Last Minute Gig

I got a call from the manager of our local blues bar in Evanston, Illinois. This weekend is the second anniversary celebration of Bill's Blues Bar; the headliner is the world-famous Eddy "The Chief" Clearwater. Well, Eddy is sick and can't make it. I have been asked to front Eddy's band for a few numbers this evening. Bill is calling around trying to find other front men/women to sit in at the last minute. This is not good - the crowd will be expecting the Chief and they are going to get a motley crew of nobodies.

This will be an edgy evening. I hope that it all works out.

A Theory of Stupidity

I found this essay to be quite interesting and entertaining - The Basic Laws of Stupidity. Read it and laugh (or cry, depending on your mood).

Action of the Monroe Street Bridge

I am coping with my Rita-related unease by focusing on specifics. I have friends in Houston; my business partner grew up in Texas and has lots of friends in South Texas. It is hard to watch a catastrophe approach and have no way to stop it.

So I am shifting my attention to local stuff in Chicago's great Loop to keep my hurricane anxiety down. If you don't know downtown Chicago, the major train stations are just west of the Chicago River, a bit outside of the Loop. The Union Pacific Metra station is at Canal and Monroe; Union Station (more Metra and Amtrak) is at Canal and Adams. The bridges over the Chicago River that lead to the train stations are prime real estate for panhandlers, street musicians, and pamphleteers. One of the top "bucket drummers" in Chicago has staked his claim to a spot in the middle of the Monroe Street bridge. I usually don't tip the bucket drummers - they are mostly loud and annoying - but this guy has style. He plays a medium tempo funk beat in 4-bar spurts, then breaks to shout out messages. I will try to write out what I hear when I cross the bridge:

"boom crack booma booma boom crack..boom crack booma booma boom crack..boomcrack booma booma boom crack..boom..THANK GOD ITS FRIDAY!..boom crack booma booma boom crack..boom crack booma booma boom crack..boom crack booma booma boom crack..boom..LET'S GO WHITE SOX!!"

That's the general idea. The Bucket Beater also makes brief observations about the people passing by, which he shouts out during the breaks (example: "Nice Dress, Baby!!"). Sometimes he shouts out something with a religous theme (example: "Just Love Jesus"). His energy level is high and he grins ferociously as he pounds and shouts. You just gotta tip a guy like that.

Outdoor bucket drumming season is winding to a close - when the temps drop, the buckets go away. Chicago's policemen are fond of rousting the buskers and panhandlers - a group of beggars are suing the Chicago Police Department, claiming harassment and violation of free speech right (yikes! Pleas for spare change is convered by the First Amendment?). On some days, my favorite Bucket Beater is absent, having been sent packing by Chicago's Finest. There are many folks on the street that should be rousted, but not the Monroe Street Bridge Bucket Beater.

NOLA Evacuees

My eldest daughter's boyfriend hails from New Orleans - he grew up in Chicago, but he still has lots of family in NOLA. A group of them have evacuated to Skokie, Illinois, where Patrick's mother lives. I stopped by to visit them recently - three befuddled people, lives upended by Katrina. Two out of the three happened to be on vacation, visiting friends in Cincinatti when the storm hit. The third family member stayed in New Orleans, got flooded out of her house, got stuck in the Superdome, moved to the Houston Astrodome and finally was put on a plane to Chicago. She arrived the day of my visit. Mary (not her real name) is a 50-something woman, fairly heavy, an insulin-dependent diabetic with bad hips and knees. She had that "hundred-yard stare" usually associated with infantrymen after the battle is over. Mary was trying to play cards with the family, but gave up and found a dark room where she hid. I think the Superdome experience will be with her forever.

NOLA - A Native Remembers and Reflects

A professor in Pittsburg wrote a lovely reflection on New Orleans, her home town. Hit this link and read this - this woman has passion for the Crescent City.....

Help New Orleans Musicians!

Here is an e-mail I received today from "Roots and Rhythm," a great outfit that keeps obscure and excellent blues, jazz and old rock music available for fanatics like me. I appreciate the list of saved NOLA musicians; I encourage all music lovers to donate to the musician relief agencies listed in this message:

Dear Friends,

We've all watched with horror the devastation wreaked on Mississippi, Louisiana and Alabama by Hurricane Katrina and particularly the ongoing tragedy in New Orleans. It's hard to imagine the American musical landscape without the contributions of so many musicians from the Crescent City. And that musical heritage continued until a week ago when the levees broke. Now there are hundreds of musicians left without a job or a home and it may be a very long time before they are able to work again, if ever. There are also musicians whose whereabouts are unknown and may number among the dead when we learn the whole story.

We thought it appropriate to pass along to you some information about musicians that are known to be safe and also let you know ways in which you can help musicians directly.

Firstly - here is a list of musicians that are known to be safe, courtesy of Mary Katherine Aldin of the Post War Blues mailing list:

Jeffrey "Jellybean" Alexander, Steve Allen, Kevin Allman, Brint Anderson, Theresa Andersson, James Andrews, Troy "Trombone Shorty" Andrews, Johnny Angel, Christine Balfa, Marcia Ball, Lucien Barbarin, Mike Barras and family, Rebecca Barry, Bruce "Sunpie" Barnes, Dave Bartholomew, Harold Battiste, Jamal Battiste, Russell Batiste, Tab Benoit, Beausoleil (Michael Doucet and all band members), Doug Belote, Better Than Ezra, Terrance Blanchard, Eddie Bo (plus sister Veronica and his band), Bonerama, Big Chief Monk Boudreaux, John Boutté, Lillian Boutté,Tricia "Sista Teedy" Boutté, Alonzo Bowens, Russ Broussard, Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown, Jody Brown, Maurice Brown, Wendell Brunious (Preservation Hall Jazz Band), George and Nina Buck (Palm Court Cafe), Henry Butler, Grayson Capps, Big Al Carson, Ricki Castrillo, Topsy Chapman, Alex Chilton, Evan Christopher, Jon Cleary, Rick Coleman, Harry Connick, Jr., Cowboy Mouth, Susan Cowsill, Davell Crawford, Jack Cruz, Dash Rip Rock, Jeremy Davenport, Theryl "Houseman" DeClouet, Dirty Dozen Brass Band (all members), The Dixie Cups (but lost everything), Big Chief Bo Dollis and the Wild Magnolias, Michael Dominici, Fats Domino, Rockin' Dopsie & the Zydeco Twisters (all members), Dr. John, Snooks Eaglin (and family of 12, all nowhomeless), Lars Edegran, Nancy Edwards, Joe Espino & New Orleans Brass Potholes Band (all members), Charlie Fardela, Jack Fine (of the Palmetto Bug Stompers), Pat Flory & Donna, John Fohl, Frankie Ford, Andy Forrest, Gina Forsyth, Pete Fountain, Derrick Freeman, Jonathan Freilich (N.O. Klezmer All-Stars), Bob French, Peter Fuller, Funky Meters, Galactic, Katrina Geenen (WWOZ dj), Banu Gibson, Steve Goodson, Tim Green, John "Papa" Gros and all members of Papa Grows Funk, James Hall, Tony Hall, Jeff Hannusch, Corey Harris, Leigh "Lil' Queenie" Harris, Duke Heitger,Clarence "Frogman" Henry, Corey Henry, Andi Hoffman, Kenny Holladay, Peter Holsapple, Hot Club of New Orleans (all members), The Iguanas (all members), Burke Ingraffia, Benny Jones Sr., Leroy Jones, Dave Jordan and family, Kirk Joseph, Jerry Jumonville, Chris Thomas King and family, Joe Krown, Julia LaShae, Joe Lastie (drummer, Preservation Hall Jazz Band), Tim Laughlin, Washboard Chaz Leary, Bryan Lee, David Leonard & Roselyn Lionheart (David & Roselyn), Herman Leonard, Lil' Rascals Brass Band, Li'l Stooges Brass Band, Eric Lindell, A.J. Loria, Jeremy Lyons, Ronald Markham, Ellis Marsalis, Jason Marsalis, Steve Masakowski, Irvin Mayfield, Tom McDermott, Humberto "Pupi" Menez (and aunt Caridad Delatorre), Charlie Miller, Charles Louie Moore, Deacon John Moore (band members unknown), Bill Morgan, Tom Morgan, Chris Mule, Kenny Neal, The Neville Brothers, Charmaine Neville, Ian Neville, Ivan Neville, Kevin O'Day, Anders Osborne, Joshua Mann Paillet (owner of A Gallery for Fine Photography), Stevenson Palfi, Earl Palmer, Panorama Jazz Band, Joshua Paxton, Michael Pearce, Spike Perkins, Dave Pirner, Renard Poche, Pocketfoxx, George Porter Jr., Dirk Powell, Shannon Powell and family, Gloria Powers, Wardell Quezergue, Quintron & Miss Pussycat, The Radiators, Jan Ramsey & most Offbeat staff, Rebirth Brass Band (Kabuki unknown), Herlin Riley, Marcus Roberts, Coco Robicheaux, John Rodli (New Orleans Jazz Vipers), Biff Rose, Brent Rose and family, George Rossi, Wanda Rouzan, Dixie Rubin, Kermit Ruffins, Scott Saltzman, Mark and Will Samuels (Basin Street Records), Ben Sandmel, Jumpin' Johnny Sansone, Marc and Ann Savoy and family, Alexandra Scott, Mem Shannon and the Membership, Derek Shezbie, James Singleton, Johnny Sketch, Michael Skinkus, Robert Snow (New Orleans Jazz Vipers), Steamboat Willie, Sally Stevens, Armand St. Martin, Brian Stoltz, Marc Stone, Bill Summers, Ken Swartz, Irma Thomas, Dave Torkanowsky, Rick Trolsen, Allen Toussaint, Willie Turbinton, Johnny Vidacovich, Rob Wagner, Mark Walton, Walter "Wolfman" Washington, Melissa Weber, Raymond Weber, Mike West, Dr. Michael White, Marva Wright, June Yamagishi

Here is some information on how you can help the surviving musicians - from the Jazz Foundation of America:

(Message from Wendy Oxenhorn Executive Director at the Jazz Foundation
of America)

Two Organizations helping the musicians in New Orleans:

We are directing folks to the New Orleans Musicians Clinic (NOMC) which has the names and addresses of so many musicians in New Orleans, and are working now to find them and find temporary housing for them in schools etc.

But let us remember...

... it will be the Jazz Foundation who will be called upon to provide
money to the musicians for first month rents and security deposits on new
apartments and relocations. As well, we're going to try to get instruments replaced.

Please let your contacts know if you think they can help, ask them to
email me.

** New Orleans Musicians Clinic (NOMC) **

This is a fantastic hands on organization who has the names and addresses of
so many great musicians because they have them all coming to their FREE health
clinic all these years and now, they are the ones who are tracking down the local musicians and finding them shelter.

They can be contacted at musiciank@swlahec.com

They are the New Orleans Musicians Clinic and know the whereabouts of the local musicians down there.

Contact: Kathy Richard directly at 337 989-0001

Send donations to:
NOMC Emergency Fund
funds will be distributed by:
SW LA Area Health Education Center Foundation, Inc.
103 Independence Blvd.
Lafayette, LA 70506
desk: 337-989-0001
fax: 337-989-1401
email: finance@swlahec.com
http://www.swlahec.com

The New Orleans Musicians Clinic is determined to keep Louisiana Music Alive!
It is our beacon to soothe our souls. We want to relocate our New Orleans musicians
into the Lafayette/ Acadiana community where they can remain a life force! But most of them have lost everything... we must help them rebuild their lives.

They can't access any of their NOMC accounts. They desperately need money to fund these efforts.

** Jazz Foundation of America **

We will be addressing the longer term needs of these jazz and blues artists who will have just lost everything.

We will be raising funds and distributing money for the musicians to get a new
apartment or room for rent: by giving a first month's rent, possibly more, for
them to start over, a place to live. (This is what we normally do on a daily
basis for musicians across the country who become sick and can't pay their rent,
we also keep food on the table and get employment to hundreds of elderly musicians
through our Jazz in the Schools program. Our operations normally assist 35 musicians
a week.)

As well, we will be attempting to help New Orleans musicians by replacing the thing that matters most and the only way they can ever work again: their instruments. To those who lost their instruments, like drummers and bassists who could not carry their heavy equipment, and guitarist with their amps, we will be making an effort to work with manufacturers and music stores to replace those instruments for as many as we possibly can.

Remember, New Orleans was only “New Orleans” because of the musicians...

Send donations to:
Jazz Foundation of America
322 West 48th Street 6th floor
NYC 10036

Director: Wendy Oxenhorn
Phone: 212-245-3999 Ext. 21
Joyce@jazzfoundation.org
http://www.jazzfoundation.org

To make an online CREDIT CARD DONATION OR PLEDGE:
go to: http://www.jazzfoundation.org/index2.html and click bottom right corner of page where it says “instant pledge”

Thank you, from our hearts.

Dazed

The floodwaters of New Orleans are slowly receding as the massive pumps start up. Of course, Lake Ponchatrain will turn into a massive toxic cesspool when all the brackish water from the streets of New Orleans is pushed back over the levee. The mayor of NOLA is predicting 10,000 fatalities. The price of crude dropped to $66/barrel due to releases from the strateigic oil reserve. The finger-pointing blame game is picking up momentum (seems to me that everyone from all levels of government can assume some of the blame for this tragedy). For the first time in my lifetime, the U.S. is accepting foreign aid!!! From Bangladesh, among others!!!!

My 9 year old started fourth grade at a new school today. I saw her off this morning. I was dazed and fuzzy as I waved good-bye to her - the Gulf Coast disaster and unrelated mundane nonsense caused me to sleep fitfully last night. My mind was flopping like a fish in a boat. My dazed state has continued as I sat in my Chicago Loop office trying to be productive. I actually was productive, but it was a huge effort.

And to add to my sense of spaciness, Bob Denver died.
I am a baby boomer; Gilligan meant something to me, as did Maynard G. Krebs. Yes, they were fluffy, inconsequential TV creations, but they put my whole family in a good mood for 30 minutes each week (not an easy achievement, believe me). Bob Denver was 70 years old - not very old by today's standards. He will live forever in syndication.

At least Fats Domino survived Katrina and is safe. Like so many residents of the Gulf Coast, he has lost everything. Allen Toussaint also got out and is in New York after being evacuated from a flooded NOLA hotel. The music has been silenced in New Orleans for now - washed away by the evil storm.

The Lyrics to a Great Song about NOLA

Louis Armstrong and Harry Connick, Jr. both have versions of this marvelous old song........

DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT MEANS TO MISS NEW ORLEANS

Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?
And miss her each night and day
I know I'm not wrong because the feeling's
Getting stronger the longer I stay away

Miss the moss-covered vines, tall sugar pines
Where mockingbirds used to sing
I'd love to see that old lazy Mississippi
Running in the spring

Moonlight on the bayous
Creole tunes fill the air
I dream about magnolias in June
And I'm wishin I was there

Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?
When that's where you left your heart
And there's one thing more, I miss the one I care for
More than I miss New Orleans

Katrina, NOLA and NYC

I have been in New York since Wednesday, August 31. Monday and Tuesday were days filled with bad news about Katrina, but the true nature of the catastrophe didn't really become clear to me until Wednesday. My older brother lived in New Orleans for several years in the 1970's; I came to know the town then when I visited him. I have returned often since that time, but not recently. As a jazz and blues fan, I worship the musicians that have emerged from New Orleans and Mississippi. The Meters, Louis Armstrong, the Marsalis family, Slim Harpo, Professor Longhair, The Dirty Dozen Brass Band, Dr. John (Mac Rebennack), Harry Connick Jr., Terrence Blanchard, Allen Toussaint, Troy "Trombone Shorty" Andrews, Anthony "Tuba Fats" Lacen.....the list could go on forever for me. I have been trolling the web, looking for news on the living people on this list. Most of the current "bigger name" musicians got out with the evacuees (Dr. John is playing in Detroit this weekend), but some were trapped. Fats Domino was pulled off a roof top. I am sure some NOLA musicians perished. Many things have been lost - one blues musician acquaintance of mine escaped, but has lost all of his equipment, recordings and his home. New Orleans music is part of the spiritual world and cannot be destroyed by a hurricane - it will continue. And NOLA will rise again - I read in the New York Times this morning that the French Quarter has not flooded. But what carnage and sadness!! I have sent money, and want to do more.

After a few days of pursuing my investment banker career, my family joined me here in NYC. Connie loves this town - she would like to live here once the girls are grown and gone. It is heaven for a visual artist - so much art is here, and so much inspiration for art is here. Sarah and Amanda are another story - the busy-ness and urban landscape are not to their liking. We attended a bat mitzvah on Saturday - Amanda's best friend was the bat mitzvah.

I did a lot of walking on the streets of Manhattan this week - walking and thinking. New York seems to be cleaner and calmer than it was during my last visit. The infrastructure seems stronger - I saw three street cleaning vehicles this week, and everyone seems to be washing down sidewalks and picking up trash. The social connections appear solid. In NOLA, much of the infrastructure and social connections were washed away by Katrina. I feel ashamed of what has happened, what is still happening. The money for beefing up the levees was cut from the Federal budget even though this catastrophe was clearly forseen by many people (I read the Times Picayune series in 2002 on the aftermath of a Category 5 hurricane on NOLA, and they had everything right). I think this is worse than not protecting against the 9/11/01 attacks - flying jets into buildings hadn't happened before; hurricanes on the Gulf Coast are regular occurances that can be anticipated.

Here in NYC, there are certainly race and class divisions, but the city is humming along, mostly too busy to worry much about that stuff. I have had pleasant conversations with lots of people, ranging from wealthy private equity investors in the Chrysler Building to raggedy homeless fellows on 3rd Avenue. But when a major calamity strikes and all those with money flee, the ones that stay left behind are usually poor - black and/or elderly. The ignored sub-structure of society becomes visible when the super-structure gets stripped away. NOLA is huge example of this.

They say that good things can come from tragic events and it is often true. So maybe New Orleans and the Gulf Coast will get better protection from hurricanes. And maybe the poor folks will get more attention from U.S. society. Right now, I am hopeful but not optimistic.

One Fine Morning

I was up and astride my Cannondale Hybrid bicycle at 5:27 a.m. this morning. The air temperature was in the sixties; scattered clouds were being shoved about by stiff breezes. The Cannondale is a recent acquisition - my old Mongoose lived through one too many crashes, and it felt so heavy and clunky on the roads and bike trails. As its name implies, the Hybrid is a cross between a fat-tire mountain bike and a skinny tire road racer. It is still sturdy but not as heavy as the Mongoose. I can actually keep up with some of the Lycra-suited dandies on their $5,000 racers.

My goal on these rides is to sweat. I am not dawdling and gazing at the surroundings. But this morning was impossible to ignore. The cool air from the north chased away the summer humidity. The winds blew away the haze and smog. The clouds on the horizon amplified the light show as dawn broke. As I rode back south across the lakefront Northwestern campus, the towers of downtown Chicago were flashing in the light of the rising sun. It was all so clear, so clear.

There were an unusual number of bicyclists, runners and dog-walkers out early this morning. I saw lots of smiling faces, several friendly people called out to greet me as I whizzed by. I felt lifted up and encouraged. Strangers can still share their delight as they experience a fine morning - all is not lost, after all.

Demise of the One-Eyed Cat

If you dig into the archives of this blog back to December 20,2004, you will read about Jade, the one-eyed cat. This creature was dying slowly of Feline Infectious Peritonitis (FIP), but continued to be a friendly feline presence around the house. The vet told us that FIP would kill Jade quickly, but she kept on living. Jade had a special fondness for yogurt, hopping up on the kitchen counter to lick the yogurt cup after I finished my breakfast early each morning. My wonderful 13-year old daughter, Amanda, showered that cat with love and attention. I think that this helped to prolong her life.

Jade managed to sneak out of the house into the backyard a couple of weeks ago. She was happy in the yard - we let her out regularly. This time, she did not return. When cats feel death approaching, they often wander off to an isolated spot to face the reaper alone. This is what Jade did. Amanda was very upset and searched for the cat for days. We haven't found her. She is certianly dead, and I expect that her body is not going to be found. We have wild critters that wander through our leafy suburb at night, and the little cat's corpse probably ended up as a midnight snack.

Well. of course this event has been expected - FIP is always fatal - yet there remains a feeling of surprise and mystery to this ending. We won't have our anticipated cat burial in the backyard. Amanda has recovered from her grief, but we still feel unsettled.

Old Colleagues

From 1987 until the end of 1996, I was employed by a company called Heller Financial. Heller was one of the first commercial finance companies in the United States, founded in 1919 by a cantankerous curmudgeon named Walter Heller. The company went through many phases in its history, and shifted in a big way back in 1984 when the firm was sold to a large Japanese bank. The new owners had bought a "pig in a poke" and the company's problems were immense. New professionals were hired and the turnaround effort began. To make a long story short, the effort succceeded - eventually. The Japanese took the company public in 1998, and Heller was sold at a huge price to GE Capital in late 2001. During the last years, and especially after the sale to GE, many Hellerites jumped ship. Here in Chicago, there are dozens of organizations with former Heller folks in positions of responsibility. GE absorbed the Heller organization, discarded its name and brand and lost or fired almost all of the poeple.

A small group of Heller alumni had a fine idea. Since Heller was a seminal experience in the careers of so many people, perhaps there would be some interest in a reunion. The word went out, e-mails flew through cyber-space and the event occured on Thursday, August 11 at a two-story bar just north and west of the Loop. It was wild - probably 500 people crammed into the joint. All sorts of folks came to the reunion - from mail room staff to Group Presidents. It was equal parts nostalgia and networking. Many fermented beverages were consumed and many backs were slapped.

I have always found it interesting how work experiences augment, or even substitute, for family units in modern America. Heller was a corporation but it was also a social grouping and a collection of shared experiences that caused people to bond. I was sad when I left, and I am told there was basically a wake on the night before the company was officially sold to GE Capital. All of this merger and acquisition activity has a large emotional component, and the emotions live on for quite a while - they were on display at the Heller reunion last Thursday.

Junior Parker, SBII and Big Walter

Junior Parker has slipped into blues obscurity, dead now for 34 years. He came from Clarksdale, Mississippi - like so many other giants of the blues - and eventually died in Chicago of a brain tumor - he didn't live to see his 40th birthday.

JP was a singer and harmonica player. His motto was "I sing stories sad and true. I sing the blues and play harmonica. too. It is very funky." He had his first hits in the 50's, and was a bigger act than Bobby "Blue" Bland, for a while.

My friend and harmonica guru, Joe Filisko, burned a CD for me of some out-of-print Junior Parker tunes. Junior cut some great tracks during his heyday - "Funny How Time Slips Away" (I love his long conversation with his dog, Sam, between the verses); "I'd Rather Drink Muddy Water;" "I Done Got Over It." He was a calm, soulful, understated musician - a major contrast to other cats who were big blues men - Howlin' Wolf, Muddy Waters, et al.

Junior Parker's harmonica playing came from exposure to and lessons from Sonny Boy Williamson II (aka Rice Miller), an edgy dude who inspired legions of blues harp players, wannabees and posers. Sonny Boy II was out there - he stole another harmonica player's name, his vocals had a wierd, gargling thing going on during sustained notes; his harmonica snarled and spit at you. Late in his life, he toured England, where he was loved by British Blues crowd. This experience influenced him - he took to wearing a bowler hat and even effected an English accent at times.

I spent the early hours this Sunday morning on my back porch with my battered "A" Special 20 harmonica. (This is the harp that I sat on, which severely bent the cover plates. I pounded out the covers with a small ball peen hammer; I kind of like the way it looks now. It isn't very airtight, though). So I sat in the rocker on the porch and toiled away trying to perfect "Big Walter's Boogie," an intrumental tune that is a rite of passage for all blues harp players. Big Walter Horton was overshadowed by other blues musicians - he was even overshadowed by other harp players. This is ironic, since he was an amazing player - very innovative, and the tone he pulled from the little old harmonica was huge. "Big Walter Tone" is one of the many quests we blues harp players pursue. Big Walter gave tips to Little Walter Jacob and Sonny Boy Williamson II. He started recording before he was 10 years old. He had quirky musical tastes, often tossing in a cheerful version of "La Cucaracha" during his shows. He was a serious drinker. Bluesman to the core.

So I will keep plugging away at Big Walter's Boogie. I may never get it right, but it feels right to work it.

Traveling and Taxi Drivers

I have an adult son who is currently living in the Chama Valley region of northern New Mexico. I traveled from Chicago to see him recently. There is still lots of space in northern New Mexico. My son is living on an organic ranch near Los Ojos, a town that is 2 hours north of Santa Fe. He is in the middle of the boondocks, but my God, it is beautiful. He seems to love it.

I did a bit of business traveling right after my family trip. I ususally take a local cab to the airport from Evanston - Norshore Cab. It appears that all of the Norshore drivers are south Asian immigrants these days - from Pakistan or Bangaldesh. I hopped into a cab to Midway Airport on Tuesday evening and the gentleman behind the wheel was a very polite 50-something fellow from Karachi. We struggled through traffic for an hour - it was raining steadily that night, a blessed change form the persistent drought we have suffered this summer. While the rain was welcome, it turned into an annoyance for my driver. The roof of his weathered cab was not watertight, and a leak developed directly over his head. The poor guy was subject to an accelerating drip on his balding pate as we crawled toward the airport. It was a funny/sad sight. I gave him a big tip.

In Minneapolis, all of the Gold Star Cab drivers are Somalis. Minneapolis has the largest Somali community in the U.S. (Toronto has a slightly larger Somali population). Of course, Somalia is one of the most desperate places on our planet; Twin Cities is heaven to these folks. I caught a cab from the hotel at 6 a.m.; my driver was a lean, well-groomed fellow in a bright white shirt and dark trousers. The weather was cool and blessedly clear, and we small-talked about that. My driver was celebrating his seventh anniversary in the U.S. He projected optimism, and he had lots of questions about Chicago. He might be thinking about leaving Twin Cities for a new venue. I would think that the taxi business is more lucrative in Chicago...

Taxi drivers work hard and take home little disposable income. I tell all my friends to tip these folks generously - they need the dough. Driving a cab is the immigrant's profession - I rarely ride with a native-born American in a taxi these days. Driving a taxi is not a bad way for a relatively new U.S. resident to learn a lot about his community and his new country. It is an honorable path.

Think, Don't Feel

The quote of the day is from Horace Walpole, the 18th century British writer and literary critic: "Life is a tragedy to those who feel and a comedy to those who think." So I am trying to think, not feel, as I read about the ongoing mayhem. The suicide bombing of subways and doubledeckers in London, the suicide bomber who kills 100 Iraqis by detonating next to a gasoline tanker truck, the nice lady who blew herself and several others to Kingdom Come on the shuttle bus in Turkey - I need to think about this. I am having trouble finding the comedy in all of this.

I don't understand very many things. I don't even fully understand myself. When I get boggled, I try to take comfort in fatalism - I am not important; in fact, the human race is not that important in the grand scheme of things. This old earth was around for a long time before the first human appeared and is likely to be around a long time after the last human dies. If you think about this for a long time, small glimmers of humor begin to appear around the edges of our most tragic human events. I think this approach is behind Douglas Adams' "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" books. It can all end, our physical existence may cease yet there will be something that continues - perhaps we continue to participate in the world after we are gone. Perhaps humans will continue to participate in the galaxy when if and when we destroy our planet.

Independence Day

The recent long weekend began Friday night with a Mystery Band gig at my local blues bar. The Taste of Chicago was in full swing and lots of folks were out of town for the holiday, so the crowd was a little sparse. There were about 40 paying customers and 10 or so "comps." My beautiful wife and my two little girls came for part of the first set, which is smoke-free/family-friendly. The Mystery Band included Tom Crivello, a guitarist who never played with us before (Tony Palmer, my regular guitar man, had a death in the family and was forced to cancel). We were a little ragged at first with the new guy in the band, but it smoothed out after a few tunes. Tom is a great blues guitarist; we just had to get clicking. Playing the blues with unknown, but good, musicians is kinda like being with a new sex partner - you know how to do it, but you just haven't done it together, so there can be some minor missteps until you find the groove.

Sunday was a quiet day. Independence Day dawned with light showers - our first rain in ages. The vegetation in the Chicago area is dying from lack of precipitation. From May 20 through July 6, we have had less than one inch of rain in Chicago. This is the first time in the 135 years of recorded weather observations in Chicago that precipitation levels have been this low in late spring/early summer. This will be a bad year for Illiniois farmers.

As I was leaving the house for my bike ride on Monday morning, the telephone rang. It was my father-in-law, Gregorio. He was quite insistant that we come to his bungalow in Chicago (33rd and Ashland) for an Independence Day barbecue. His brother is visiting from Mexico - my wife's uncle. So we went and I met Lucadio, Gregorio's younger brother (Gregorio is 81, Lucadio is 80). Lucadio needs a walker to get around, and he seemed to be in pain. We took a look at his left leg and reeled back - it was red and swollen, from toes to thigh. My wife insisted on taking him to the emergency room at our hospital back in Evanston. The ER docs admitted him and hooked him up with IV's of powerful antibiotics. He is still there. I suspect that he could have lost the leg to the infection if it had gone untreated.

We had a wonderful dinner with our neighbors - Kim and Jean-Francoise. They are both porfessors at Northwestern and their brilliance would intimidate me if I thought about it. To close out the day, we watched "Taxi Driver" ("You talkin' to me?") the DVD player and walked down to the lake for the Evanston fireworks. We watched the show from a street near the lake, and the concussion from the fireworks explosions set off car alarms up and down the block. It was a collection of obnoxious sounds, but the visuals were good.

I like Independence Day. I am still a huge fan of the USA - its principles, the concepts behind the country, the intense energy of the place. We don't always live up to our principles, we make more than our fair share of mistakes, but we keep trying. I don't understand the "blame America first" philosophy, but I understand that in world affairs, we are everyone's problem and everyone's solution.

Bad Biking

When the weather warms up, I leave the confines of the YMCA and get my exercise via long bike rides. It is great to push the old Mongoose to maximum speed in the early morning. There are terrific bike paths along Lake Michigan in Evanston; I generally bike about 15 miles on weekday mornings; 20-30 on Saturdays and Sundays. I am no Lance Armstrong - I look like a dork on my 10-year old cheapie mountain bike, plain old shorts and a t-shirt (no tight Lycra for me, thank you). During my morning jaunts, I see "real" bikers on their $4,000 racers with clipless pedals wearing the full colors of a Tour de France team member. They whizz by me and snicker quietly.

I was banging away on Saturday and suddenly started to hear a clicking noise - one click for each spin of the wheels. I stopped and looked at my rear tire - somehow I managed to pick up a safety pin! My tire was hissing angrily. I turned back and rode it until the tire was totally flat, then walked the dog home. Lousy ride.

I repaired the tire and was back out slammin' it this morning. It was early and I was riding on the sidewalk to escape a section of bad road in Wilmette. There is one crook in the sidewalk that creates a little blind corner. I cruised around the corner, and met another bicyclist coming toward me rapidly. It was perfectly bad timing - there was no opportunity to avoid a wreck. We each had about 0.1 second to react. We collided and hit the ground in a tangle of arms, legs and bicycles. Since we fell on the grass, we weren't hurt badly - we weren't really going all that fast. But I bent the rim on my front tire. I tried to ride it home, slowly. This painful effort was terminated when my front tire exploded - a nasty sound it was, echoing like a rifle shot down Sheridan Road. So I had another long walk home. Bad biking this week thus far.

As I sat at my desk today, delayed reaction injuries began to appear - stiff neck, sore back, achy knees. I may let the bike sit in the garage for a week or so - go back to the stationary version at the Y. I have yet to blow a tire or have a wreck on the Lifecycle (but if anyone can do it, I can).

A Stupid Way to Die

Evanston, Illinois is a mixed up community. We got Masters of the Universe pouring out of Northwestern's Kellogg School of Management and down-market scufflers from the western neighborhood by the high school. Every once in a while, these two divergent communities intersect. At the intersection, in a bar called The Keg, there was an explosion early Sunday morning.

Hard to believe that some 18 year old ball-bouncer dodged the ID check and got into The Keg with his pop gun. Ah, The Keg never was too careful about checking ID's, so I shouldn't be surprised. After several drinks (I assume), this young punk decided to stand up to a 22-year old African American guy - an unwed father out for a late night party. Words led to blows, and the ball-bouncer pulled his gun and shot the unwed father to death. Yet another stupid murder in the good ol' USA - one kid dead and another kid lost. May God have mercy on their souls.

The deal went down while a crowd of richy rich white Kellogg grads were in the ol' Keg celebrating their matriculation into the high cognitive class of business achievers. They got to watch the bloody drama. Hey, this is a little piece of education that ain't available at the B-School, boyz and girlz. It is brutal down there at the lower rungs of the ladder. People die over diddly-squat - an insult, a sexual come-on directed at the wrong young woman. Learn your lessons, Kelloggers. These are the people in our American mass market. Makes me want to light a candle.

So here in Evanston, we have a new reality - young people drink, get stupid, and blow each other's brains out. What a nice suburb we have here!

Narcissistic Entitlement

The word "narcissism" comes from the character made famous by the Greek poet Ovid. We all remember Narcissus, who fell in love with his own reflection. In the story,a girl named Echo falls in love with Narcissus and gets rejected. The story makes it clear that Narcissus is only able to love himself and not others. Conversely, Echo completely loses herself in her love for Narcissus and has no sense of self at all - she just ends up repeating everything that she hears. At the end of the story, Narcissus tells Echo, "I would die before I give you power over me," and Echo responds, "I give you power over me." Both Narcissus and Echo die because their love is unattainable. Like many of the Greek myths, this story has "legs" due to its universal applicability - many of us cannot find a balance between ourselves and others.

"Narcissitic Entitlement" is a psychological term that has been around for a while. There are lots of people that bang through life with an inflated sense of personal entitlement - people that believe thier rights trump everyone else's rights, people who never apologize or concede anything. Folks afflicted with narcissitic entitlement are obsessed with collecting on all debts they feel that they are owed, and they are owed a lot by many people. People with narcissitic entiltlement syndrome never forgive and never forget. They usually ignore the needs and viewpoints of others.

I am pretty sure that narcisstic entitlement is becoming a common condition. It seems to be extremely contagious - entire groups of people can quickly get infected - all the members of certain religous groups, political parties, economic classes. Some of my clients have this affliction. I think the guy my eldest daughter dates also suffers from this - at least a little bit.

Do you know anyone who is obssessed with being treated with respect and fairness, quick to take offense, always externalizes blame, views forgiveness as moral weakness and insists on repayment for any perceived transgression? These are often the type of folks that work themselves into that state of righteous rage where any behavior is justified.

This is a nasty approach to life.

Quick Plug for the Mystery Band

Mr. G and the Mystery Band will be playing at Bill's Blues Bar on Friday, July 1. Bill's Blues is located at 1029 Davis Street in Evanston, Illinois (telephone # 847-424-9800). This is a rare event - the Mystery Band appears only once a month. The July version of the Mystery Band will be suh-weet:

Twist Turner on Drums: Twist has played with most of the legends of the blues, including Junior Wells, Buddy Guy, Sunnyland Slim, Eddie Taylor, Jimmy Reed, etc. etc. Whew!!!

E. G. McDaniel, Bass: Son of the mighty Floyd McDaniel; has played with Eddy Clearwater, Byther Smyth, Junior Wells, A.C. Reed, etc. etc. Whew again!!

Brian James, Keyboards: Currently holding the keyboard slot with the Lonnie Brooks band, plays with Chico Banks, Delbert McClinton and a host of others.

Anthony Palmer, Guitar: One of the top blues guitar players around - currently playing with Matthew Skoller, has played with Luther Allison, Otis Rush, Joanna Connor and many others.

Your correspondent, Mr. G, will blow the harp and sing a bit.

If you read this and you live somewhere near Evanston IL, come on out and party with the Mystery Band!