Sweet Home Chicago

Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay

This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — eventual selves to advise and haunt them after they've become grups or I'm deleted.  

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups could result in an intersectional meltdown. Intended for H. sapiens who are — in the words of the late, great bon vivant, polymath, and pic-a-nic basket gourmet, Professor Y. Bear — "Smarter than the av-er-age bear." 

About

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlereader  

"I mean, I do think at a certain point you've made enough money." -Barack Obama

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies (and Gentlereaders),

Our former Community Organizer in Chief recently turned up in Chicago and got his picture taken while participating in a ceremonial groundbreaking. I wonder if the pharaohs of Egypt participated when the ground was broken (the sand was shoveled?) for new pyramids or shrines? 

Did they have to stand around in the hot sun waiting for artisans to do rough cuts of their image in stone with hammers and chisels? The details, of course, could be added later before being published in periodicals like the Cairo Gazette or Memphis Monthly.    

Mr. Obama, who was born in Hawaii, lived in Chicago for roughly 18 of his 60 years on Earth. Since somehow being elected, twice, president of a nation hip-deep in systemic racism, he now lives in at least four different places as best I can tell.

The groundbreaking in question was for his sorta/kinda presidential library that's called the Obama Presidential Center. It's more museum/shrine/tourist attraction than library. Follow the link for a detailed description or to give a donation.  

And in case you're unaware, local community organizers and their allies have been trying to prevent this $500,000,000 complex from being built at its chosen location since 2017 and still haven't given up.

{Ain't that ironical... Wait, whaddya mean "sorta/kinda" presidential library?} 

Well, Dana... it's um, complicated.

Long story short, the presidential library/museum system is run by the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA), a federal agency. They're in charge of the other presidential libraries, which are public-private partnerships. 

A given president's supporters raise the dough and build the facility which is then donated to The Fedrl Gummit who maintains and staffs it. Over the years the facilities have kept getting larger and more elaborate, rather like The Fedrl Gummit, and more expensive to run and maintain, rather like The Fedrl Gummit.  

I found a highly informative article on the Politico website that was written back in 2017 when it was announced that the Obama Foundation ("...inspire, empower, and connect people to change their world"), Mr. Obama's private non-profit, will build, own and operate the Obama Presidential Center. 

The author, Anthony Clark, who literally "wrote the book" on the presidential library system thinks this is mostly a good thing (others do not) since "...what were intended to be serious research centers have grown into flashy, partisan temples touting huckster history."  

Yes, indeed. 

Also, the foundation will pay to have all of Mr. Obama's records digitized and then turn them over to NARA for safekeeping. Scholars won't have to visit the center to access these records like they do at the other libraries, they will be stored elsewhere.

{But, um, doesn't that mean that they're a privately run museum, not a library?} 

Well, the center will include a branch of the Chicago Public Library... as well as a 225ft. tall tower that appears to be an enormous pigeon coop, meeting spaces, an auditorium, a recording and broadcast studio, a restaurant, and a food court.

{A food court?}

I got that from an anonymous source, it might not be accurate.

I also wrote sorta/kinda since if ya go a-googlin' you'll discover that most of the media call it a presidential library, even in stories that go to explain that it really isn't. I know it's hard to believe that the purple press occasionally generates ambiguous and/or inaccurate information, but there you have it.

{But why are some community organizers fighting a half-billion-dollar investment in their neighborhood?}    

Why? they have a problem with the where and how. 

Although there's an empty plot of land available nearby, on a bus line, and adjacent to local businesses "pairing the greatest need with the greatest opportunity" according to the University of Chicago, the site chosen is a chunk of historic Jackson Park.  

Designed by Fredrick Law Olmstead (of Central Park fame) in 1871, it's listed on the National Register of Historic Places. 

The city is renting 20 acres to the Obama Foundation for 99 years for ten bucks and no taxes. The center can charge for entry, parking, and third-party use and the Obama Foundation gets the money. Certain roads will be closed and a lot of very old trees cut down. It gets worse...

{Hey, that links to the same site the phrase "local community organizers" links to.}

Because that's where the all devilish details can be found if a given gentlereader is curious. As to why that site, and not the one that would be more likely to benefit the neighborhood, the Obama Foundation refuses to comment. 

Sweet home Chicago. 

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

Addendum: The tower. What I at first thought were thousands of pigeon coops at the top of the tower are actually the words from one of Mr. Obama's speeches that includes the inspirational phrase, "yes we can." 

 From the video: "Our goal is not just to create a monument to my presidency..."

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O Canada (Oh America)

Two countries (and two videos) for the price of one!

Photo by Bianca Ackermann on Unsplash

This is a weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — eventual selves to advise them and haunt them after they've become grups and/or I'm deleted. Reading via monitor/tablet is recommended for maximum enjoyment.  

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in an intersectional triggering. Intended for H. sapiens who are — in the words of the late, great bon vivant and polymath, Professor Y. Bear — "Smarter (and cooler) than the av-er-age bear." 

About

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlereader  

"I personally think our national anthem is not patriotic enough. There is another poem by Dwijendralal Ray called 'Dhono Dhanne Pushpe Bhora,' which is more soul-stirring as a national anthem." -Victor Banerjee

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies (and Gentlereaders),

I was reminded that we have upstairs neighbors (so to speak), the Canadians, from the minimal and brief coverage given to the recent reelection of Prime Minister Justin Trudeau.   

O Canada, I'm embarrassed to say that my knowledge of any and all things Canadian is as scant as the scant news coverage given to Canada here in the states. 

{Scant-scant-scant-scan...}

Dana, what are you doing?

{Ever notice how some words almost cry out to be mindlessly and rapidly repeated till they become a noise?}

Of course, it's a phenomenon called semantic satiation, a phrase coined by Leon Jacobovits James in his 1962 doctoral dissertation at McGill University in Canada. 

{       }

Ever notice how often people say, "I should look that up?" Well, I often actually do. 

{       } 

And believe it or not, Justin Trudeau graduated from McGill University in 1994, and, I visited the Ripley's Believe It or Not! museum in Niagra Falls, Canada — in 1994. 

{Fascinating.}  

Right? Anyways, the news stories reminded me that I've always wanted to know more about Canada other than the fact our upstairs neighbors are normally very quiet, unlike our downstairs neighbors, who are busy devolving into a narco-state.

Good news for junkies impacted by the crackdown on big pharma though, literally tons of opioids, fentanyl, and other drugs are crossing the border these days. Not to mention a plentiful supply of cheap, unskilled labor to fuel our economy.  

I've always wondered why Canada's national anthem is called O Canada, not Oh Canada. I've failed to find why, but I did find out that Canada didn't officially have a national anthem till 1980. 

Not only that, the tune was written by an American Civil War veteran, and the original lyrics were written, in French, by a judge from Quebec. The song was supposed to be Quebec's national anthem.

Thirty years later the lyrics were "translated" into English by another judge. He played fast and loose with the words and rendered them in such a way as to reflect his political and spiritual beliefs.

Nowadays, there's a third version, a bilingual one that's officially endorsed by the Canadian government. I got all this information from a website devoted to "Canadiana" that's quite interesting. 

The article includes an eye-opening video. I learned, or rather was reminded as I'm old, that Canada was caught up in violence triggered by identity politics back in 1968, the year Mr. Trudeau's father became prime minister.  

Some of our normally quiet and reserved neighbors were fighting, figuratively and literally, over identity politics and were singing two different national anthems long before we Citizens of the Republic were.

{What are you talking about?} 

Whoopi and Billy, of course.

Go a googlin' and enter the names of two of our leading public intellectuals thusly: Whoopi Goldberg v. Bill Maher (or vice-versa). You will receive no shortage of hits that are variations of a theme.

Bill Maher fires back...

Bill Maher hits back...

Bill Maher slams back...

Bill Maher slaps back...

Etceterac...

At Whoopie Goldberg. 

{Bill Maher is abusing a black woman?}

Nah, they're just having a virtual spat — that is to say, verbally arguing without having to be in the same room — over the fact the NFL is playing two national anthems these days.

{Really? Why? And what...} 

Look it up. One for white people, one for black people. 

It's a tempest in a teapot. Celebrities, an organization of millionaires owned by gazillionaires, social media, and the purple press jockeying for an appropriate political position — and the pursuit of profits. 

When I'm king I shall impose a royal compromise. Henceforth, America's national anthem will be America the Beautiful. 

The lyrics were written by a highly accomplished woman, Katharine Lee Bates, the tune by a rather ordinary man, Samuel A. Ward.   

Ms. Bates was a professor of English literature and wrote one of the first college textbooks on American literature. She may have been a lesbian. She definitely was a "...social activist interested in the struggles of women, workers, people of color, tenement residents, immigrants, and poor people" according to Wikipedia.

{But she was white!}

About 70% of NFL players are black. Do you know of any white football fans/people that care? 

 

Speakin' of googlin', I googled America the Beautiful and the first hit was a video of Ray Charles — singing America the Beautiful. 

{Who?} 

Gasp! Begone from my largish head philistine!

{Nope-nope-nope, I checked out the lyrics, too many God references. Clearly another case of systemic theism.}

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

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Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Facebook or Twitter. I post my latest column on Saturdays and other people's work on other days.

  

Stuck In Ohio

 A Mr. Cranky's 'hood column. What are the four seasons of Northern Ohio?

👀 Mabel Amber, who will one day from Pixabay

This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — eventual selves to advise them and haunt them after they've become grups and/or I'm deleted. Reading via monitor/tablet is recommended for maximum enjoyment.  

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Intended for H. sapiens that are — in the words of the late, great bon vivant and polymath, Professor Y. Bear — "Smarter [and cooler] than the av-er-age bear." 

About

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlereader 

"There are seasons in every country when noise and impudence pass current for worth; and in popular commotions especially, the clamors of interested and factious men are often mistaken for patriotism." -Alexander Hamilton 

{I see what you did there.}

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies (and Gentlereaders),

Fall (aka, almost winter) has come to my corner of Flyoverland and I'm still Stuck in Ohio (there's a bumper sticker...). I've been temporarily living here for 36 years. I was born and raised in Western Pennsylvania and all but one of my six siblings still live there, four above ground and one below. 

My big brother Ed was the first one that I remember calling Ohio the Flatlands after I landed here, and promptly got stuck. He was living in southwestern Pa., not far from the West Virginia panhandle at the time. He's now on the West Virginia side of the border — same difference. 

Lots of hills and lots of economic stagnation. Lots of relatively cheap houses too, but prices have risen in the more desirable spots. Ohio's no slouch when it comes to economic stagnation but we do have Columbus, which is rockin', and which is flat. 

I left Pennsylvania for Texas in the fall of '84 seeking a geographic cure for a broken heart. Pure serendipity; an opportunity that appeared when I needed it. 

I had the best year of my life there (so far) that included meeting my wife and stepdaughter. The bad news is that it culminated in getting stuck in Ohio, a long story that I will spare you.

{I think I speak for all of your gentlereaders when I express my sincere thanks.} 

You're welcome, Dana. My apologies to those that like living in the Flatlands. It's not you, it's me. If it makes you feel any better the woman that I ran to Texas to try and forget (I'm not foreign legion material) used a variation of that classic line on me. 

Also, Texas (with the exception of the mind-melting heat), with one of the world's larger economies and a legislature that only convenes for 140 days every other year (by law), is a tough act to follow. 

{You should've joined the circus.}

Oddly enough, Dana, that never occurred to me. Ironically enough, a bit of research revealed that the Cirque du Soleil started up in 1984. I coulda been a star! Why are you laughing? Anyways, speaking of panhandles, Ed, you ain't seen flatlands if you haven't seen the Texas panhandle. But I digress. 

{As your gentlereaders have come to expect, if not necessarily love. Will this column be returning to Ohio anytime soon?}   

Fall is my favorite season in Ohio. Spring (aka, still winter) is often wet, cold, and snow-covered. 

{Living southeast of the Lake Erie snow machine might have something to do with that, you should move to Southern Ohio. Milder weather.}

Hmmm... the Cincinnati side or the West Virginia side?

{Well, a lot of West Virginia's really pretty, almost... heavenly.}

I once knew a guy that said he was going to wait till the last person moved out or died and then make an offer.

{Are you trying to offend as many gentlereaders as possible?}

Sorry, offended gentlereaders, it's not you, it's me. Summer in Ohio this year (aka, construction) was construction in the rain this year. On the other hand, gnats and mosquitoes had a hell of a summer. 

{Geesh, I'm outta here, go for a walk or something will ya?} 

In the name of sucking it up Buttercup, let me unequivocally state that fall in Ohio can be amazing. 

It never rains every day, even in a year like this one. And even though the Stickies are wearing masks again, and even though there's already talk of reviving the unmitigated disaster called remote learning, migrating geese will soon begin staging in the parking lot of the recently abandoned nursing home across the street from Casa de Chaos.   

It warms my calloused heart to see all the trouble people go to in these parts to avoid disturbing our temporary guests even though they often leave unwanted souvenirs behind and even though I'm jealous that I'm not headed south for the winter. 

I heard my first distinctive HONK just the other day, the same day I saw an eagle, first one in a while, patrolling overhead in search of breakfast when I was on my morning walk.

Soon there will be that perfect morning or three when the sun melts the light frost covering the Kool-Aid-colored leaves and renders the resulting water drops as diamonds dripping from the many tall, old trees in old Mr. Cranky's neighborhood.  

Wouldn't it be cool if the hair of H. sapiens of a certain age turned various bright colors instead of grey or white (but didn't fall out)?

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

Scroll down to share this column or access previous ones. If you enjoy my work and the fact I don't run advertisements or sell merchandise, please consider buying me a coffee via PayPal or a credit/debit card.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Facebook or Twitter. I post my latest column on Saturdays and other people's work on other days.