Scenes from the bunker

The armies of noise are gathering for tonight's offensive. For some reason, last year saw a particularly loud Fourth of July in the Ukrainian Village. I anticipate something similar, if not worse, tonight in our new 'hood near Kedzie and Armitage. Ah, but it's only one evening, right? I can climb into bed at 11, turn on the fan to block out the explosions and go to sleep.

The real challenge, dear reader, is what I will make for dinner. I'm determined not to order out or drive somewhere for food. I want to make something myself from what we have here -- something that isn't a veggie burger. I'm not much of a cook, though I can at least whip up some pasta. Yes, maybe I'll do that.

The Cubs will battle their natural enemies, the Cardinals, in about half an hour, so you know where I'll be. I doubt, however, that the outcome will affect the intensity of tonight's festivities. Would you want to blow up things more or less after a key Cubs win or loss? My thinking is that if you went through the trouble to drive up to Wisconsin, buy the illegal fireworks and mow a staging area into your back lawn, you're going to blow off all the damn things no matter what.

Now where's that marinara?

Happy July 4th

Telegram for you, sir

Your intrepid narrator is now home alone for the weekend. Why am I alone, you ask? Well, Erika advised me to stay here and not accompany her to Las Vegas for a friend's wedding. She believed it would be too boring and irritating for me, and we'd be better off saving the money. Nice of her, don't you think?

Now some of you may already be taking the "under" on me starving to death by Sunday, but I assure you, I'm eating a Trader Joe's frozen pizza, freshly cooked, and enjoying a cold O'Doul's as I write this. And if I need more provisions, I have the car.

Indeed, if anything will be my foe this weekend, it will be idleness and solitude. In anticipation of that, I've created a to-do list for the next three days that mixes house chores, exercise and outside errands to keep things interesting. And when I inevitably end up on the couch, I'll have books, comics, sports radio, Netflix selections, PBS, WCIU and MeTV to keep me company. Oh, I almost forgot. Before he moved to NYC last weekend, Jonathan lent me a full complement of "Jeeves and Wooster." I've watched one now, and I'm hooked.

So don't worry about me, dear reader. If things get really desperate, I might -- hey -- call some real human beings. What a novel idea.

Tuning in

I'm toying with the idea ("toying with the idea" means someone probably won't do something, or if they do, they'll wait at least six months) of writing a personal history of my sports radio listenership here on the old WeBLoG. My Buffalo friends got me hooked on fantasy football during the '02 season, and my interest in sports radio started that winter. Since then, I've listened to thousands of minutes of it -- both games and talk shows -- on our two local stations, and I've seen all sorts of changes in programming. I've had my favorites, as well as shows that made me instantly turn the dial. Sports radio has been there to start my day and been there to put me to bed; it's been there to help calm me during tough times; and it's been there to keep me company when I'm alone.

This all probably sounds a bit strange, but I'm not ashamed. In a weird way, it's become a kind of backing track to my life in Chicago. I remember that Roger Angell book in which he talked about riding in a cab one night with his wife, returning from a dinner party where he had drunk a lot of wine. He laid his head back against the seat and listened to the stream of baseball scores coming from the cabbie's radio. It's always there when you need it -- a continuous hum. That's something I find very comforting.

Paying to play

Playwrights must deal with many indignities during the submission process. I usually spare you my submission-related gripes, but today's offender is too heinous, in my opinion, to pass up. I recently found a small college playwriting contest that demands a $30 reading fee -- a new record, at least in my experience (of the more than 160 theaters and contests I submitted to in the past year).

Thirty dollars. What do you need that money for, small college? Are you going broke? Does your theater dean drive a Land Rover? (I seriously would love it if the reason were "high gas prices.") We pay for copies at Staples; we pay for report covers; we pay to send our heavy scripts cross-country by priority mail; and now you want us to pay your expensive reading fee on top of it. Hey, I have to gas up my car, too.

Playwriting is very much a "pay to play" arena when you're starting out: There are playwriting group membership dues, contest fees, copies, postage, even broadband access (for theater research and e-submission). It's an unpleasant reality no one talks about. Who knows if this kind of investment prices some writers out. (I'm fortunate to have a day job to finance my marketing campaign.) I set my contest fee limit at $20, which I still think is too high, but I'm trying to get exposure as a new playwright. I just wonder if the kind of inching-up we've seen in things such as ATM fees and gas prices will bleed over into the arts. It seems that right now businesses all over the country are trying to find out just how much people are willing to pay -- how much they can squeeze before we yelp.

And I suppose it comes down to that: How much do you want it? Someone's going to be desperate enough to shell out $30 to enter this small college contest. I know I'm not forced to pay it; I don't have to enter. But I think it's excessive, predatory and sets a poor precedent. I know theaters (and colleges) are businesses that require money to operate, but when does this kind of situation stop being an award for the arts and start becoming a revenue source that happens to have a blue ribbon attached to it?

I found it interesting last winter when the Steppenwolf's literary manager told a group of us at a seminar that most theaters don't pay much attention to contest wins listed on query letters/resumes, save for two or three very large ones. This small college contest was not among them.

January in June

The Bulls, in case you somehow didn't hear, took Memphis point guard Derrick Rose in last night's NBA draft with the first overall pick. I watched quite a bit of the NCAA tournament three months ago, including a couple of Memphis games, and I honestly can't remember anything about him. I was more focused on Michael Beasley and Stephon Curry, but I did the same thing in '07 when I focused on Greg Oden and not Kevin Durant, who's turned into a very special player, as Steve Stone likes to say. By "focus," I guess I mean "paid a little more attention to."

Having not paid attention to Rose, I feel neutral about the pick, but the analysts have gushed about this guy like he's the next Chris Paul. That could be a case of them having 24-7 TV time to fill and underwhelming available talent to analyze (think NFL Combine), or he could have real ability. I know Norm Van Lier will be happy with Rose and, by extension, Carmen DeFalco as well. Carmen sounded pretty up on him during WMVP's draft coverage last night.

Let me reiterate that I absolutely love that the Bulls are back on AM 1000, simply for the what-seems-like-hours-long pre-game show featuring Carmen and Van Lier. Last season was majorly disappointing, but somehow hearing Norm gripe for 86 games that Ben Gordon was pretending to be injured, Tyrus Thomas needed to get his head out of his ass and Thabo Sefolosha needed to stop making Swiss chocolate and man up made things at least funnier. Thabo eventually showed signs of life, but Van Lier will be ready to kiss Derrick Rose on the lips come this October, when he'll look like Tiny Archibald compared to the previous point men.

Das Glute

If you're interested in getting some new vegan-/vegetarian-friendly recipes or just curious about new brands of faux-meat on the market, stop on by the South Loop Whole Foods this Saturday at 1 p.m. to watch Erika give a cooking demonstration with Upton's Naturals seitan. Upton's gave her a load of the stuff, and she's got some fantastic ideas in store.

It keeps calling me

I'm starting to jones for a Three Oaks visit.

Last year, Erika and I took a weekend getaway to southwestern Michigan, which, as some of you may know, is a popular regional vacation spot for Chicagoans. Erika, being the queen of Internet research -- seriously, if she wanted one of those hot-shot news librarian jobs at the Trib, she could get it -- did an exhaustive search of rental properties in the area. We're not made of money, so we wanted something cheaper, and she found a wonderful little rental house in the wonderful little town of Three Oaks, just over the Indiana border and a few miles East from more expensive, tourist-trappy New Buffalo.

We first went in March, when it was chilly and raining, and again in August around our birthdays, which included a great side-trip to Kalamazoo and the Bell's Brewery. But that was 10 months ago, and the itch needs scratching.

You might look at Three Oaks and call it a tourist trap, too. I won't go that far because, despite the pricey antique, furniture and preserves stores, it has a Left-Wing, artistic undercurrent, as well as a micro-sized downtown area, that lends it definite charm. Three Oaks boasts its own community radio station, health food store, art-house cinema, used book store and newly reopened vegan-friendly restaurant. It also has two great bars -- one where the bartender cooks greasy food right there for you a few steps down from the taps.

You also can rent bikes for trips through the green farm fields surrounding the town, and you certainly can ride over to New Buffalo and go up the tourist corridor through Union Pier, Harbert and Sawyer. You'll find more antiques, another bookstore, a great corner store, a Swedish bakery and some awesome Middle Eastern food. There also are some wineries (not as fun as you'd imagine and go with white) and the beach (water is cold year-round, but still good for sunning).

I like to think Erika and I will move to this area someday. Maybe one of us will make a splash with our writing; maybe one of us will be able to work from home; or maybe, after opening our vegan restaurant in Chicago, we'll open a bed and breakfast in Three Oaks. Whatever the route, I want to make it part of our 10-year plan. See you in Three Oaks!

As I Lay, (Jermaine) Dye (is Batt)ing

If you wanted -- IF -- you could listen to tonight's Cubs/Sox game on three different radio stations -- set them up in a row and listen. I've been flipping back and forth between the Sox broadcast (Farmer and Stoney) and the ESPN Sunday Night Baseball national broadcast (two dudes whose names I forget). Yes, this is perhaps another reason why we should get cable, but I will continue to hold out until at least football season and '08-'09 NBA. Then we'll have some serious considering to do.

In the meantime, I'll lie here on the bed and do my crossword puzzle and listen. There's something to be said for the power of the image, but radio is the superior medium, in my opinion, and baseball on the radio is second to none in sports ... Well, maybe hockey on the radio. Those guys are nuts.

Time together

Today is our third wedding anniversary. Later, we're going to the Chicago Diner to celebrate. Three years. June 2005 was a different time. For example:

- Erika just finished up her junior year of college and was preparing for her first student teaching assignment.
- Mark logged year three at his dead-end news job, with no end in sight. (But he did have a 20-minute commute on one bus.)
- Erika was working as the Friday night (and Sunday morning) bartender at Tuman's.
- Mark had yet to begin work on his first full-length play.
- Erika smoked.
- Mark ate meat -- particularly the grilled ham and cheese from Big Herm's.
- Erika and Mark did not go to the gym.
- Erika and Mark had no nieces or nephews and had never attended the wedding of a friend or family member together.
- Erika and Mark lived on Noble Street in Noble Square in an apartment with avocado green walls in the living room and a space heater -- and loved it.

Here's to another three wonderful years. A lot more is definitely going to happen.

From the Sunday Nite Dead Files

Y'know, I like angry, abstract post-punk as much as the next disaffected leftist, but sometimes you have to cut it with a little ... "Grateful Dead from the Mars Hotel"? I bought this record at a moving sale in Wicker Park two years ago for a couple of bucks, and you know what ... I will always think the Dead are a terrible, terrible band, but sometimes they produce a pretty good song. "Unbroken Chain" is a pretty good song. It even has some (gulp) Ubu-esque synth dissonance.

I showed this record to my brother Matt not long after I bought it, and his brief display of Dead knowledge (he is a many-multiple bootleg owner) was so precise and frighteningly crystalline, I nearly fainted. I must demand, the next time he's here, that he flash a bit of that again. If I could goad him into a debate with someone else over which Dead album was the best -- or, even better, which Dead line-up was the best ...

You know, "Scarlet Begonias" isn't that bad either ... I think this is how it starts ... Where's that 1.6 Band record?

The Color-Coded Clown

This "submitted" list looks so nice and unsullied. I keep a record of all the theaters and contests I've submitted to, and I then color-code it as responses come in: green for acceptances, yellow for script requests and red for rejections. So far, no rejections, three requests and one acceptance (a staged reading). This is the nicest it might ever look.

That staged reading happened this past weekend, and though it went really well and led to me changing something in my play (for the better, I believe), I feel that a curtain of stress has lifted. This is the calmest Monday I've had since ... well, I can't remember. But don't get me wrong, I am extremely grateful for the opportunity I was given on such short notice, and I received very sincere encouragement from people whose opinions I greatly respect.

So ... start another play. Yes, it's time; the month is over. Erika's going to write tonight, so I will join her. I have nothing else on my docket, and I'm looking forward to it like nothing else.

Dork or no -- you decide

Yes, we went to the Cubs game yesterday. Yes, they won, and yes, we had a great time with Marie (on her birthday) and her friend John. Yes, I took four All-Star Game ballots and filled them out over the course of the game with, yes, four different rosters. Yes, I forgot to drop them in the little drop-box at Wrigley on our way to getting some Indian food afterward.

And yes, I'm mailing them to MLB today on my own dime.

Feel Good Friday

Mac, Jurko and Harry just did their live remote from a bar right around the corner from my Grandma's house. And now that I think about it, I can visualize the place: an Irish joint at the corner of Pulaski and W. 111th, just across the border in Oak Lawn. It has an outdoor courtyard.

Why do I bring this up? Well, I've got a lot of love for that area -- a lot of history in that area. And if I had had my druthers, I would've got a bit drunk down there today, too. ... Now that I think of it ... I could've pulled it off. ... Yes ... We have summer hours. I could've left at 1; caught a cab to the school. Begged Erika for the car; hopped on the Dan Ryan ... I would've been sucking down Miller Lites by 2, sitting by myself in a South Side Irish bar surrounded by fat guys.

At least I could've visited my Grandma afterward. "Grandma ... I just need to ... lie down here ... tell me ... how your ... day ... was ..."

Wake up by 9, bleary; drive through the thunderstorm and experience unpleasant deja vu.

I am McDyess, man

Two points of good news ...

1. Tim tipped me off to Effete Musings: a Detroit-New York comedy clearinghouse cartel. I had no idea! Read at once!

2. The Primitivo Zinfandel from Puglia is back at Trader Joe's for the $4 price. Did they read my earlier post? Whether or not they did, I still drank two glasses last night. I guess that means I'm feeling better.

Just a little taste and then I'll ... read ... yes ...

Started feeling better last night and feeling more so today. I regret taking Nyquil, though, right before bed, as I'm feeling a bit stoned this morning. But I had a nagging cough and no 'tussin to ease it.

Nyquil does impart a certain stillness in its aftermath, with a more peaceful, almost dreamlike flow of thought and memory. One memory that comes to mind is seeing a kid drinking a bottle of Nyquil next to his locker freshman year.

I'm at least looking forward to hitting the gym again after a week, though tonight's the night, as I detailed in an earlier post, that we call it quits with the YMCA. It makes me sad, and that's not the Nyquil talking. I will miss the view of the Metra line and those old, low-lying factories nearby. The sight of Target from the second floor of the new gym doesn't even fill up to the 10 mL line of the 30 mL cup of life's pleasant vistas.

SickBlogging 2.0

Our Memorial Day party is winding down. I forced myself to be active today: went to the South Side to visit Grandma, carried some big bags of dirt to the garden, ran around with the little kids for a bit. Now I'm feeling sweaty and a little cruddy, but I think I've gone over the hump with this cold.

But enough about that ... Lately I feel as though there are forces conspiring to make Erika and I get cable. Really those forces are called the NBA. Once the regular season ended, 85% of the playoffs went to cable. Thank you ABC for the Saturday game, but I've had to endure two straight days of hoops on the radio.

Well, it's not really that bad. You can't front on the combined basketball knowledge of Hall of Famers Hubie Brown and Dr. Jack Ramsay, who are doing radio color for the East and West finals, respectively. The more I listen, the more I want Dr. Jack to interview me every morning before I go to work.

And what about Will Perdue with the pre/post analysis? Do you remember hearing that Phil Jackson made Perdue read "On the Road" to improve his game/life? I do. That's the kind of thing Woundup is not likely to forget.

The Boers of Summer

9:15 p.m. Running a slight fever. Cold still nagging. The Cubs are on.

I was going to write a post about my guilt over them beating up on the Pirates, but then Kerry Wood blew a save, and we're now in extra innings. I still feel guilty. I know you're not supposed to, especially when your team needs all the Ws it can get to scrape together some chance of winning a grossly overdue championship. But I would feel better if that 8-1 record (as of this minute) were against the Cards or Astros. The poor Pirates need a glimmer of hope of their own, having posted a losing record since the '90s. They have such a nice new ballpark, too. Ah, look at those fans leaving. Poor, poor Pittsburgh.

(1.75 hour interval)

The Cubs have lost. I shouldn't feel so bad then, yes? I'm still sick, but I did take some Nyquil. Tomorrow is another day. ... ... I wish I wasn't sick.

The secret is out

Aha! It seems word is spreading that this WeBLoG has re-opened for business. I put out one little MySpace bulletin a couple months ago -- mostly likely swallowed up in the flood of "Lost my phone, need your number" posts.

Let me say hello to old friends returning. I don't see any work stoppages ahead for this site, so I won't let you down again. And to new readers, welcome. We offer a gold-level premium service for $29.95 per month. See link at bottom.

Suck it, D'Antoni

Dear lord. The Bulls just stole the No. 1 pick in the draft. Nobody saw that coming. Almost forgives their shite season.

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE TAKE BEASLEY.