Beautiful Day

It is an ugly day here in the Western burbs of Chicago.
It's rainy, the temp has dropped, the sky is just grey. To cap it all off, I was dodging school busses on my way in this morning. It is a reminder that summer is essentially over.
Yet, ironically, as I waited in the dark kitchen this morning, hunched over the counter, anticipating that first splash of hot coffee in my eyes, a song popped into my head. U2's "Beautiful Day."
The song really didn't do much for me when it was released back around, what, 2000ish? Far be it from to click over to Google for a fact check.
Truth be told, I didn't like it at all then. In fact with a few exceptions, I have fallen completely out of love with U2. I have a simple rule with music, it has to move me. Go figure. And nothing off their last few albums has. There are three exceptions of course: "Walk On" and "In a Little While" off the same album as "Beautiful Day" and "City of Blinding Lights" from How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb.

Other than those, I haven't been "into" a U2 record since Zooropa. Maybe I've just gotten old and little too cynical. I don't relate to a billionaire telling me to save the world. I'm trying to keep my family fed first, then I'll worry about relieving famine elsewhere. So while I still consider myself a socially liberal person in many ways, Bono can more or less suck it. (For what it's worth, I'm sick of Green Day too.)

That said, I have found an appreciation for the song "Beautiful Day." It happened roughly 8 years ago, nearly to the day. It was during my first trip to Las Vegas, August of 2001. A city I would immediately fall in love with and return to many times. And I am not much of a gambler at all. I lose $50 in three days and I'm pissed.
Its the energy there that I love. The vibe if you will (and you must if you choose to read on.)
I was there with my best friend and his little brother, and we were meeting a couple other people. I had recently gotten engaged and this was to be an early bachelor party. Our first morning in Las Vegas, I woke around 5:00 AM because I was on Chicago time so in my body it was 7:00 and time to go to work.
I couldn't get back to sleep so I quietly dressed and slipped out of the room into a hazy desert morning. We were staying at a little dive casino / motel called the Westward Ho. If you've seen Vegas Vacation, there's a scene where Rusty (in his 4th incarnation) buys a fake i.d. on the strip. That was shot outside the Riviera, but for the entire scene you're looking at the Westward Ho behind them. It had these weird umbrella shaped structures with lights twinkling down the sides. Anyway . . .
So I got up, walked across the parking lot to the casino (as I mentioned, it's a MOTEL) and crossed through. I grabbed a coffee and strolled down the sidewalk, past a neighboring joint called Slots-O'-Fun. It was nothing more than an open air casino and bar. They have penny slots and $1 Blackjack. A magnet for High-Rollers this is not, but if you just want to try gambling without getting into too much trouble, this is your place. As I'm walking past I hear the intro to Beautiful Day begin to pump from inside. For no particular reason I stepped in and just meandered through the casino. Immediately I noticed a crowd of guys in their early-thirties who were rolling the bones (that's craps for the laymen) and had empty glasses and bottles lined up all around the table. These guys were partying strong at just before 6 AM.
It occurred to me then that I really was in Las Vegas. I chuckled and found myself humming along with Bono and I circled the casino and stepped back onto the strip. The sun was now bright and hot and the morning haze only a memory like the cash-in-pocket would later become. On the street, I watched cars full of normal people go by, clearly on their way to work, probably in one of the casinos. I thought, what a surreal life these people must live. Yet, I'm sure they go home and it's as normal as life in the Western burbs here. They drive to the Eiffel Tower or a pyramid in the morning, and then back to a three bedroom ranch and two kids and a dog at night like most of us. While inside, middle-class working stiffs are drinking Bud at 5:30AM praying for a hot shooter as the sun rises over the desert.
That's one of a million little memories that make me love Vegas. I suppose that's why I can now say I like the song "Beautiful Day." Maybe that's why it randomly plays in my brain on rainy Wednesday mornings like today.

We Now Return You . . .

So I've been away for a bit. The day job took over.

While I didn't want to spend a week in a training class, I have to admit it was a good week. Its always nice to get away from the office for a while. And the instructor was one of the funniest (albeit unintentionally some of the time) people I've even encountered.

I wish I could just put a camera on him for a month. Every two minutes something came out of his mouth that made me laugh. Although I suppose I might be the only one fascinated by the daily life of an openly gay African American man with 21 pet snakes.

Personally I think he's got all the makings of a star.

During the week I made multiple trips to the O'Hare Oasis for lunch. No, I don't cruise the bathrooms! They had a Panda Express. God help me, I'm a slave to low-rent Chinese food!
Not only that, I found it a fascinating experience for people watching.
I don't know if the "oasis" exisists in other states. They are common along the tollways of Illinois. Imagine a mini-mall erected over the highway, only accessible by special on-ramps and off-ramps. In fact they're designed conveniently so that you come and go the same direction you were headed. No need to turn around. Sadly, no possibility to turn around either, as I learned with only a few minutes to get back one day.

For those unfamiliar, imagine a giant concrete and glass covered bridge. And inside, a cornucopia of fast food options, as well as an airport-style gift shop, Starbucks, Aunt Annie's pretzels, even a Cinnabon. They were designed for motorists to get out, stretch their legs, pee, and grab a bite.

Though for me they hold a little history. As a child of divorce with one parent in Illinois and one in Wisconsin, the oasis was a convenient halfway point for dropping off and picking up. A place of simultaneous joy and anguish. Of course in the early-80's they were a little darker and dingier.
This oasis was white and clean with sunshine streaming in from all sides. Dare I even call it "inviting?"

I highly recomend any tourists passing through Chicagoland, and even locals who forget they're there, to make a stop next time.

I was struck with an idea for a movie or even better, an ensemble sitcom based in such an oasis during third shift. I'm working with the title "Midnight At the Oasis."
What do you think?

Radio Will Kill What Killed the Radio Star . . . Again!

I have a confession to make. I'm a radio junkie.

I love radio.
As a young kid I had my ear glued to Casey's Top 40 every weekend (this was before Mtv - or at least before we could afford cable.) And in grade school and Jr. High everybody listened to Z95 before school each morning. I would spend my afternoons waiting for my favorite new songs to come up with a tape recorder pressed up to the speaker. Those were my first mix-tapes! I used to get so annoyed when the disc jockey couldn't hit the post and would step all over the song.

And when I got my first "boom box" with two, yeah that's right, TWO tape decks, I would produce my own little radio shows, talking up songs, trying to be funny, always giving the weather as "sunny and 78 in the city!" Even in the dead of a long miserable Chicago winter, at my station it was always a beautiful early summer morning. The funny thing is, I never really considered being on the radio when I grew up. I didn't even think it was a job you could get. DJ's were these mysterious, etherial creatures who weren't even real. They were voices in the air.

My Freshman year of college, I saw a flyer for anyone interested in being on air at the school's station to come to a meeting. It immediately clicked - I wanted to do a real radio show! And as fate would have it, I knew the station manager through a high school friend so there was a real chance I could get a show! He'd met me, he'd seen I was amusing and had a decent voice. The odds were in my favor, if I could just beat out the competition. I was only slightly disheartened when at the meeting, pretty much anyone who showed could sign the sheet and they had a show. The meeting was simply to choose your time slot. Mornings were pretty much out. I think there was a morning show two days a week, but otherwise it was kind of the verboten time slot due to classes, and being a Baptist college, morning Chapel three times a week.

So if I couldn't have mornings, my choice was clear. Late night! I started watching The Tonight Show about age 5 with my Granddad. It was our tradition when my brother and I spent summers with them. Gramps would watch the news and I'd kill time with toys or something til the talking heads said Good Night, and I heard Ed McMahon's voice. I seldom managed to stay awake through the first guest, but it didn't matter. The monolog was what mattered. Carson was a master. No host will ever fill those shoes.

Then there was David Letterman, a fellow Hoosier. While he was not Carson, he wasn't trying to be Carson. Dave was unlike anything. He was dry, and smart, and weird (which I really clicked with - to be witty and weird.) Beyond all that, Dave seemed almost angry. Maybe even a little dangerous. Like if broadcasting hadn't worked out, we might have all been in trouble. And I liked that.

I scribbled my name on the 10 - Midnight shift. I was disappointed at the prospect of only two hours a night. How quickly I learned that filling two hours with content can be a Herculian task some nights. Especially while attempting to balance the rest of school (which those who know me know how successful I was at that!) Not too mention if you think FCC regulations are tight, try a Baptist college radio station. Talk about having to be funny, irreverent, and inappropriate without crossing the line! Carlin would be grateful he only had to worry about 7 words.

Rumor was a guy got kicked out just for playing a Grateful Dead song!!!

It took some doing, especially since our signal didn't even reach the far end of the campus, but by my second year, I actually managed to build a bit of a following. Only had two riots nearly erupt outside of the studio, and contrary to popular belief, I did not inspire some rapscallions to steal a box of forks and plant them in the school President's front yard. I applauded them, but did not encourage them!

Freshman year I had my roommate on the air a lot and we'd perform live music. We had some fun late nights, going on way past 12. It was during my Sophomore year I found a partner that I really clicked with and to this day think Brad and I could have pursued a real broadcasting partnership and been successful. We shared a similar sense of humor, but he was able to keep it reigned in, while I tended to fly off into the stratosphere. I still have a cassette of our biggest (and possibly best) show.

To show you how sheltered the kids at this school were (think the movie Saved, but in college) there was an explosive article in the school paper about the problem infecting our campus like a virus: PDA. That's right, Public Displays of Affection. The author, a wannabe-goth girl who'd likely never felt the ackward groping of a young man ( but desperately wanted it) was outraged by couples making out in every shadowy corner of the campus. I had a field day with that one! I think Brad and I stayed on the air for at least 4 or 5 hours because the calls kept coming in.

Then of course, I left college. Whether I quit or was kicked out is a subject of some debate. That was the end of my radio career.

I considered broadcasting school. Even went down to the Loop's AM 1000 studios and met with a few of the on-air people, though by the mid-90's it was a shell of its former self. Even Danny Bonaduce had already come and gone, ditching Chi-town for the Motor City (don't quote me, but no wonder he went off the deep end!)

If not for Steve Cochran covering mornings with his smart, funny laid-back style back then, the station was dead. Cochran I might add is the only one who has managed to stay on the air here consistently since those days.

In the end, while there's nobody to blame but myself, I allowed the fears my family planted in my brain to talk me out of chasing that dream any further. One more of those choices in life I'll always regret at least a little.

Still, the invisible sounds and voices coming through the speakers will just always have a hook in me.

Maybe it's because I live in Chicago, and for my money there was a time when we had the best radio personalities in the world. Back in the late 70's on into the 80's and early 90's, Chicago had radio locked.

And the definitive station of the day was WLUP, the Loop!

I remember as a kid you couldn't take five steps without seeing the familiar white on black logo. Bumper stickers plastered everywhere, billboards, tee shirts . . . it was THE Chicago rock station.

While Howard Stern was shocking the east coast , personalities like Steve Dahl & Garry Meier, Jonathon Brandmeier, Kevin Matthews were connecting with those of us landlocked in the midwest. These guys were rockstars.

And their live appearances drew the crowds to prove it.

Steve Dahl made history with Disco Demolition in the 70's when a stunt blowing up disco records made national news and caused fans to storm the field at the old Comiskey Park. Footage of the Stever in an army helmet leading the cry "Disco sucks!" was seen all across the country that night. Even the Bee Gees and K.C. & the Sunshine Band have attributed Dahl with bringing on the beginning of the end for their so-called "art form." If so he deserves a medal to go with his helmet!

I was in Jr. High when Jonathon Brandmeier and his band, Johnny B & the Leisure Suits played a series of Sold-Out concerts at Poplar Creek Music Theater. This was not just some local bar. It was a 20,000 seat amphitheatre, and this morning jock sold it out! I have a VHS tape he put out of the shows. I'd pay a fortune to go back in time to be 22 at one of those shows! It was a concert party of beer soaked rock & roll debauchery that nearly rivaled a Buffett show.

Those are the guys I wanted (and still want) to be like. Local legends. Entertainers. Commentators. Public voices. And even at the height of their popularity, they could still go to a restaurant, or to a movie, and for the most part choose whether they wanted to be recognized or not. With the exception of maybe Howard Stern, the paparazzi isn't usually stalking radio guys.

Speaking of Stern, there are those, he chief among them, who say the medium of radio is dead. And it's true that in the last few years, circling back to right about the time he left free radio, that the industry has been hurting. Satellite radio, the David that no one ever gave any thought to 10 years ago has risen up and become the new giant in town. Some radio execs are no doubt fitting their necks for the right sized rope, but I would say don't pull a Carradine just yet. Now there's a double-entendre for ya!

I have a little secret. Satellite radio is only strong because of Mr. Stern's presence. And his contract is up in a year & a half. He has practically said he will not renew - at least not in the form of doing a full daily show again. He's too tired, and by God he's made more money than he can possibly spend . . . and I get the feeling he'd like to spend it. Mark my words, he will not be a factor after this 5 year deal of his expires in 2011. And when Howard leaves, so will a large percentage of satellite subscribers.

When the product they've been paying for is gone, they will stop paying. But they'll still want to be entertained in their cars.

So to the boys at terrestrial radio, just hang in there a little longer. Or better yet, start fostering some young local talent now so that when the day comes, and it will literally happen over night, you are ready.

To the radio executives here in Chicagoland, we need a Radio Renaissance. We need to bring back the days (and the ratings) of 20+ years ago. Allow me to humbly throw my hat in the ring as your next Da Vinci!

I'm In Shock

http://www.slashfilm.com/2009/08/06/breaking-john-hughes-has-passed-away/

R.I.P. John Hughes

If only you hadn't ended an amazing career with Home Alone.

Finz Up!

I'm getting psyched! This Saturday is the one day a year I really look forward to. The Prophet of the Parrots is ascending on Chicagoland this weekend. James W. Buffett will be performing this Saturday and next at Toyota Park, our newest stadium.

I know, I know, Jimmy Buffett is a niche artist. Yes, he's the middle-class Midwestern white workin' man's idol. He represents what we all want to be, the guy who escaped - who went on a permanent vacation to the tropics. He's a guy who looks for snow on holiday because he spends a good majority of his life in paradise. He sails, he flies, his life, as he once wrote, is "a mixture of reggaes and tangos." Of course that's said tongue planted firmly in cheek, as he's still a man, with a wife and kids and real life. But yeah, to the outsider he's made it look like a pretty phenomenal life. And has said for the most part it has been. That's why we, the fans, the "Parrotheads" love him so much and yes, aspire to be like him . . . or at least grasp a tiny part of that lifestyle he's selling.

In many cases is a polarizing subject. People you ask often either love him or hate him. But the truth is, most people don’t even know him. They know that one song. The one about the frozen tequila based cocktail. And they damn well should. It's a great song. And it's really a mystery and an amazing success story. That song was allegedly one of those "ten minute" wonders, and it's turned into an industry for Mr. Buffett. Let's face it, until the early 00's and his resurgence to the charts (albeit on the Country side where he started and failed back in the early 70's) Buffett was a top-grossing summer act for over 20 years on the strength of one song. He was a "one hit wonder" making tens of millions of dollars a year, because of one song. One song, and an image.

I've heard Margaritaville probably a million and a half times, and it still stirs the Peter Pan in my soul. Or maybe I should say my inner-Captain Hook!

But true Parrot heads know there's so much more than one song. There's a catalog of great music that the mainstream hasn't heard. Buffett, who doesn't have the greatest voice and claims to only know 3 chords, is an incredible songwriter. He's put out more songs that move me and makeup the soundtrack to my life than U2, the Beatles, you name it. And beyond that, he's an "Entertainer." He's a showman. He's James Taylor, Bob Marley, Harry Nilsson, P.T. Barnum, Walt Disney, and Louie Prima all rolled into one.
And I'll happily keep supporting him as long as he'll keep putting out more and rolling through town every summer. I'll even tolerate the beer-soaked frat boys who come every summer that only know that one song, maybe two, who treat it as an outdoor summer kegger, and the scalpers who've driven up ticket prices so high I won't tell you what I paid.

Jimmy has said publicly from the pulpit, I mean stage, "I'm spending your money foolishly." And we all applaud. At the end of the day, that's what we want him to do with our money, because alone we can't do it ourselves. We want a hero whose flying seaplanes, drinking rum and eating lobster by a turquoise sea with his feet in white sands. A troubador and International Man of Mystery who is as welcome in Jamaica and St. Bart's as he is in Palm Beach, Florida and Cincinnati, Ohio.
We live for the tales of being mistaken for a drug smuggler and being shot at by machine guns off the coast of Negril (ok that kinda contradicts the "welcome in Jamaica" part . . . but the government later apologized!)

Jimmy says in his book A Pirate Looks at Fifty, as a teen he was asked in school, "what are you going to do with your life?" And his response was "Try to live a pretty interesting one."

He's a man who has clearly accomplished that goal. Howard Stern isn't the King of All Media. Jimmy Buffett is. Top selling musician, best-selling author, movie producer, restauranteur. Nice work if you can get it. Sure beats spending your life in a cubicle.

So this Saturday, you'll find me field level, drink in hand, slapping beach balls across the sea of people, singing along with every song. The originals, the covers, the hit(s), and the one's only 5 of us in the crowd know. And trying to steal my little piece of that charmed, sun tanned life.

And no, I don't wear coconut shells. Well, not at the beginning of the evening anyway!

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-8622802860572314949&ei=nZV5Ssi6HaWUrALCuZxg&q=Jimmy+Buffett+-+Here+We+Are&hl=en

Who would have thought this game, this flame would still be burning
Who would have guessed that all these blenders would still be churning
Not even we on our bended knees could have ever blessed it
Not even I with my head in the sky could have ever guessed it

But here we are, for a family reunion, costume barbeque
All the black sheep, family outcasts, and a freak or two

No the hat tricks and the gold bricks still don't have us down
Still a party, we are the hearty when we come to town
You're still grinning and we're still winning, nothing left to say
I'm still gliding as I go flying down this endless wave

And here we are, we're the offbeat Uncle Freds who spill their wine on you
And the in-your-face Aunt Rachels with an attitude
All the ones that use your bathroom then eat all your food
We're the dreamy Deadheads who just like us and Dave Matthews

Here we are, maybe it's because in spite of all the work we do
It's the child in us we really value

Here we are, with our fins up and our feathers flashing
Here we are, with our coconut shell brassieres chanting

Too Low Rent to be a Low Rent Disneyland!

Greetings true believers!

So I took Friday off so that we could visit a local treasure here in the Chicagoland area. It's a tiny amusement park that was built specifically for young kids called, ironically, Kiddieland.

Kiddieland opened 80 years ago, and this summer will be its final season. It started as a patch of dusty land with a handful of ponies for little depression era tykes to ride. Today it is a barbed-wired city block loaded to the gills with the carnival rides that time forgot. You have your stand-by's like the Tilt-a-Whirl, the Scrambler, a carousel. They also have about a half-dozen incarnations of the same ride. All carousel like machines with once glittery cars, rocket ships, helicopters and airplanes, even boats all for little kids to ride around in circles til they're dizzy.

This summer Kiddieland takes its final bow. When the founder died, as I understand it he split the property between his kids. Half got the park, the other half got the land it sits on. The ones who own the park and collect admission, pay rent to the others for lease of the land. A nice little arrangement I guess, as long as there's never a rift in the family. Oops. So apparently the ones that own the land have decided the property is more valuable to sell to developers than as a the resting place of decrepit kiddy rides. They've more or less pulled the rug out from under their relatives and told them they won't be renewing the lease for 2010. And that, as they say, is that for Kiddieland.

I don't want to rip on it too harshly. Kiddieland is a piece of Chicago history. You ask any 40 or 50-something local and they nearly get misty reminiscing about the goold ol' days when the park was only 4 or 5 decades old and the rides were considered "like-new."
And the park still serves a purpose. It is affordable fun for families who can't afford that trip to Disney. Or even families who can't afford the trip to Six Flags. Sadly, you just get what you pay for. The rides are mostly kept up, though many are in dire need of a paint job (which they'll doubtful get given this is the final season.)

Even I, the king of cynics and iconoclasts (natch!) couldn't help but feel a sense of history walking the cracked, uneven asphalt grounds. Still whenever a whiff of nostalgia began to creep into my nostrils, it was quickly overpowered by the strange combination of hot garbage and old lady perfume that seem to permeate the air of Kiddieland.
It's hard to be an urban amusement park on its last legs, sitting in the shadow of a horse track and three different trucking schools.

I want to feel sympathy for the owners. I read a touching story about the grandson of the original owner, who is in the park 7 days a week, even when it's closed for the winter. The man who has given his life to that place and now knows its about to be ripped away.

Sadly things could have gone differently. One historically poor decision might have turned the course of fate indefinitely for Kiddieland.

The story goes that when a man named Walt Disney was planning his own little Keebler tree out in Anaheim, he made a trip to his native home Chicago. He stopped in at Kiddieland and walked the grounds and observed the kids and parents enjoying the day. Legend has it Walt met with the owner and told him of his own plans. He offered the gentleman a position as a consultant (maybe even a partnership of some kind) on what was to become Disneyland.
The guy basically told Walt to go scratch. He apparently answered Walt with something to the effect of "I've got my own park. What do I need to help you for?"

What indeed.

That aside, Kiddieland, I salute you for what you are. As I left, I swear I could hear Templeton singing in the background, preparing for a feast that evening with a thousand cousins.

Authors Note: I am drawing my "details" from a vague, alcohol hazed recollection of a recent Chicago Tribune article on Kiddieland. Hence the reason I haven't named any of the principle characters. And if my facts are a little off, strap me to the Tilt-a-Whirl til I puke!