came and I sat next to a young lady. The seat faced backwards to the direction of the train. I don’t have a preference. Either way, the vibration of the ride felt good on my back and legs.

L etiquette: you sit still for the first few minutes. Otherwise, you’re typed. I’ve seen it. After a stop or two you relax and break out the paper or take a drink from your water bottle. You’ve assimilated and are now a rider. You weren’t before. The first two stops are like probation. Now you’re fine and can look around.

Three years I’ve been working out with weights. Dumbbells. I’m not what they call “cut” (I don’t like that term) but my upper bod is getting toned and I’m more bulky now. Enough to think about wearing muscle shirts or tank tops again. Still have to lose a little more around the middle. Three inches and 7 lbs. in 3 months. No beer and no potato chips!

A guy my age got on. He was lanky rather than thin, but he had great arms. I see why guys wear cut-off shirts, etc. We like to show off, too.

There were plenty of girls with all different figures on the train. It’s summer and tank tops rule. For a straight guy, if you don’t think the female breast is comforting and wonderful (and leave it at that), any other thought is perved.


A guy got on in the middle of the ride and sat in the sideways seat next to where I was sitting. He looked liked Santana, or at least a Santana fan, from Woodstock. Black permed hair, curly, not a fro, he was white, thick beard. He was much too young to have been born during Woodstock, but he looked like he was. He wore dark, wrap around shades and had his ipod or whatever plugged in. He moved around right away, didn’t observe L etiquette.

He popped his legs up, crossed them. There was a ways to go before my stop, so I watched this young man, grooving or whatever it’s called now, to the tune he was hearing. A thin, gorgeous black girl got on with an infant in tow. The tyke was as cute as his mom and already had a pretty good fro going. The lady and her girlfriend (or sister) stood in the right side door with the stroller. That was ok because the doors would open on the left for the rest of the stops.

I wondered how the guy singing “Cupid” was doing.

The Santana guy jerked his leg and three quarters tumbled out of his shorts. One stayed on the empty seat next to him, one went on the floor, and the other rolled past me and stopped a seat or two down.

I tapped him on the shoulder and showed him. He didn’t care. “That’s OK.” Another guy told him his quarters were all over the floor, so he went to get them. L etiquette – the guy sitting across from him – tank top, short hair, toned, middle aged, looked at me and grinned. See what I mean? It doesn’t matter what you look like, race or gender, L etiquette is L etiquette.

Another guy got up, went to the door, and put an unlit cigarette in his mouth. I can’t imagine or remember if they ever let people smoke on the CTA. Not when I drove a bus in ’73-’74.

I got up too and stood next to him. He pulled the cig out of his mouth. L etiquette. We all got off. Most people were polite, except for those fighting for seats to O’Hare, the end of the line.

Pigeons have iridescent feathers and bright red eyes. They act like our cat, getting in and out of your way to let you know they need to be fed. Or else.

(photo by Graham Garfield)

Aay?

Yesterday, the girl at the checkout counter in the supermarket asked me if I wanted the Senior Discount.

You bet I do.

I went home and looked in the mirror. Who me? I don't look any different...than someone approaching 60, I guess.

Except I'm not. In fact I was still getting carded, CARDED at 48.

I made her guess my age. For a couple of minutes she went through the routine of pretending not to hear, making me repeat everything, just to wear me down and have a little fun.

She said, "see, I was close." So what was the discount? After more repeating, she finally said it was 10%. Whew, 62 here I come!

And I'll get back to her once I find out if they discount haircuts to girls under 17.

Lib No Longer

This started as a response to a friend of mine, questioning my politics. It’s a position paper, clearing the air about where I’ve come from and why I believe the way I do.


Put me to the right of Abbie Hoffman. Please understand that I was once far left. I went to college in the late 60s – early 70s and was deeply involved in that movement as we all thought we had a better idea. I understand it all too well – the
Weather Underground, Fred Hampton, Mark Clark who were murdered (I knew them a little as they spoke at my college and I covered their appearances when I was on the newspaper).

With all the peace and love abounding and promises of “the revolution” and the ubiquitous “bleep the establishment” (hey, we won, eh?) I started questioning motives.

What bothered me the most was amidst all the peace/love, ethics were slipping. The sense of right and wrong was vaporizing into a gray area. Morality was becoming relative. Under the guise of love, justice and mercy, the baby was being thrown out with the bath water and much of the altruism going on seemed to be a smokescreen for the great "I". I needed the truth, for real – a real bottom line.

I found it, as did many others, especially the ex-hippies, yippies, et.al. of that era, in the Lord. His word finally settled the questions and issues I was having. It took seven years of floundering after college, seeking, going through what I had to go through, but in the end, I found it, in spades.

And even then, it took years of going to various churches, being involved as a Christian person, reading God’s word in the spirit, to find out that it’s not church people, denominational differences, shallowness, hypocrisy (oh, I’ve discovered plenty) that mattered – it was ME, working on my own personal baggage and my own relationship with Jesus Christ, that was the most important thing in my life.

If Libs could only do some of what they do in the name of God and stop being so self-serving, some of what they do would actually help. But they have to mean it. Hand me the rib tape, please.

I'm still somewhat irreverent, irascible, whacky, etc, but best of all, I now have that bottom line. People don't seem to understand. Unfortunately, those who have taken that step (crossed the threshold as Pope John Paul put it – he wrote a book with that title) smell funny to people who haven't. None of us are perfect.

That said, there are other people, under the guise of religion, who are trying to wipe us out, period. Annihilate us and this country. There is no other way to put it. The current administration has a great idea of extending an olive branch to hostile nations and terrorist groups. I get that. This philosophy is straight out of the hippie movement. In fact if anyone gets the notion to protest, just run photos of these folks from the 60s! But anyway, peace, love and appeasement – that’s a great blackboard philosophy and as Christians, that is how we should treat each other.

But in practice, it’s not worth the toilet paper that should be used to wipe it off the blackboard. Huh? Lemme explain, in case nobody's ever thought of this: the others may not necessarily accept peace, love and the truly nice, gentle, open, loving, generous, well-meaning, egalitarian people that we are. They have their own agenda – to kill us. In the name of their God.

Americans, the whole ecumenical lot of us – Christian, Jew, Muslim, et. al. had better remember how to defend ourselves militarily, socially, and culturally, or we're going to lay down like a limp dishrag and this country is going to disappear by default.

I can feel it coming. For me, the bottom line is the Lord's word. What’s the problem with that? I’ve read the book. All of it. And when He gets pissed off, look the hell out! Revelation: white horse, flaming sword coming out of His mouth, name written on His thigh.

I'm forever glad I chose to be on His side. My life experiences and choices I've made have all pointed me in His direction. He will be victorious in the end, and we who endure and keep His word (best we can, I raise my hand) are invited to share in that victory.

Now let's make some music!

Letterman's Crude, Foul Remarks About Palin's Daughter

On his low-rated liberal, conservative-bashing-oriented talk show Tuesday night, David Letterman suggested that Alaskan Governor Sarah Palin's 14-yr. old daughter, Willow, be raped by Yankee baseball player Alex Rodriguez during a game.

This, after intimating that Palin, who has an 80% approval rating, looks like a "slutty flight attendant."


David, it's a good thing you don't have any real power.


(photos from Fox News)

Pork Chops on the Grill

I already cooked this dish and had started eating it when I thought, hmm...I think I'd like to share it.


3 pork chops of any kind

Herb blend: Grind the following:

8 peppercorns

A little kosher salt

1 tsp. onion flakes

1 tsp. minced garlic

Add to a marinade of olive oil and soy sauce, rub over pork chops, cover, let it sit.


Oil the grill with some peanut oil on a paper towel.

Preheat and start grilling the chops.

I had some mushroom and sauerkraut pierogi on hand and boiled about 8 small ones, then added some frozen veggies to the water.

A little more olive oil to the dish, some extra coarse ground black pepper, Parmesan cheese (I had Munster on hand), several green olives, Kosher salt to taste, and that’s it!

This was a dish where all the flavors blended together delightfully.