I recently had my Bar Mitzvah and took my birthright trip to Israel.While there I was fortunate enough to spend time on a kibbutz and experienced socialized living. It made me feel funny and good all at the same time. I experienced inside feelings that I'd never had before and had some really vivid dreams. I can't go into detail about the dreams because if my mom reads this she'll freak.
Do you think all this mean I'm becoming more of a man? I'm hoping that you might have some advice for a young Jewish boy who is trying to understand these special feelings and dreams.
Oh, and my little brother won't leave me alone about this, he wants me to ask you for him if you think cowboys like lollipops...He's so dumb.
Thanks for your time.
-New And A Little Confused
Dear NAALC,
Mazel tov! I see Judaism as a way of life. Sticking up for the underdog. Being an outsider. A critic of society. The kid on the corner who says the emperor has no clothes on. The Prophet.
As for those funny feelings and vivid dreams, I’m not sure if you’re talking about sex or drugs. If you’ve started smoking grass or whatnot, that’s fine, but all you kiddies remember to lay off the needle drugs; the only dope worth shooting is Richard Nixon, or since he’s gone, maybe one of those Tea Party guys.
Anyway, the '60s are gone, dope will never be as cheap, sex never as free, and the rock and roll never as great.
Hang in there,
Abbie
P.S. Tell your brother that everybody likes lollipops, even Julius Hoffman.
Finally, Abbie gets a question from a real reader! (Not that those other questions from readers were fake... um, uh, look over there at that thing!) -Ed.
Dear Abbie Hoffman,
I am an urban dwelling Midwestern liberal homeowner in a multi-unit condo building in Chicago. Eight months ago, the unit downstairs from me from me sold to a middle aged couple who turn out to be supporters of the Tea-Party. The whole building found this out after they moved in.
During an association meeting they began to question the relevance of being charged an assessment every month to help toward the maintenance, upkeep and well being of the building. They feel that they haven't seen any major improvement in the building in the short time they lived there or any improvement in the "quality" of any of the new homeowners who moved in after them.
As the condo association President and an American born minority I am having great difficulty in getting them to understand that I'm not a "benevolent dictator" that directs their assessment fees into affordable housing and real estate growth opportunities to "border jumpers". All of us are gainfully employed professionals in diverse fields who take great pride in the place that we live.
Why are they in the city of Chicago living among us? How should I go about explaining to them that assessment fees are for the steady upkeep of the place that we live? I get called "socialist" when I attempt to explain that these fees help us all live harmoniously in a quality environment and that major changes to the building should happen incrementally and require great pragmatism.
- Why Do They Always Find Me
p.s. All words in quotes belong to them.
Dear Why,
You measure a democracy by the freedom it gives its dissidents, not the freedom it gives its assimilated conformists. Maybe your new brother and sister have a point about the way you do things. QUESTION EVERYTHING.
If, however, you truly believe they are not living up to their responsibilities as citizens of your community, remember this: The key to organizing an alternative society is to organize people around what they can do, and more importantly, what they want to do. Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Tea Party enjoy working in the yard. Ask them to cut the grass (but not smoke it all!), plant your garden, maintain the compost pile, etc. instead of paying association fees.
By the way, I have many fond memories of your hometown.
Last night while I was in bed, half asleep, a great title came to me: Dear Abbie Hoffman. On a lark, I posted it on Facebook and then got inspired to write a few letters, using actual quotes from Abbie for the answers. Here are the first efforts; who knows, there may be more sometime.
Dear Abbie Hoffman,
I am an editor of my high school's newspaper. The principal is trying to prevent us from running an editorial that criticizes his position on gay bullying. What should we do?
-First Amended
Sweet FA,
Remind your principal that free speech means the right to shout "theatre" in a crowded fire. But also remember that you should never impose your language on people you wish to reach.
Your pal,
Abbie
***
Dear Abbie Hoffman,
It is almost Thanksgiving. I know most people look forward to the holiday, but for me it's a source of anxiety. I am a vegetarian and my father is a die-hard meat-and-potatoes guy. How do I maintain peace at the dinner table without compromising my principles?
-Vexed Veggie
Dearest Vexed,
I believe in compulsory cannibalism. If people were forced to eat what they killed, there would be no more wars.
Happy Thanksgiving,
Abbie
***
Dear Abbie Hoffman,
What is with all the women who wear slutty Halloween costumes? I went to a party last weekend and I was the only female there who wore something scary. Isn’t Halloween the time to put vanity aside and go for something ghoulish?
-Scary Monster
Look baby,
Once you get the right image the details aren't that important. Take it from me: I was probably the only revolutionary referred to as cute.
Abbie H.
***
Dear Abbie Hoffman,
I work in a professional downtown office. One of my co-workers (I’ll call him Steve) has a problem with body odor. Steve works hard, is personable, and even dresses well. Since he otherwise seems well groomed, I wonder if his odor problem is due to faulty deodorant, a health issue, or something else beyond his control. Unfortunately, his desk is near mine and I find his pungent aroma distracting to say the least. Should I say something?
-This Job Stinks
Dear TJS,
When decorum is repression, the only dignity free men have is to speak out. Maybe you can offer Steve some patchouli.
Long time, no post. I need to write a lil' somethun' somethun' about the epic trip to Memphis with my mom. And my summer reading. I'll do that soon. I really will.
I'm about to eat lunch and I feel like my stomach is still recovering from the damage I did to it on Sunday, when I saw the White Sox get massacred by the Tigers. Sigh. What the Tigers did to the Sox in the last few innings is akin to what I did to my digestive system -- involving a veggie dog that looked remarkably like the 50-year-old hot dog Kramer ate to prove Lloyd Braun wasn't crazy; a churro that was vanilla although I wanted chocolate because during the several minutes he made me and the guy behind me with kids wait while he meticulously stacked new churros under the heat lamp one by one, the vendor didn't bother to mention that he was out of what I'd ordered; an entire pint of Lemon Chill; and greasy Chinese food for dinner. My friend Emily and I managed to get covered in alcoholic beverages, too, even though we weren't drinking any, thanks to getting sprayed by the guys behind us, a margarita vendor with a runny nozzle, and someone seemingly sending their epileptic friend on a beer run (seriously, the woman's hands were shaking like crazy and each one had a beer in it, including the one with which she was trying to clutch the handrail). Good times.
I’ve recently taken a journey back to the 1990s, courtesy of Charles Cross’ Kurt Cobain biography, Heavier than Heaven. The book came out eight years ago but it’s taken me until now to read it in large part because I figured it would be emotionally draining. Even after all this time I found myself crying toward the end of the book, something I don’t think I’ve ever done before. There were so many issues that seemed to contribute to his unhappiness – poor parenting, a family history of mental illness, undiagnosed medical issues, drug abuse, family and financial obligations, celebrity. And there were an awful lot of just plain skeezy people around (as I suppose there always are when someone has money and an addiction).
A funny thing, to me, is that while the whole American/Northwest/grunge thing had become so dark and depressing at that point, on the flipside this was also the era of Britpop. Not that Britpop was brainless fun – there certainly was an element of social commentary to it – but it was definitely uplifting compared to what was going on here. It’s a bit like the Kinks going off and doing songs about magical cats and village greens while the Americans were wallowing in psychedelic sludge. I’m taking sides, mind you: I like it all.
Since I last wrote, I have closed on and moved into my condo. The last several weeks of my life have revolved around fix-it projects, finding a few new pieces of furniture, etc. Now it's time to choose some bathroom paint! This is supposed to be the fun part, and I suppose it will be... until I get my Visa bill.
I've found three colors that I like, and would love to hear some opinions. Here are a couple of things to keep in mind: 1) My bathroom has white wood paneling that I plan to keep, and I'll also keep the white ceiling. The new paint will only go about halfway down the wall, so a color that might be "too much" if it covered all four walls could work. 2) My towels contain pink, orange-red, yellow, beige, and brown. The tile in the tub is a light blue. I've been doing a decent job of hiding the nonmatching tile, but it would be good to have a color that doesn't clash with it.
Here are the colors I like so far:
yellowstone
baby turtle
love & happiness
Yes, they all have silly names. But which do you prefer?
I've been looking for a record cabinet for awhile. Trolling eBay and Craigslist has become an obsession of mine. I finally lucked out last night, finding one at a good price from someone on the South Side, not too far from work. Because I have a few hundred records, I will still need one or two more (either a large one or a couple of smaller ones) to hold everything, but I really like this cabinet. It's in very good shape and I think it's pretty darned cute. Don't you agree?
The big news in my life lately, in fact the main focus, has been buying my first home. I've been condo shopping for nine months now, had some frustratingly long and fruitless waits on short sales, but am finally under a contract on a nice place. If all goes well, it will be mine in mid April.
Now, this nice place has an old kitchen that will need to be gutted at some point. However, I have all kinds of ideas for making it not just bearable but actually fun in the meantime. I've always wanted a kitchen from 1960. (See screen shot of Gidget's refrigerator on this here blog. I'm serious.) I'm thinking that with some appliance and cabinet paint and new pulls on the fridge and cabinets, miracles can happen.
Here is the kitchen in question, pre-Charlottizing
My other big desire right now is to get a nice record cabinet. This is exactly what I have in mind. I love it so much I could die. It's the wallpaper on my computer right now. Anyway, record storage was the main thing on my mind when I heard about The Vintage Bazaar. Usually Chicago prices on vintage stuff are pretty high. I'm used to finding great stuff insanely cheap in Michigan, so after ten years here I still can't bear to overpay. However, the prices at the bazaar were surprisingly good. Oh, and the place was a total mob scene. It seemed to be crazy successful.
I did not find any furniture, but I did find some great housewares that will go in my retro kitchen.
There's coin laundry at the new place, so this might be where I keep my quarters stashed.
I got five of these adorable dessert dishes, and there were only a couple of small chips in the whole set.
I can't wait to move! And to have Gidget's kitchen!
I had yesterday off but decided to participate in the Martin Luther King Jr. Day of Service. As the proponents of the Day of Service like to say, it's not a day off but a day on (I know, it's kind of cheesy). The program I participated in was sponsored by a state senator and carried out through the offices of two Chicago aldermen. It was a good way to connect volunteers with projects, which isn't always easy. I wish things had been a little more organized in advance in terms of transportation and knowing the time commitments involved in each project and if/when other volunteers would be arriving. Hopefully it all worked out for the organizations and volunteers.
I took two assignments: picking up garbage at a high school near my home, and doing some office work for the Ravenswood ArtWalk. Since I was closer to RAW, I went there first, thinking I'd put in a few hours there, then end the day in my own neighborhood. Unfortunately, I never made it to the school. There was plenty to do at RAW and no one else volunteered there, so I felt like my time was better spent by getting as much as possible done there. RAW is a really cool event held in the Ravenswood Corridor, an industrial area in my neighborhood. Nestled among the odd little businesses that run along the railroad tracks on Ravenswood Avenue are a lot of art studios and galleries. The RAW venues include not only these creative spaces, but also local businesses that offer their spaces to artists for the weekend.
The main project I worked on was organizing materials from last year's walk. A lot of random items -- posters, raffle tickets, T-shirts, etc. -- had been put aside immediately after the event and needed to be sorted, inventoried, and filed away. I made a fairly large dent in the organization project by sorting a lot of the materials and inventorying the signage. I also worked on tracking down missing venue signs and updating the email contact list. It was all fairly simple work, but tasks that are time-consuming -- perfect for a volunteer.
It was a fun day, and I felt like I was able to get a good amount of work done for the organization. But do you know what's even better than leaving with a sense of satisfaction? Leaving with some Rod Blagojevich art! RAW placed a call for Blago-themed art for last year's walk, and a few of the pieces were sitting around the office, uninstalled. I got to select a piece to keep, which I present to you in all its glory here.
I was sitting in traffic on Lawrence Avenue in the Uptown neighborhood when I saw a little girl, probably about ten years old, trip on the sidewalk and tumble into a concrete barrier. It wasn't tall -- maybe two feet -- so it was obvious she wasn't badly hurt, but she might have skinned or sprained her hand trying to catch her balance.
My first thought, as a complete stranger passing by in a car, was along the lines of, "Oh, that poor baby." And the first impulse of the woman with her, who I assume was her mother? Although I couldn't hear the words, I could tell the mother was scolding and berating the little girl, not only by her facial expression, but because she grabbed the girl by the shoulders and started shaking her.
I know that kids can try your patience and that the job of parenting is very difficult at times. Still, I can't comprehend how a parent's first impulse when her child is hurt would be to punish the child rather than to comfort her. Imagine how that little girl felt. Isn't it embarrassing enough to take a tumble on a public sidewalk without being treated like that? I feel helpless in those situations too, because I feel awful for the child but don't feel like I can really do anything about it. It didn't seem like the mother was hurting the girl, just humiliating her -- which to me is just about as bad, but not a "crime."
Because of the latest snowpocalypse I decided to take public transit to work today. On the second leg of the trip (a lovely "express" bus to Hyde Park) there was a couple sitting directly across from me engaging in some PDA. They both seemingly worked at the Museum of Science and Industry (because it's a great idea to date people at work), where they got off the bus sporting their work IDs. I noticed the girl had a picture of a guy tucked into the back side of the plastic cover of her ID. It wasn't her boyfriend, though; it was Robert Pattinson.
Last week on Sound Opinions, the Chicago-based rock ’n’ roll radio talk show, hosts Greg Kot and Jim DeRogatis were talking about the big music events of the last decade. Jim affirmed my stance that, while there was a lot of innovation in how music is delivered and listened to, there weren’t any major innovations in music-making itself in the ’00s or any specific genre that defined the decade. On the one hand, I was glad to hear someone else say this (because it makes me feel like less of an old crank going around saying “Nothing new has happened since the Dust Brothers”) but at the same time, it’s dispiriting. Jim and Greg seemed optimistic that something new would happen, but I’m not so sure.
Jim posited that in the age of downloading music, album covers and liner notes are almost a thing of the past, that no one is interested in them anymore. In the case of liner notes, I’d argue that the general public was not terribly interested in them in the first place; it was just the hardcore music geeks, who can still find all the same information (lyrics, producers, songwriters, musicians, recording locations, etc.) online if they are so inclined. The end of cover art, however, is something that makes me sentimental. I think it’s an inevitable but sad side effect of downloading music.
I just finished reading David Byrne’s new book, Bicycle Diaries, and funnily enough there’s a passage where he talks about that issue. He rightly points out that albums and album cover art were never wed to one another; records existed before album cover art did. The covers themselves were created as a practical matter to protect the fragile vinyl records, and the artwork followed later. I’m not sure of the source for this, but Byrne says that a classical record that sported the first album cover art sold many, many more copies than other records, hence the decision to start putting art on all album covers as a marketing tool.
This got me wondering when album covers came into being. God bless the Internet, because I actually found the answer on Wikipedia. In 1938, Columbia Records hired a graphic designer, Alex Steinweiss, who is now widely credited as the inventor of album cover art. Steinweiss is still alive and many of his album covers can be viewed online, so check them out if you have a chance. (Wikipedia also provides interesting background info on how records came to be called "albums" – which has to do with storage solutions, of all things.) Those links provide a nice little history lesson if you’re a music fan or interested in graphic design.
It could be argued that not only album covers but albums themselves are becoming less relevant in the era of downloads. Don’t most people download a song or two by an artist they like, not an entire album? As much as I love albums, I’m pretty happy that downloading has helped us reclaim the single, since record labels in America phased out CD singles quite awhile ago. There might not be a picture sleeve or a B-side anymore, but the single lives on, and usually it’s 99 cents – cheaper than the vinyl ones I bought as a teenager.
Yesterday I went to see Nine at my favorite theater in Chicago, the Davis. The place is kind of a dump, but I mean that in the kindest way. It’s clean and it offers first-run movies at a good price. It’s just kind of rundown, some of the screens are oddly small and high, and there is what I want to believe is authentic 1970s KISS graffiti in two stalls of the women’s room, which is otherwise straight out of WWII. It is probably not suitable for snobs who are concerned about Dolby sound and such things, but to those of us who know what really matters (such as the fact that its kiddie pack contains the perfect salt/sweet/soda ratio for just $3.75), the Davis is glorious. I hope they never change the cheesy pre-film footage welcoming patrons to the theater, which seems to have been made a decade ago. My favorite part is the reminder to shut off your cell phone, represented by a cartoon phone that looks absolutely gigantic and has an antenna.
As much as I love DVDs and being able to watch movies online, nothing beats going to the movies. It’s just a shame that so many people don’t obey basic movie-going etiquette. Unfortunately, I had an older couple behind me who were talkers. They made asinine observations, such as, when Kate Hudson was onscreen, “That’s Goldie Hawn’s daughter.” I almost lost it when, a good thirty minutes into the picture, during Nicole Kidman’s third or fourth appearance, one of them exclaimed, “I didn’t know she was in this!” There were a couple of talkers in the back, too, and the woman in front of me gave them the crane-necked stink-eye a couple of times. Oddly enough, she followed up one of her crane-necked stink-eyes by getting out her cell phone to look at the time – the old pot vs. kettle, I suppose.
As for Nine… well, let’s just say the title doesn’t reflect the rating I’d give it. I really like Roger Ebert and I have to say that his review, which I read after seeing the film, hits the nail on the head when he says, “Nine is just plain adrift in its own lack of necessity.” Every good idea in it is lifted straight from Fellini, so essentially it’s a musical remake of 8 1/2 rather than a comment or meditation on it. Although I liked some of the performances (Penelope Cruz, Marion Cotillard, and Judi Dench), everyone was just mimicking the characterizations in the original film. It was just a plain weird idea.
Another thing struck me about it that I’ve been giving some thought to lately: the casting of “movie stars” rather than musical theater performers. A few weeks ago, I was thinking about the musical Chicago for some reason and ended up watching some clips online. I watched Ann Reinking and Bebe Neuwith in the 1990s revival and Gwen Verdon and Chita Rivera from the original cast, who were all fantastic. I enjoyed the film version when it came out but hadn’t seen it since then, so I looked up a few clips. Watching the stage performers and the movie actors in succession made me realize just how mediocre the film is. Zeta-Jones, Zellweger et al. did just fine, but why is it alright to star in a major motion picture musical and be just fine – not to mention that the choreography is watered down to an amateur level and a lot of the shots are arranged specifically to hide deficiencies in the dancing. Shouldn’t we expect more?
It was the same with Nine, where the performers did a decent job, but nothing more (although even if they’d really delivered, they were working with material vastly inferior to Chicago). Fergie’s number made me think of Liza Minnelli’s scene doing “Mein Herr” in Cabaret, but only because the dance involved chairs. The thing is, the dancers didn’t actually do much with the chairs; I think they were there as a visual cue to bring to mind Bob Fosse’s choreography and the cinematography and Liza’s performance without actually striving to reach the quality of it.
Although there is a rich history of truly brilliant singers and dancers on film, I know that many a time Hollywood has cast non-musical performers in musicals (Audrey Hepburn and Natalie Wood were even dubbed). And so it continues: The celebrities are cast while there are thousands of talented singers and dancers striving for a break. I understand the reasoning behind it, and in some cases I appreciate the virtues of the “names” (I mean, even if he can’t particularly sing or dance, Daniel Day-Lewis is unimpeachable as an actor). It still depresses me a bit, though. And as for Kate Hudson, why is she even a “name” at this point? She was charming in Almost Famous but that was a decade ago and she has done absolutely nothing of quality since. She is Goldie Hawn’s daughter, though!
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