"Western"-ers: Volume 1

I was biking down Western Avenue in Chicago — actually I was riding on the sidewalk, with my helmet on, because you want to know what? I've reported on at least three people — both cyclists on pedestrians — who've been killed on Western Avenue (RIP Chris, Fran and Isai). While the section between Division and Fullerton has slowed down a little in the last year or so, thanks to some new stoplights, I don't like taking chances on that death highway.



Anyways, I ride slow when I'm in the Land of Pedestrian, out of respect, but also because you have a more interactive commuting experience. For example, I made a new friend. His name is Juan. And what attracted me to him were...his cans. He was sitting next to a big shopping cart full of them. And it reminded me of my grampa, who was an avid can collector, he would collect cans and cans and cans, and take them in and get money for them at the recycling centers around Chicago — it seemed like he'd do anything for those things.



One time my sister and I were in the car with him, he was driving, and we were stopped at a red light. The light turned green — but then he spotted a can across the way — so he yanked the car into park, and ran across the street to grab it! Oh, how the cars honked at us! Grampa pulled over on highways to retrieve cans. He picked them up out of gutters. No matter how rusty, shredded or caked with crud. And we loved him for it.

One year, for Father's Day, we gave him 10 huge black Hefty garbage bags filled with the things. My sister was in college, so she got to work saving beer cans. When we pulled the 10 bags out of my parents' car, I remember my grampa's face lighting up, and how he started laughing, and he let out a big "Oh...!!!" My mom recalls, "He was in his glory...and our station wagon smelled of beer for forever because it seeped into the carpet." My gramma said, "If you'd have given him a gold watch he wouldn't have been any happier."



I tried to tell Juan these stories, tried to find the word for "grampa" in Spanish — "abuelita"? I said. (I was close — it's abuelit"o" — duh, I took Latin, I should have remembered abuelit"a" is feminine.) I tried to ask where he takes the cans in, and mentioned the center that closed down at Leavitt and Milwaukee — and how Grampa would sometimes go to the one on North Avenue, just west of Damen, across from what's now Sultan's Market. Juan said that he goes to a place over on Elston.

We talked for a bit longer, I gave him what change I had, and I headed on. Later that night, on my ride back down Western, I saw Juan half-asleep in a dark and wide doorway, next to his shopping cart of cans. I smiled lightly and waved and said hello. And then wondered what my grampa — a bread-truck delivery guy in Chicago for more than 40 years, who always gave bread away to people in need — would've done.

Jamba Juice's Sick Joke

Don't get me wrong, I love me some Jamba, but the "Cold Buster" smoothie has orange sherbet in it. Don't get me wrong, I also love me some orange sherbet, but it's basically sugar. Sugar weakens the immune system. Thus drinking the Cold Buster ain’t gonna bust nothing but…well, it’s not gonna get rid of my cold okay? It would be like saying, “Oh here's this sleeping pill laced with speed.” Just get the juice, with a boost if you must, dang. And no, don’t drink Tang.

(P.S. I wish Jamba Juice was open 24 hours so I could get a double wheatgrass shot after a night out...they could call it the "Wee-Hours Wheatgrass Shot." Or what about wheatgrass delivery? Can you tell I'm writing this when I'm sick?)

A Gift for Gaga-ween

When I say "a gift for Gaga-ween" I don't mean a gift you should bring to a Lady Gaga and Ween collaboration, though a "Gaga-Ween" show could be rad. Maybe Dean and Gene would break out into a version of "Voodoo Lady"—"Voodoo Lady Gaga."



No, the Gaga-ween gift I'm talking about is this Halloween frame I saw at Target. Since Lady Gaga calls her die-hard followers her "little monsters" I thought some fan could use it to display a picture of them and their friends with broccoli on their heads in honor of Lady Googoo. Hmmm, what about a Lady Gaga and Goo Goo Dolls collab? Ha—"All Hallow's Eve with Gaga-Ween and Lady Googoo Dolls." You heard it here first, my little Monster energy drinks.

(BTW, I'm not a Gaga hater, I think she's very well-spoken, and I think interviewers ask her a lot of stupid questions. She plays United Center in Chicago on February 28, 2011, Scissor Sisters open. But I still call her Lady Googoo sometimes. Ha. Lady Googoo Gaga.)

I Never Knew Camilla Ha Rocked the Stage Until Saturday, and Now She's Leaving

Crazy how you see some people around for years, have some drunken and sober exchanges, but it never comes up that they do really cool shit. And when you finally see it, they're leaving town.



When I heard that Camilla Ha was going to have a show at Reversible Eye in Humboldt Park, I thought it would be just visual art, maybe some fashion, I knew she was a rad stylist. I didn't realize she was going to be onstage in a cloak of shadows and flashing colors masterminding a candle-lit mixer and Kaoss Pad and intermittently emitting vocals between mikes that made me think of Mazzy Star serenading a grueling catfight between Nina Hagen and Diamanda Galas. When I shared that with Camilla at the opening of "The Cosmic Mind of Black Leather" this past Saturday, she exclaimed, "Hell yeah, I like all them bitches, those are all my bitches, shit!"




We hung out and talked about New York, roommates, and the state of the print-media world. Speaking of print media, the Chicago Reader featured an in-depth piece about Camilla, her work as an electronic musician (she performs as Magic Is Kuntmaster—there's supposed to be an umlaut over the "u" can't figure it out right now), the show at Reversible Eye (Camilla's paintings and installations are up through October 22), and her upcoming move; it's written by Liz Armstrong, who also flew the Chicago coop to NYC and has written for publications like New York magazine, ReadyMade and Vice.

Hopefully before I move there I'll figure out the best videocam to use for super-dark shows that's not totally bulky, expensive or obvious, and has a decent zoom and mike, and won't break the bank, whoo-boy. That's my preface to this next video clip. The sound drowns the vocals, but if you listen carefully about halfway through you can get an idea, and it's short because I was frustrated and cursing my new camera.



BUT WAIT! To watch much better radder cooler videos of Camilla Ha as Magic Is Kuntmaster (there's some sick footage) go HERE.

Dear Toucan Ride Thing, I Love You

Dear Toucan Ride Thing at Humboldt Park Playground:

I don't see you around much anymore. When I was kid, we would fight over who got to ride you, even though you really didn't move. But you looked like the bird on the Fruit Loops box and that's all that mattered. Mm, fruity milk. Much better than nasty Cheerios milk.

You're fading away now, an endangered species. At least some kids will still get to enjoy you—at least until The New Safer Playground arrives one day. I'll always remember you, Really-Hot-In-The-Sun Toucan Ride Thing.

"Blago Blago: One Island, One Man"

So Blagojevich was convicted on one of 24 counts of being a douchebag. And now he shall achieve ultimate celebrity! He'll film a reality series from his own jail-cell island. The island will be called Blago Blago. Just like Bora Bora. And Tora Tora will perform Wild America as Blago's hair whips in the tropical winds... Coming soon to Bravo.

The Arts of Life Band

So I'm working on a story about The Arts of Life Band—made up of musicians both with disabilities and not—and I filmed and edited a short video (54 seconds) of their performance the night they opened for Bobby Conn at one of the Pitchfork after-parties. I think this is pretty punk rock...



This short will show on Thursday, August 26 from 5-8pm in the Art Institute of Chicago's Modern Wing, gallery 189, as part of the One Minute Film Festival, hosted by Jason Simon.