RandomCha

Responding to questions from backburner :

Have you ever grown a full beard?

Yes, I had one for about six months during my sophomore year in college. Naturallly my folks hated it but i kinda liked it. How it looked anyway. Hated the scratchiness. Plus I thought it made me look about 10 years older. So off it went.

If your parents lived in the suburbs of Chicago, do you think you’d still live here?

Oh certainly, because as we all know: the burbs might as well be in another country compared with living in the city. Sometimes it feels as if they have nothing in common whatsoever.

My perception is that you prefer writing fiction rather than non-fiction. Is that accurate and, if so, why?

Actually I prefer to write stuff that’s a mixture of the two, call it what you will: imaginery memoirs, exaggerated reality, etc. My view is that the truth doesn’t necessarily end with the facts. Really you can say things that are more “truthful” if they’re disguised as fiction. Readers automatically draw parallels to “reality” without the author having to do much of anything, if he’s a clever writer. Plus I guess that for me it’s more fun to write about things as I remember them, not as they actually happened. Then you can just call it “fiction.” 

Responding to questions from mevthem :

1) Who are three authors that inspire you?

Raymond Carver, Dawn Powell, Paul Auster
 
2) Is there a good biography on Duke Ellington? (You know, like the same quality Hajdu put into the Strayhorn book)

I’ve read several BAD ones, but I’ve heard that Beyond Category is very good. haven’t read that one though. Avoid the James Lincoln Collier bio: he’s very condescending.

3) What’s been the song of the summer, so far?

Hands down thus far it’s been “Poinciana” by the Ahmad Jamal Trio from Live at the Pershing Lounge, Chicago, 1958. Can’t get enough of it. I think I’ve been listening to it at least once a day.

Ask me up to three questions – anything – and I’ll reply with answers in seperate posts.

“The Jeffersons” it is.

The office atmosphere today is weirdly tense, which I don’t quite understand. It might have to do with it being painfully slow. Got my “Better look busy” face on.

Yesterday I got an email from my friend Dule, who recently moved to Zurich to take a laboratory job. His email made me jealous. It was basically: “Gosh, the job is great, but we haven’t been doing much work because it’s summer and no one does much work here in the summer and I’ve been swimming in the lake every day and the temperature is perfect.” Seriously. I just want to live in Paris. I want Charlotte Rampling to be my neighbor from across the hall. We can take little weekend trips to the seashore in the summer. Andy can work at one of the libraries. American archives division. I’ll maintain a bisteringly witty blog that’s filled with sly observations, sort of a running anti-Sedaris chronicle. 

I’m torn this evening between doing “work” (i.e. writing, writing work, etc. etc.) and doing … very little. Last Tuesday night, doing very little consisted of watching hours of “The Jeffersons” and “Sanford and Son.” Andy will be at class.

New article about 100SP:

Thinking Inside The Box: DIY Book Making and Selling

Randy VanWarmer had a few hits between 1979 and 1981 but is not much remembered today. I found his album “Beat of Love” on vinyl at the Brown Elephant, and mostly ended up buying it because I thought he was cute. The single from the album is pretty catchy, albeit in a geeky silly 80’s way (check out the lyrics). Then again, would you want it any other way?

“Suzi Found A Weapon,” Randy VanWarmer

According to NBC 5 Weather, the current spittle-like rain will be ending around 5 PM. It better. Andy and I are going to that Millennium Park concert, and we’ve got a fancy picnic basket reserved from Pastoral (which I’m about to go pick up) and a super bottle of Pinot Noir (courtesy of backburner) . So we better not get rained out. It’s a program of Spanish-themed works, guitar concerto, etc. 

Ahh, some sun peeked out. Maybe it’ll be okay.

It’s official. According to the July 3rd issue of Crain’s Chicago Business, Chicago has the most bars per capita of any major U.S. city (1 for every 1,657 residents).

The bathroom is dazzling. It’s not spotless. It’s just the Vision bulbs installed in the overhead light fixture. They make everything pop out. It’s sometimes startling. When I come home from work, I like to wash my face in the sink. Wash off the humidity of the workday. I use Andy’s towel to dry off. Then I root around in the kitchen for a snack. Is there any chocolate? Often I’ll skip the chocolate and instead head to the bedroom for a nap, which can last anywhere from an hour and a half to twenty minutes. Then I need that chocolate to revive. I’ll turn on the TV and stare at it while I eat the chocolate. Passively looking at whatever’s on the screen as long as the reception is tolerable. Once I watched part of a Scandanavian cooking show. A guy in an outdoor kitchen making these amazing pork chops. Seared in a pan with a dab of butter, lightly salted with sage leaves plastered on each side of the chops. And then he douses the entire pan with Aquavit, which immediately flambes. He says, “Be careful about your hair and your eyebrows.”  His accent lies somewhere between England and Max von Sydow. All the alcohol burns away, leaving a delicious sauce made up of the salt, the taste of sage and the caraway flavor from the Aquavit. You serve it just like that. I’ll watch some TV and then maybe turn that off and surf online for awhile. Then it’s news time. Time for Bob Schieffer. Bring it on Bob. There’s integrity in his eyes. Every pleghmy syllable issuing from his mouth delights me. Amazingly competent, the wry sense of humor simmering underneath it all if you’re sensitive enough to tune into his wavelength. Papa don’t take no mess. He says it like it is. Maybe Andy comes in halfway through the newscast, maybe he doesn’t. Listening to Bob puts the proper perspective on all the absurdity, random cruelty, irrelevance, casual miracles that make up each day’s news. He always appears slightly surprised to be on the air, again, tonight, bringing it to you one more time. Then it’s the cocktail hour. One sip from a well-crafted Manhattan should be enough to make you fall on your knees and offer up Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving that while millions around the world are starving, dying, murdering, suffering, you’re able to enjoy a quiet, comfortable drink. Sometimes I think: there’s no shame in that. Othertimes, the thought is disquieting. It requires a drink.