Surfing Around

Tipping A Sacred Cow On Parade:

Someone forwarded this wonderfully written article to me this morning about the late Sun-Times gossip columnist Irv Kupcinet. It's a truly sad and eventually apathetic tale of a man who hung on to his position like a Soviet Premier. The person who sent me the URL wrote, "They put up with him till the bitter end, out of some perverse sense of propriety."

The story is an unvarnished account of the lives of Kup, his wife Essee, their glory days of the '40's and '50's when Chicago was a major travel hub in the time before cross country air travel and television, and the tragic tale of their daughter Karyn, a struggling actress whose 1963 death in Hollywood was ruled a murder. The article speculates that the death was an "accidental" suicide; follow-up investigations from law enforcement officials never found a killer, but they never really searched for one. Still, for a Chicago Magazine story, this was simply engrossing. Go check it out.

If The GOP Was This Disorganized Across The Nation, We'd All Be Better Off!!:

Checked out the Howtown page last night. The Humble Wiz weighed in on Jack Ryan's resignation with some concise observation and a deservedly strong rebuking of the media for turning this story into the shitstorm that it became.

The media's been taking some well-earned shots to the chin in recent weeeks. Most reporters knew well in advance what was in the Ryan divorce files, just as they knew eight months before the Democratic Senate primary what was in Blair Hull's divorce records. Ramsin is dead-on in chastising the media for making these issues instead of placing the focus on their long-range plans for getting elected and serving the people of Illinois. Jack Ryan has (allegedly) some sexual curiosity. It isn't like he was handing out drivers licenses to unqualified truckers for campaign contributions. Blair Hull, his fortune aside, seemed to genuinely want to make a change for the people of Illinois.

I think Barack Obama would have defeated both of them straight-up, anyway. I just think the media should have made it a more fair fight instead of resorting to tabloid sensationalism. And for those people who want to point out that the real issue here is that Hull and Ryan lied, get a fucking clue. Most politicians do.

A couple of Slate commentaries explore the intentional scaling back of true investigative reporting in the post-Watergate era. Consequently, politicians and spin control artists have been able to get their message across to the public without much in the way of dissenting opinion.

This is why magazines like Mother Jones and The Atlantic Monthly are important. They haven't forgotten the lesson that Watergate taught. When the checks and balances of our government fail, we need non-partisan investigative reporting to ensure that the people aren't ignored.

But They Never Fucked a Groupie With a Mud Shark:

The lovely and talented Blaise has chosen Motley Crue's The Dirt as a nice piece of summer reading. She truly is a woman after my own heart.

I remember picking it up when the paperback edition first hit the stands, and it is truly an engrossing read. I couldn't put it down, either. It also makes for a nice drinking game. Choosing random passages from the book, readers must drink a shot:

- every time the word "dude" is used during Tommy Lee's passages
- every time Mick Mars refers to his "bellars" cocktail while wanting to commit suicide
- during all passages of Vince Neil having sex, as told by any member
- every time Nikki Sixx blames his drug and alcohol addictions to his rebellious childhood
- every time a Crue member goes to rehab and falls off the wagon

You'll be drunk before you get through the foreword, guarantee.

With Tommy Lee falling off the wagon again (a term loosely used) and Vince Neil rumored to be filming a version of "Extreme Makeover" so he can tour with the Crue next year and go shirtless on stage, The Dirt is a timely read.

I Named Her "Swirly":

Friday I went to the Esquire on Oak Street to see "Fahrenheit 9/11". I should've read the Redhead Papers first. I got home from the movie and was emptying my book bag when I saw a pregnant cockroach casually laying on the damn thing. I gently walked my way to the bathroom, flicked the roach in the toilet, and flushed three times for good measure. Then I bombed my apartment as a preemptive strike.

The next morning I was getting my laundry together. I was inspecting my book bag again and noticed the stickiest residue on the bottom. It was soda syrup from the theater.

And this theater is nestled in the middle of the richest neighborhood in Chicago, next to a dining/nightlife area ruefully referred to as the "viagra triangle." From now on I'm sticking to Burnham Plaza.

Random Thoughts on the Weekend

From a t-shirt I saw on a Sox fan walking down 31st Street Saturday Morning:

They: Have LaTroy
We: Have Shingo
They: Shingo Who?
SHINGO TU MADRE!!!

This is always the most tense time of the year in my beloved Bridgeport. Cubs fans flood the neighborhood en masse to fill the stadium formerly known as Comiskey Park to watch city baseball bragging rights get settled. The past twenty years has seen a quantum leap for Cubs fans that all started with the 1984 team, Harry Caray and cable television that's resulted in neighborhood around Wrigley Field becoming a giant frat house with extended public transportation service.

The White Sox were keeping pace until the strike shortened season ten years ago that robbed the team of legitimately contending for a World Series. Things just haven't been the same since. Even thought the White Sox have fielded better teams, fans are staying away from the park. They will remain removed from the team until owner Jerry Reinsdorf sells his share of the team. Which is a shame, because Comiskey Park really has it all over Wrigley Field as far as amenities are concerned. Better seats, better food, better choices of beer, the field looks more plush. As a Cubs fan it almost hurts to admit that the "ball mall" ten blocks from my apartment is a better ballpark than the Friendly Confines of the boys in blue. I am, however, an objective Cubs fan.

It isn't a stretch to say that if you're born in Chicago you have to pledge your allegiance to either the Cubs or White Sox right after you've drawn your first breath. My first ballgame was a Cubs game in 1977, and I immediately fell in love with the park. It was a rainy July afternoon (there were no lights in the park then) and my brother and I sat with a couple of our uncles in the right field upper deck. Jesus, it was cold that day. Between the atmosphere, the ivy on the walls, and just seeing this game being played that anyone could basically play, I swore right then to be a Cubs fan.

This disheartened my family, as they were dyed-in-the-wool Sox fans. Back then Bill Veeck owned the team and pulled every stunt possible to bring fans to Old Comiskey Park. He installed a shower stall in the Center Field concourse for fans to cool off. His broadcast team was Harry Caray and Jimmy Piersall, who managed to offend nearly everyone in their wake. The most infamous promotion of them all was Disco Demolition Night. My stepfather took my brother and me down to Comiskey Park just for the ballgame that night. It would wind up being the last.

The crosstown classics mean more here than they do in New York, Los Angeles, or the bay area. I think it's because there's so much more at stake here (and not because both teams are contenders this year.) At its heart Chicago is a small town, a cowtown. We're working class people who really get behind our sports teams. To Cubs fans, White Sox fans are "blue collar trash" who don't know how to act in public. Conversely, White Sox fans consider Cubs fans to be fair weather bandwagon hoppers who'll jump off as soon as the Cubs show signs of becoming a bad team.

There's a little bit of truth in each statement. At the Cubs home opener this year I struggled to stay awake while battling the flu, clinging my robitussin like a hobo hoards his wine. Two rows in front of me I heard a man scream "Don't swing at pitches in the dirt, uh, what's the third baseman's name?" Then he took a cell phone call and wouldn't shut up for ten minutes. As I mentioned earlier there are Sox fans who won't forgive Jerry Reinsdorf for adopting a hard anti-union stance in '94, or Frank Thomas for pouting his way through the late 1990's, or former manager Jerry Manuel for not going to the bullpen sooner.

My friend Whitley From Ravenswood (a devout north side White Sox fan) once summarized it this way: "A Cubs fan is someone who thinks he knows something about baseball, which is simply ludicrous. A White Sox fan thinks he knows everything about baseball, which is an equally risible notion."

Indeed, Go Cubs Go!!

Second City My Ass!!: "There's Nothing More Beautiful Than A Conservative Woman, But They're Really Lousy Lays" Edition

I'm sitting here listening to Michael Moore on Howard Stern right now when frequent Stern guest- and conservative mouthpiece- Debbie Schlussel called in to debate Moore about "inaccuracies" in his film. 'Course, Moore handed Schlussel her ass. If you do nothing else this weekend, go see "Fahrenheit 9/11", especially you Bush backers out there. That is, if conservatives truly believe in honest discourse on the issues. Otherwise, here we go:



GOOD FRIDAY:

- John Scofield's the headliner, but frankly, he sucks. Head down to Symphony Center for some kick-ass jazz with the Brad Mehldau Trio.

- Prince is recapturing his '80's-early 90's glory days with five shows at the arena formerly known as the Rosemont Horizon. Sorry, no dry-humping of dancers at the shows. He's a Jehovah's Witness now.

SABADOS GIGANTES:

- Taste of Chicago opens. I try to avoid it, but this weekend so does the Chicago Country Music Festival, so I have to deal with one to get the other. The Saturday highlights are Buddy Miller and the Flatlanders on the Taste Stage and Rodney Crowell at the Petrillo Bandshell. Speaking as a fan, Buddy Miller is the real fucking deal. And I've always been a long fan of Jimmie Dale Gilmore's Zen Texan personality. (A bit of Trivia: Jimmie Dale Gilmore was "Whitey", the bowler who John Goodman threatened to shoot for stepping over the line in "The Big Lebowski.")

- I almost forgot this is Gay Pride weekend, where queens and bull dykes across the country paint their faces like maniacal sports fans and celebrate their openness. That's just embarrassing. Anyhoo, PrideFest is happening in Boys Town. Expect the usual array of fag hags on stage.

SUNDAYSUNDAYSUNDAY

- Lakeview Arts & Music Festival wraps up at Lincoln and Ashland. The lineup is blessedly free of frat house "tribute" bands, but if you are a meathead and need your Dave Matthews fix, The Chicago Afrobeat Project should be right up your alley. They should be afrobeat enough for you without being too "ethnic."

- When Spanish guitar styles collide: Las Guitarras de Espana will help me pay some bills at HotHouse. You aren't getting in to the Magnetic Fields concert, anyway. It's sold out.


Finally, go check this out and buy from t-shirts from Nita.

Have a nice weekend.

If Jack Ryan stood a chance I'd be donating a half-barrel...

but he doesn't. I'm donating a 1/4 barrel keg of beer to a "Ba-Rock The House" party next Tuesday in Pilsen, with proceeds to go to Barack Obama's Senate campaign (e-mail me if you want to attend.)

Incredibly, Jack Ryan still thinks he has a shot at beating Obama in November. I still can't believe he couldn't get his wife interested in relatively tame kink. I mean, if I were married to Jerri Ryan and wanting to spice up the marriage I'm relatively certain I could get her to dress up as Seven of Nine so she could "assimilate me into the Borg" every night.

Steve Dahl put a wonderful spin on the Ryan story the other day on his radio show. Ryan should've called the press conference, but instead of flopping like Nixon in the 1960 debates he should've said this:

"My marriage was in trouble. My ex-wife is an actress in Hollywood and I thought that she might have been into this as a way to spice things up and save the marriage." Mention that he later found out she was cheating on him and that the marriage was then irreconcilable. The state and national Republican brass is still pissed, but impressed with how he handled it. The damage is kept to a minimum. The onus of proof and speculation is now put on Jerri Ryan. It could have been his "Checkers" speech.

Instead, Ryan tanked. And because being a Senator is becoming an increasingly rich man's game, Ryan still thinks his fortune can help him dig out of the hole he now finds himself. Before he becomes even more delusional he should ask Blair Hull how his fortune helped him to a third place finish in the Democratic Primary.

Charmed, I'm sure!!

Couple of weeks back, discussion among my oldest friends turned, as usual, to politics. This is generally considered a no-no at barbecues where the booze flows freely, but some of my friends are journalists so the rule doesn't apply to them. At least, they flaunt the rule with the emboldened impunity attributed to booze.

Anyway we were talking about the Senate campaigns of Barack Obama and Jack Ryan. A Los Angeles judge had previously ruled in favor of releasing some of Ryan's divorce records to "Star Trek: Voyager" and "Boston Public" star Jerri Ryan. Speculation began about what was in the records that Jack Ryan wanted sealed. "He wanted it sealed because it's gonna come out that he went to sex clubs with her," was the reply from one of my reporter friends. This led to fantasizing of Jerri Ryan in her "Seven of Nine" costume working as a dominatrix.

Well the files were released and, sure as shit, the speculation at this picnic was on the money. The silence in the background is the Ryan senate campaign coming to a screeching halt, his toothy grin replaced by the pursed lips and measured cadence of a man trying to spin gold from rotten straw. The allegations- and I stress that the information in the Ryan divorce records are that- puts Jack Ryan further behind Obama in the race to fill Peter Fitzgerald's Senate seat.

Obama, for his part, hasn't demanded Ryan resign from the campaign, wisely opting to stay quiet while Ryan defends himself to a press corps that's just tasted blood. At this rate, Obama could waltz in to the White House unscathed should he choose to run. The Hyde Park-based state senator was running a distant second in the Democratic Primary to Blair Hull before allegations of spousal abuse against Hull derailed his well-organized and self-financed campaign.

Ryan outpaced dairy magnate and racial paranoid Jim Oberweis in the Republican primary. To many in the state GOP hierarchy Oberweis is looking like the better candidate right now. State treasurer- and GOP chairwoman- Judy Baar Topinka went so far as to demand for Ryan's resignation from the campaign after assurances that what was sealed in his divorce files was not embarrassing to the party. But then maybe Jack Ryan has a different definition for embarrassing than the rest of us.