Speaking of Father’s Day, here’s a picture of my haul. Homemade cards and contraptions. The good part, it didn’t cost me a penny. Speaking of which, here’s a link to the column I wrote for SpringfieldMoms.

Honey, I Shrunk the Tabloid – Fans of the venerable Sunday magazine will have noticed that it’s been cut down in size. Fortunately there was still room for Walter Scott to inform us of Miley Cyrus’ future projects and it looks as if she’ll be graduating to more mature roles until her fan base outgrows her and then Walter will stop returning her publicist’s calls.

If you arrived here via Firefox (you’re not really using Explorer, are you?), download the Cooliris plugin and you too will be amazed at the way it browses through photos. Do a Google image search of your favorite celebrity to ogle and then let Cooliris do it’s magic. Captivating!

I’ve come to realize that despite all of his corruptiness, Blagojevich was just too stupid to have screwed up the state’s finances so horribly and that Madigan may be the biggest culprit in the continuing budget problem. It’s all just a power game to the state’s leaders, but as the one who plays it best, Madigan is also the most to blame.

After spending the weekend at the water park and the swimming pool I’ve come to the conclusion that no matter who you are or where you’re from, deliberately splashing water in someone’s face is a punk move on par with shooting someone in the back or slipping iocaine powder in someone’s drink without first issuing a challenge to a battle of wits. I’m trying to teach my kids that to do so is to disgrace the family.

I’ve also come to the conclusion that I got a hold of a bad batch of sunscreen. Despite frequent applications I’m fried and considering litigative action against the makers of said faulty sun block. I’m hoping that a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale will counter the painful effects of the sun’s harmful rays. Milford would be mighty disappointed in me.

I’m working on another trivia quiz. Look for it soon.

Qik-n-EZ is advertising a special for lovers of imitation, beer-like beverages. Coors Light is selling 18-packs for $10.99 with, get this, a $7 mail-in rebate offer. Not accounting for the devaluation of the dollar in the time it takes for the rebate check to arrive, that comes to $3.99 per 18-pack or 22 cents per golden bottle. Party on, Rockies fans.

Well, long story short, the drinkers of this particular low-end beer proved to be a particularly thrifty lot and they redeemed their rebates in great numbers, causing great damage to the brewer’s bottom line. But that was a long time ago, so why not try it again during an economic downturn when people are doing everything possible, short of not buying beer, to save money.

The First Church of the Prescription and Over-Prized Sundries

When the Walgreen’s on Monroe relocated across the street to a new building, I felt that their previous home was destined to remain abandoned. The building is too big for a cellular service center or a nail salon. Even most restaurants, of the casual variety, don’t require that much space, except for maybe those buffet operations. A dollar store? Perhaps, but that retail model seems to have grown stagnant.

I suppose that religion, as beer, does fare well in times of economic hardship.

I Called This One

You’ve probably all seen the video of Susan Boyle, the unassuming contestant on Britain’s Got Talent who wowed the audience with a beautiful rendition of "I Dreamed a Dream" from Les Miserables.

I am not an American Idol fan, in fact, I’m a detractor. I’ve seen enough of it to be disgusted with all of the caterwauling, melisma-izing, and general "look-at-me" vocalization that pervades that stage. I’ve said, on more than one occasion, that if a contestant would come out and perform a song from Les Miz – with even half of the grace, beauty and humility with which Frances Ruffelle brought to her singing in the role of Eponine – then that person would shame the competition. She probably wouldn’t win, I conceded, but she would reveal how fraudulent that show is as a showcase of talent.

I simply can’t tolerate the superficiality of it all.

Neither of these women is Susan Boyle.

I Am Un Chien Andalusia

You’re unlikely to find Charles Michael Kittridge Thompson IV (aka Black Francis, Frank Black) prostituting himself to the American Idol demographic (see: Tarantino, Quentin), but I did find him and the Pixies in the Wii store. Victor and I can now rock to Debaser and Monkey Gone to Heaven on Guitar Hero.

I Was Published in California

Nothing new to plug this week, but my recent story on homebrewers was published in the Ridgecrest, California newspaper. Finally, the people of the Mojave can read my stuff. How fortunate for them.

Four Leaves Win! Four Leaves Win!

The Shamrocks netted their first goals and posted their first victory of the season, despite being without several key players, a feat that can only be attributed to deft coaching. Tessie continues to improve and Victor was a bulldog in pursuit of the ball, especially late in the game when the Shamrocks were protecting a 3 to 2 lead. He was sweating so much that by game’s end he looked as if he’d been doused by a Gator Ade bucket.

Mark may never develop the soccer skills of David Beckham, but I wouldn’t be surprised to see Posh Spice on his arm at kindergarten graduation.

Living to Eat Another Day

After the Shamrock’s big win, a couple of the families retired to D’Arcy’s for post-game sustenance. Maria, Tessie, Victor and I joined them. Of course, you can’t go to the Pint and not order a ’shoe, but for better or worse, it’s gotten to the point where I feel guilty about it. It weighs upon my conscience almost as heavily as the calories weigh upon my gut. I ended up skipping dinner last night as penance, but know that someday, I will sin again.

Just Like the Monks Used to Do

In this week’s Heartland, I wrote a story on local homebrewers. These men are doing the Lord’s work and deserve our admiration and support. Please send them money.

How Dare They Exploit Our Incompetence

I agree that this whole business with AIG using bail-out money to fund bonuses is despicable. However, the bipartisan outrage from politicians is threatening to make me ill.

First of all, they could and should have seen to it that this wouldn’t happen, then they wouldn’t have had to pretend they didn’t know anything about it.

Second, the remedy they propose to correct their incompetence, a retroactive and punitive tax, reeks of desperation and is possibly unconstitutional.

And then there is this.

The reason the government decided to float these billions to AIG was because they were deemed "too big to fail" and their demise would cause great harm to the economy. Our leaders determined that it is imperative that they prosper. So they respond by taking to the airwaves to scream about how corrupt and morally bankrupt AIG is. Yep, that should guarantee the kind of consumer confidence that a business needs to succeed.

I think Obama eventually grasped this, but many others were more concerned with looking bulldogish than being pragmatic about the whole unfortunate affair.

The Irish Really, Really Like Me (as far as you know)

I forgot to mention that, unless proven otherwise, I proudly served as the Grand Marshal at this year’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade in Dublin, which is bigger than Killarney, and thus a much bigger honor, if indeed I was the Grand Marshal, which I was, unless my brother says differently.

I’m also fairly certain that I’m a college graduate.

My Favorite Song This Week

Regina Spektor singing That Time. What is it with these chick’s with guitars?

A Tower By Any Other Name, Is Just a Tall Building

Forgive the untimeliness (see item 1, above), but I want to comment on the Sears Tower hubbub.

I can understand when people get upset when a university changes the name of their football stadium from that of a legendary coach to a cellular company, but in the case of the Sears Tower, isn’t it simply a case of one business taking over for another?

Let’s say that Moshe’s Pizza has been operating at the same location for 30 years. Everyone loves Moshe and his Yiddish take on the Italian favorite. But then Moshe and his wife, Traci, decide to retire and get a place in Spaulding. If you buy his building to house your new Segway parts and service center, should you be required to leave Moshe’s name on the canopy just because people are used to it and have treasured memories?

Honor the Curb or Die

Also untimely is this harangue about people’s behavior at the St. Pat’s Parade. Where we were viewing, people were standing almost to the green line that ran down the center of 5th Street, so desperate were they for candy and trinkets. Some even brazenly parked their chairs in the roadway. Every now and again, a flatfoot would come by and tell everyone to move back. They wouldn’t, and he’d walk on, defeated.

If the Springfield Police Department ever hopes to regain my respect, they better break out the water canon and rubber bullets next year.

I’m Sorry Michael

I must conclude that 30 Rock is now funnier than the Office. I probably would have realized this sooner, but I was thinking about how weird it is that we eat birds.

On Pain

Unlike James Dalton, I believe that pain does hurt. But I also believe that it should be proportionate to the injury incurred. So when I slightly bump my elbow on the boys’ bunk beds while putting on a comforter, it should be a fleeting pang, not sting like the dickens for 30 seconds. The pain I endured was totally excessive and obnoxious and unnecessary.

Trivia

Who is this James Dalton who philosophized contradictorily on pain?

Well that’s it for now. I’ll return again, unless WordPress keeps messing with me.

Arresting Development
The Bluths will return in motion picture. Apparently the entire cast of Arrested Development has signed on, save for one unidentified holdout, along with the show’s creators. I know the TV to big screen thing seldom bears fruit, but I just can’t imagine that the collective talent behind one of the greatest sitcoms of all time won’t be able to pull it off. I just hope they don’t take advantage of the less restrictive censorship of the R-rating to have Tobias overcome his never-nudeness.

Real F@*#ing Funny
On the Springfield comedy front, I took in the ADHD Production of Danger Adult Content II at the Hoogland a couple of Fridays past. It was a series of skits by a troupe of local talent that didn’t include Gus Gordon. As a neophyte to the local theatre scene, I didn’t know that was allowed. But they somehow managed and boy did they let the profanities fly.

Mary Young, who sometimes comments here under the fiendishly clever Web moniker “Mary”, starred, along with the inimitable Patrick “the Patrick” Russell, Nancy Cole, Gina DeCroix, Grace Hughes, Connor McNamara, Jeff Nevins, Mac Warren and FM radio’s own, Johnny Molson.

Silly Joel provided musical interludes between skits, with Nick “Mr. Cacciatore” Rogers dropping dope beats behind mad renditions of Billy Joel’s album-oriented-rock songs. The band also groveled mercilessly for donations of beer from audience members, with reported success. I don’t believe that is allowed at a Gus Gordon production.

For me, live entertainment usually means going to hear a band. I’m finally learning to appreciate live theatre and to realize that there’s more going on in Springfield than she just renditions of stage classics.

I’m Saint-Like
This weekend, Patty Redpath and her seven children moved into their Habitat for Humanity home, or as I like to call it, “the house that BFS built.” The dedication was on Sunday and it was a “moving” experience. In all modesty, it is quite satisfying to have pitched in on something that has a huge impact on other people’s lives. I should do it more often.

I Really Screwed Up This Time
They gave me 48 hours, plenty of time to take advantage of the unbelievable deal that I was presented. But I dragged my feet and now it’s too late. So my family will have to suffer all winter long here in the frigid zone and I have no one to blame but myself. Why, oh why didn’t I take the Amish up on their offer?

You may have seen the ad in last Wednesday’s SJ-R. The Amish were offering, free of charge, the popular HEAT SURGE miracle  heater. All I had to do was purchase one of their finely crafted oaken mantels. But no, I put off ordering and the next thing I knew it was Friday and the offer had been rescinded and now my family will freeze. And it’s all my fault.

If by the grace of God the Amish find it in their hearts to extend the offer and run another newspaper advertisement, I swear that I will atone and phone the operators who will be standing by to take my order.

Fun Lunch Tips from the Kitchen at BFS
If you’re like me and getting bored with that salad you have every day for lunch, try tossing some shredded broccoli slaw into the mix. It ups the nutritional count and adds a crunchy texture to the bed of greens. Enjoy!

Hold the Pickles, Hold the Lettuce, Keep the Change, It Won’t Upset Us
McDonald’s has hit upon a novel way to bolster their bottom line during the current economic downturn – shortchanging me.

Twice in recent weeks McD’s staff have taken it upon themselves to round down on the changed owed to me and stick the extra pennies in the company till. A $3.11 breakfast bagel, for which I proffered three and a quarter, netted me only a dime in return. When ordering a single item off of the dollar menu, the clerk first proceeded to tax me on the extra dollar I graciously donated, then decided that I wouldn’t be needing the two cents I had due. Not wishing to hold up the line, I drove forward without protest on both occasions.

The fast-food behemoth estimates that they serve 47 million customers each day. Let’s imagine that they’re skimming the equivalent of two cents American off each order, that’s a cool $940,000 in additional profit, doing nothing more than slightly pissing off their customers under the guise of employee incompetence. Pretty shrewd, Kroc, pretty shrewd.

The iPod Unearths a Gem
Every once in awhile, the random shuffle mode on my iPod will discover a great song that I didn’t know I owned. Last week, it offered up to me Jeff Buckley covering a Leonard Cohen classic widely-known through John Cale’s cover on the Shrek soundtrack. I speak, of course, of Hallelujah. It’s an awesome tune with dark and provocative lyrics, typical of Cohen, who parlayed his prodigious talents, and overcame his average looks, to land Rebecca De Mornay. Buckley, sadly, drowned.

Sometimes, This Blogging Thing Pays Off
Considering all of the joy that this blog spreads, the countless number of people who have been positively impacted by my musings, I’m criminally underpaid for my efforts. But it’s all worth it when a commenter gives me free beer.

Gish, master home-brewer at Red Cobblers Brewery, bestowed upon me a six-pack of sudsy savories last Friday. I’m not particularly good at describing beer by its bouquets, hints of flavor and effervescence. I can tell you that this is no bathtub brew.

My favorite style of beer is pale ale – hoppy and bitter. The problem with some pale ales is that by bottle’s end, they can be a little harsh on the stomach. I’ve always favored Sierra Nevada’s ales because they don’t have this effect. RC’s Artful Pale is similar, and I definitely could drink an entire football game’s worth. Lots of flavor without causing a disturbance.

The Watch Me Pale is similar to the Artful, only less so. Gish says that he cut back on the malt to reduce the calories and alcohol content. For the life of me I can’t figure out why you would want to that, but still, a very nice beverage.

Perhaps my favorite, or at least the most interesting, was the Nameless One. Here I will attempt some brewology and say that this ale has a wine-like acidity that surprises the palate. It’s not really fruity, but it does put me in the mind of Merlot. I really liked this one.

I haven’t tried the Ma & Pa Chapman’s Purely American Bitters yet. Perhaps tonight I’ll catch a bit of MNF and pop it open.

Thanks Gish.

Mexican Breakfast, Anyone?
Gwen Vernon brings the sexy back.

Write In, Right On
I knew it would come down to an election day decision. There were things I liked about both presidential candidates, and other things that I didn’t like. On Tuesday morning, when the kids asked who I was voting for and I still didn’t know, I started to consider just skipping past the presidential part of the ballot. I did that four years ago when I couldn’t bring myself to vote for Bush or Kerry. But this morning, after I stepped up to the voting booth, I decided to change my play at the line of scrimmage.

You may recall that last year I made my presidential predictions, calling it for Hillary, but making a very convincing case that a guy not in the race would make a good president, better, in my mind, than either Obama and McCain. So I voted for Michael Bloomberg, only for some reason I couldn’t remember his first name at the time, so I wrote in “Mayor Bloomberg.” He ended up falling short in electoral votes.

Well, Where’s the Change? I’m Waiting.
You’ll hear that a lot once Obama is sworn in. It will be said, and written, sarcastically. It will be offered endlessly by those who opposed him, to make the claim that we’ve all been hoodwinked. And it will get really annoying.

But, some who supported him may likely end up asking the same thing, with the sarcasm replaced by disappointment.

Obama’s lofty promises of hope and change resonated with many people. Those of us who are familiar with how government and politics work, know that things won’t change overnight. We know that there is only so much a president, even one we believe in, can do. And there’s only so much he’ll be willing to do.

But his message resonated with many people who voted for the first time. They found in Obama a savior. And, with their indifference now supplanted by naivety, they’re expecting big things to happen. Obama may very well make their lives better over time, but it won’t happen in such a way where they awake one day and say, “Wow, my life is better.”

Even if Obama turns out to be a great president, and I hope he does, that’s not a determination that can be made in the next four years, or even eight years. History is the only judge of a president’s tenure.  I’m hoping that Obama will be a good president, but would settle for a competent one.

As I’ve written previously, I’d have much more confidence in Obama’s ability to lead if he had served a couple of terms as governor first. If he could have cleaned  up the mess that is Illinois government, then Iraq, the economy and healthcare would be pieces of cake.

To me, the most impressive thing about the man is how he rose up from humble beginnings, with no silver spoon to nurture him along, to become the President of the United States. If he can take the charm, determination, and intelligence it took to propel himself to the White House and put it to use in solving our country’s problems, then he should do well. If those traits are only useful in service to himself, then you’ll all be kicking yourself for not writing-in Bloomberg in 2008.

Stupid Lyric of the Week
If I were a sculptor
But then again, no.

Gee Bernie Taupin*, that was a fleeting wish. You should have titled it: “Your Song, No Wait, It’s Not.”

My God, What is That Thing**
Has there ever been a more disturbing commercial than the Axe Chocolate Man? It’s as if they took a rejected serial killer from a third-rate horror franchise and made him consumable. And although I know it wasn’t the intention, I can’t help but see the bigoted smear of blackface.

Even if you get past the weirdness, the association it makes is not a good one. Having no olfactory experience with the product, I’m left with the impression that its scent derives from the cocoa bean. Although chocolate smells good when its aroma is wafting through a bakery, it’s not a smell that a healthy human should emit. Second, chocolate, as demonstrated in Caddy Shack, can be similar in color and texture to, well I’ll just say it – doody. That’s another smell you don’t want associated with your person, especially when you’re hoping to attract affections. Whatever Axe’s actual fragrance, it’s not coming through in these ads.

I don’t know how popular the Axe ad is; I suspect there are countless comments on YouTube attesting to its awesomeness (only they’d use a different word that I don’t know yet.) The fact that it was chosen from among the many ideas that would have been pitched to the manufacturer would lead one to believe that there is a strategy behind the strangeness. Creepiness in advertising has been effective in the past (see: the Burger King “King” and Mr. Six of Six Flags.)

Za, Good
The Dublin Pub has been our default locale for a family dinner out for some time. I like going to locally-owned establishments. The food is generally better and for some reason, they have a much more comfortable ambiance than the junk-on-the-wall chains. We were fortunate to come along another such restaurant that may become the top contender for our dining-out dollar.

We went to Bernie & Betty’s Saturday evening and had just a wonderful time. Best of all, everybody loved the pizza and consumed mightily. (I’m not a big fan of doggie bags, I’d much rather that everything be eaten on site.) What’s more, B&B features, on tap, Newcastle Brown Ale, which makes the wait for the pizza so much more enjoyable. By Sunday, the kids were nagging to return.

The Scary Side of Parenting
Ever since Maria, who is nine now, was a baby, she’s experienced breath holding spells. Not the Veruca Salt, if-I-don’t-get-my-way-I’m-going-to-hold-my-breath variety. Rather, it’s an involuntary reaction to pain. And it’s frightening as hell.

Sometimes, although rarely, when Maria falls or in some other way hurts herself, she’ll  start crying, and then in mid-wail she’ll stop breathing. Her face will freeze and her eyes roll back. Her body will stiffen and sometimes convulse. Then she’ll pass out, start to breathe again, and then be okay, save for some queasiness and whatever lingers from the original injury.

The first couple of times this happened we headed straight to the emergency room. After her pediatrician assured us that the spells weren’t damaging and that they weren’t that unusual, we learned how to deal with them. Still, the initial fear that she is terribly hurt, or worse, never lessens. One time in Meijer I was yelling for an ambulance before she quickly passed out and came to.

She was supposed to have outgrown them by now, but it happened again this weekend. I heard her slip on the stairs and start crying. By the time I got there, she was sliding down the steps as her body convulsed. I took her to the couch, brought her a bag of ice for her head, and it wasn’t long until she was outside playing. I just really hope that was the last one.

InBev Comes Clean
Have you seen the new Bud Light commercial? The one that touts the beer’s drinkability? You’ll notice that it features people drinking from a hose, shaking dew from a tree, and catching rain from the sky. Why? Because Bud Light tastes like water. It is water. That’s why it’s so damn drinkable. Now, if you want a beer, you’ll have to try something else.

Return to Glory
Congratulations to my trivia teammates, some of whom took home another title Saturday night. It was for a very good cause. We went to a benefit for the young man a few weeks ago.

That’s It
That’s it.

*Wait, isn’t that an Elton John song? Who is this Bernie Taupin?

**You’ll never guess what movie this line came from, so I won’t even bother tempting you with a prize.

 
The Yankees of Trivia Fall
For the first time in memory, we didn’t win the Firefighter’s trivia night. Sure we did mount a late-round comeback to finish in second place. And we did leave several correct answers “on the table”, as it were. But still, second place? We have some soul searching to do before the next event.

It was nice to finish in the money once again, especially since I lost a double sawbuck in the bar area and the unethical cretin who found it didn’t turn it over to a bartender in case the rightful owner (me) came looking for it. If I found a twenty at the fairgrounds, I’d pocket it without a thought because the chance of it being reunited with the lossee is miniscule. However, at the intimate confines of a lake club, during a quasi-charitable event, among people who share a common love of trivia, you can bet that I’d turn it over to the authorities with the heartfelt wish that it be returned.

My Vicarious Band
Our Sunday Tour of Parks is usually put on hiatus by November, but thanks to global warming we were able to resume activities yesterday. As a change of pace, I took the clan back to Lincoln Memorial Gardens. There was some initial groaning about there being nothing to do (i.e., no swings or slides), but they eventually took to the hike. The favorable rating went up considerably when we came to a small cove and I let them throw rocks and dig for shells in the sand. It was there that I shot this picture:

Join Red Eye Trio for an in-store performance at Apple Tree Records.

If you were a fan of indie rock in the 80s and 90s you’ll recognize this as the standard publicity shot for no-glam, guitar-based bands from the Georgia/North Carolina scene. If the kids ever formed a band, I imagine that it would be called Red Eye Trio, a name Victor came up with for his future restaurant. It’s a classic indie band name – vivid and esoteric, with the requisite ironic twist of calling a quartet a trio. (But is it Cool Band Name worthy?)

In the picture, the kids’ expressions and poses suggest some things about their roles in Red Eye Trio:

Victor: brooding guitarist, main songwriter and band visionary. Most likely to call the interviewer from SPIN an imbecile.

Maria: unpretentious bassist and band mom. Most likely to hang out with fans after shows.

Tessie: sassy lead vocalist and sharp-tongued indie diva. Most likely to take a bit part in a Cameron Crowe movie.

Mark: fun-loving drummer, band prankster and occasional brawler. Most likely to need bailed out of jail.

Abraham Lincoln: the selling of the BBD**
Frequenters of the Gardens are familiar with the benches located throughout the grounds for resting with the family unit. Each one has engraved on it a quote from A. Lincoln. One of these quotes has always intrigued me: “It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.” I’m not sure the context in which this was said, but I’m guessing that this particular bench marks the spot where Abe talked Mary Todd into, you know, for the very first time. Man, those great orators always make out like bandits.

I’m Still Not Feeling It
I’m still not sure how I’ll vote for president, if at all. I’m a fiscal conservative and a social moderate-to-liberal, so neither candidate is really speaking to me right now. Truth is, it won’t matter who I cast a vote for. Obama will carry Illinois in a landslide, and will probably win convincingly overall. Still, I’ll go to the polling place because there are some races where I do have a favorite. I like general elections because I can vote for the candidate and not the party.

Does Baby Want a Con-Con
I also want to vote for a constitutional convention on Tuesday, but no matter how many times I refer to a constitutional convention, I will always say “constitutional convention” and not that baby-fied abbreviation, Con-Con. I also don’t like when a no-hitter is called a no-no.  I do, however, like the name Mimi.

The Second Coming?
After helping to re-anchor a kitchen cabinet, I selflessly spent the rest of last Saturday morning working a tiller on the lawn of the Habitat house. Alternately pushing and restraining the hulking piece of equipment left me with stigmata on my hands, which I think is befitting.

Endeavoring to Eradicate My Pedantic Tendencies
In the off chance that the former Michelle Mayfield is reading this, I was going to use “felicitous” instead of “befitting” in the previous item, but I didn’t want anyone to take umbrage get pissed off.

Would You Like a Slab of Cheesecake With That?
As much as I enjoy a good beer, I don’t much like drinking beer with a meal. It’s terribly bloating and I find bloatation to be one of the more disagreeable physical sensations of the stomach. Strange then that the one food-beer match that I find to be made in heaven is the old roast beef ponyshoe and Guinness combo. I had one yesterday at the Dublin Pub. Washing down the dead-weight entree with a thick stout would seem to be a recipe for serious cement gut, but somehow, their density counteracts each other and I’m left both satisfied and gastronomically spry.

I Know You’re Out There, I Can Hear You Breathing
Or maybe not. If anyone just read this, please leave a comment. I’m getting the feeling that my audience has dwindled and it would be much easier for me to just think this stuff and not have to write it out and post it on a blog.

Until next week, if there is a next week.

 *Not even the chair.

**A first-press edition of the BFS-produced debut album from Red Eye Trio to the first person to identify the truly awful 80s movie that introduced this acronym to popular culture.

Although, I’m not smart enough to figure out how to get rid of that giant space between the title and this first blog item. Something to do with code, I suspect, but completely beyond me. (But not Russ. Space gone. Thanks Russ.)

Smoking ban? What’s a smoking ban?

We went out to a nearby hamlet to hear a band Friday night, although a later-than-posted show time forced me to leave before the music played. I did, however, get to visit two establishments for the first time, and both stirred me with a sense of déjà vu.

Sitting in these bars, the stale smell of exhaled tobacco immediately transported back to 2007, when it was legal to smoke indoors. I won’t be a rat fink and name the establishments, but it’s obvious that ownership isn’t worried about anti-compliance fines.

The smoking wasn’t rampant; I’m sure that there were many smokers who were taking it outside, unswayed to join the lawlessness that surrounded them. But the practice was accepted enough that butt-brimmed ashtrays were on full display.

When the ban passed, I suspected that certain smaller establishments would gradually fill back up with smoke. It was a concession I was willing to make in exchange for getting the filthy air out of the places that I like to go. So smoke away, all you residents of tiny villages east of Springfield and south of Spaulding, but alas I shan’t be returning, at least until you stock some decent beer.

Sunday Beer Blogger

Speaking of beer, frequent commenter, Gish, has started a new blog. He cuts through the usual blogger muckety-muck and concentrates on what matters most – fine beer.

Hair-Pulling Political Punditry

If a were a young Armenian graduate student monitoring the media coverage of the current U.S. presidential election, I would probably conclude that for their highest office, the Americans have nominated two of the most unethical, unqualified and insincere individuals in the land. Stupid westerners.

And why would I get this impression? Because so many of the most vocal participants commenting on the election process have dedicated themselves exclusively to trashing the other side, at the expense of touting their own candidate’s merits. It amazes how partisanship can make people both hateful and narrow-minded.

The media, and bloggers are included in this descriptor, seem to have little to recommend their own choice, but boy can they tell you what’s wrong with the evil other candidate. Every word a candidate utters is criticized and every action ridiculed. Great amounts of time and resources are spent digging into the deepest recesses of their life, hoping to find anything that might be a cause of embarrassment or evidence of the dreaded “waffling.”

It’s not yet October, but I’m more than ready for this embarrassing process to be over.

Curious Hair

One of my favorite authors passed on recently, apparently by his own hand. David Foster Wallace was a writer with a rare wit and a great mind.

He taught for a period at ISU, where one local blogger was fortunate enough to have gotten to know him. Another connection to Springfield can be found in A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again, a collection of short non-fiction narratives. The story “Getting Away from Already Being Pretty Much Away from It All” is about a 1993 trip he took to the Illinois State Fair. You can borrow it, if you like.

Although I love his fiction (I’m proud to say that I read his 1,000-page, heavily foot-noted novel, Infinite Jest, although I’m not proud of how long it took me), it was his work for magazines that really showcased his talent. No matter what the subject, from lobster bakes to porn industry award ceremonies, DFW would offer insights and observations that were poignant, unexpected and usually very funny.

I recently purchased, but haven’t yet gotten to, his collection of short stories, A Brief Interview with Hideous Men. It will now be a bittersweet read.

 Blake Baby

On a happier note, my indie rock crush, Juliana Hatfield, has released a memoir, although it’s apparently rather dark at times. I read a couple of reviews and put it in my shopping cart, but more importantly, it prompted me to finally iPod her solo CDs. The heart still flutters when I hear her songs.

Here’s Blake Babies with their ultra-cool cover of the Grassroots’ Temptation Eyes.

You may recall reading a long-winded, heavily emoted and, quite frankly, embarrassing post about my beloved beer that I wrote on Sunday evening. Maybe you skipped it, who knows. But three people who did read it are employees of the Sierra Nevada Brewing Company, two of whom emailed me this morning and one who left a comment. All took time to allay my fears and respond to my concerns.

Here’s one of the messages I received:

Hi Dan, I am the Business Development Manager for Sierra Nevada Brewng Co in Illinios. I wanted to say thanks for being a loyal Pale Ale drinker! And fear not, ample supplies of all of our brews shipped out last week and should be on store shelves and in tavern keepers coolers as we speak. I am sure that you will be contacted by someone from the brewery as well but I wanted to reach out. Sorry about the interruption, please contact me directly if you have any difficulty finding our brews.

Thanks, Bob Ryan

What fine representatives of their company. Raises all around, I say!