Pete Lit

New bird in town

For the past week we've been enjoying watching a new visitor to our backyard. (Visitor for now and, I'm hoping, soon-to-be permanent resident.) Last Sunday morning I was gazing through our kitchen window when a flurry of motion caught my eye. I saw a bird I had never seen before, with striking cinnamon-colored feathers on its back. It was about the same size as a robin, and scurried around like a robin, so at first I assumed it was a juvenile of that species which had not yet attained its trademark red breast. But through binoculors I was struck by the sight of this bird's breast, which was marked by brown spots. So I consulted our bird book and quickly realized it wasn't a young robin at all, and finally decided that it had to be a brown thrasher. It's a truly beautiful bird, and has also been very fun to watch - it's very energetic and feisty (often at the expense of our robins), and while it spent the first few days rooting around in the soil for worms and bugs, it soon took a liking to the birdseed in the feeder.

Since I had never seen a brown thrasher around here, I assumed this one was migrating and just passing through, and would be gone soon. But a week has now passed, and the bird is still here. And just last night, we saw a second brown thrasher in the yard, so we're crossing our fingers that this is a mating pair that will make our backyard their home. I'm certainly going to keep that feeder filled as an enticement to the two of them.

By the way, that photo above isn't mine, but a stock photo from Wikipedia (full-sized image here) that gives a much better up-close look than I could take on my own.

Quote

"You're a writer and a financial analyst. I'm calling a mason."
- My wife Julie, after hearing my most recent vow to repair the garden wall that collapsed three years ago and still remains unfixed

"That's a mighty fine Goose."

Well, this news thoroughly blows: Goose Island loses lease, to close its Clybourn spot.

It's truly sad that Goose Island and its landlord can't come to terms on a new lease, especially given the fact the brewpub was a true pioneer for the commercial redevelopment of the Clybourn Corridor area. When Goose Island opened in 1988 (in a former Turtle Wax factory, of all things), the neighborhood was pretty dicey. Now that the area has exploded, Goose Island is on its way out.

I've got a lot of great memories of that place, most notably:

+ Office Christmas parties in 1988 and 1989, with the second one immortalized when two over-indulged co-workers took a strong liking to a plastic, interior-lighted goose on display on a counter. The goose was spied from the adjacent tap room several times during the evening, prompting one of said individuals to repeat the phrase in quotation marks above. So great was their admiration for this object of dubious aesthetic merit that, at last sufficiently fortfied and emboldened by the tenth or twelfth microbrewed draft of the evening, they finally marched over to the counter, concealed the goose under a coat and snuck it out through the back door. Although I categorically deny any knowledge of who either of these nerfarious individuals might be, I've heard rumors that the goose's residence has alternated between their two homes ever since.

+ My going-away party when I left NBD in 1991 to return to grad school. Highlights were a) a male co-worker drinking out of female co-worker's shoe; and b) the evening ending with that same male carrying that same female out of the building, slung over his shoulder. The male was married, and the female single, and I can only guess what happened after that. Whatever it might have been, it would have occurred in a Toyota Celica. (Ewww.)

+ My wife's going-away party after she quit her job at this horrible equipment leasing company which happened to be in the same neighborhood. She and her soon-to-be-former co-workers arrived in midafternoon, but I only got there after driving back from my job in the suburbs. By the time I got there the only ones left were her and this goofy guy Jim, who was the only other normal person in the company and who quite valiantly kept her sane for the last several months she worked there. The three of us stayed for several more rounds, ruthlessly mocking the other employees.

+ Stopping in with Julie for a quick dinner last summer after my first-ever public reading. The mood was pleasantly celebratory, and the food and drink was as good as ever.

Good times, good times. While I wish Goose Island the best of luck finding a new location in the area, for me it will never be the same.

Intimations of Mortality from Recollections of Early Adulthood*

Yesterday marked a significant turning point in my life. Now, for the first time since I was 19 years old - I'm now 42 - I am without a stereo. It's been a long time coming, but yesterday finally settled the matter. Last fall we had major renovations done on our family room, with new hardwood floors installed and the room repainted. In preparation we cleared everything out of the room, which included my disassembling the stereo that resided in the entertainment cabinet. The stereo was stored in the sun porch (which is closed off for the winter) along with other items from the family room, but even though the work was finished by November, I never got around to putting all the stuff back. Yesterday I finally did so, with everything put back in place but the stereo. It sat there, dusty and forlorn, on the dining room floor as I inwardly debated what to do with it.

That stereo had been a big part of my life for the better part of two decades. It was my first major purchase as an independent adult. After getting by with an inherited turntable and cheap speakers (no receiver or tape deck) during my freshman year in college, during the following summer I went to Pacific Stereo in Schaumburg and splurged on what was then a pretty nice setup - an Onkyo analog receiver, Technics turntable, Sony cassette deck and a wonderfully oversized pair of EPI speakers. Though I upgraded in later years, replacing the Sony with a Nakamichi deck and entering the digital age in 1989 with a Denon CD player, that orignal core setup was the source of untold hours of listening pleasure. Whenever I would move into a new apartment, the stereo would be the first thing taken out and set up. Clothes might not be unpacked for a few days, and kitchen utensils for weeks or even months, but from my first hour in that apartment the stereo would be fully functional and most likely cranking out music as I settled into the new digs. At one time I could have told you the first music I played in any given new place, and though I've forgotten the rest by now I can still reliably report that when I moved into my apartment in Roscoe Village in 1996 the first thing I listened to was a sampler disc from CMJ New Music Monthly that included the Apples in Stereo, which was soon supplemented by The Lounge Ax Defense and Relocation Compact Disc which was purchased on the evening of my move.

In short, that stereo was my constant companion which, due to its complete unportability, meant I was home a lot. As much as I like to fondly recall the few crazy nights of too much drinking and too little responsible behavior from those days, for the most part I was a homebody. Which is all fine. It's who I am, and who I'll always be. That stereo got me through countless hours that were solitary but not necessarily lonely.

Which brings us to yesterday. My passion for music is nowhere near what it once was, and though I still listen a lot I do so almost exclusively online, or with my iPod or laptop, or in the car. The stereo has languished during recent years, especially since my daughter was born, as I've opted for the more modern and convenient modes of listening. As I looked at the stereo sitting there on the dining room floor, wires disconnected and looking quite aged, I finally realized that its time had passed. One by one I lugged the components up to the attic, where I returned them safely to their original boxes which I've kept for all these years. So while I haven't discarded the stereo completely, up there in the attic it's very much out of sight, out of mind, and most likely I'll never listen to it again.

As I undertook this sober act yesterday, my wife sensed what was going on inside my head. I finally made an attempt at a lighthearted comment, saying in mock-solemn tones that I had reached a major turning point in my life. She was an English major in college, and in response she laughed and said "Oh, okay, Prufrock." She specifically cited Eliot's line "Do I dare to eat a peach?", which got me thinking of the entire stanza. A quick perusal of the Norton Anthology brought these once-familiar verses back to mind:

I grow old…I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

Quite a reflection on aging and mortality, that was. But never mind. Despite the somber mood of all of the above, there's no need to worry about me. I've moved on with my life. And I'll still hear the mermaids singing, each to each - just not via my Onyko TX-21 analog receiver.

(*My deepest apologies to Wordsworth. The Prufrock comment got me nostalgic for the few poems I remember from my British lit class. Here's to you, Dr. Cole, wherever you are.)

Fight childhood cancer! Donate to St. Baldrick's!

Several people have asked me if I'm doing St. Baldrick's again this year. The quick answer is no, but please continue reading. My friends, family and longtime blog readers should be very familiar with St. Baldrick's by now, but for everyone else here's a quick synopsis.

St. Baldrick's Foundation is a charitable organization which raises funds for clinical research and treatment of childhood cancer. Despite tremendous progress made over the years, cancer remains the single most deadly disease for children. Every year, in the months leading up to St. Patrick's Day, thousands of St. Baldrick's volunteers solicit donations which are passed along to several hundred medical institutions involved in research and treatment of childhood cancer. Since its inception in 2000, St. Baldrick's has raised over $34 million in donations for cancer research, with annual totals escalating rapidly as the group's exposure has widened dramatically. As part of the fundraising process, just before St. Patrick's Day there are also St.Baldrick's events scheduled at dozens of public locations at which the volunteers (men AND women) have their heads shaved as a show of solidarity with child cancer patients, many of whom lose their hair from chemotherapy treatments.

I participated in St. Baldrick's from 2004 through 2007, raising over $5,000 in donations from generous souls like yourselves, despite my nearly complete lack of sales and/or coercive skills. However, for reasons I can't quite explain, I never got around to registering for this year's event despite the fact that I still firmly believe in St. Baldrick's and the fight against childhoood cancer. But just because I'm not directly participating this year doesn't mean that you can't donate to the cause, and thus I strongly encourage all of you to consider making a tax-deductible donation. No amount is too small, and every little bit helps. Every dollar raised gets us that much closer to curing childhood cancer.

If you're interested, you can donate online with a credit card, or you can mail a check (payable to "St. Baldrick's Foundation") to:

St. Baldrick's Foundation
1443 E. Washington Boulevard, #650
Pasadena, CA 91104-2650

To all donors, my sincerest thanks!

By the way, I fully intend to resume my participation in St. Baldrick's next year, complete with the regular badgering of everyone I know for donations, and the public shearing of my already balding scalp. Meanwhile, though I won't be getting sheared at a formal St. Baldrick's event this year, over the weekend I'll shave my head in St. Baldrick's honor and post my photo here.

Be still...

...my writer-geek, ephemera-craving heart: Typewriter Ribbon Tin Collection. Writing-related AND with gorgeous graphic design. Ooh la la.

During our last visit to the local antique shop I put Julie on notice that I have an eye out for a vintage manual typewriter to be acquired for purely aesthetic, dust-gathering purposes. Picking up a few of these beauties might keep me sated for a while until that perfect Royal or Underwood comes along.

(Via Coudal.)

In Praise of Potica

My wife Julie salutes "a true cottage industry". Looks like I already have this evening's dessert all lined up.

First Lines Meme

Let the year-end recaps begin. Although I haven't been formally tagged, I saw this meme on Kate's Book Blog and realized I hadn't indulged in a meme post in a while. So here it is: the first line from the first post from each month of the past year.

January: In what is surely the result of some bizarrely devious link-clicking bot whose purpose I can't even begin to fathom, my story "Ectoplasm" was the most-downloaded story at Storyglossia during 2006.

February: She came home from college one day and announced, from out of nowhere, that she was quitting school.

March: The Writer's Almanac from Minnesota Public Radio notes that today is the birthday of an unusually large number of notable poets (Lowell, Wilbur, Nemerov, Hass) but it's this item that really grabbed my attention:

April: The other day I was saddened to discover that Naperville's charming Bookzeller (which I've lauded here previously) has closed.

May: Now that I've finally started to read Atonement (thus giving my wife one less reason to doubt my literary taste and/or sanity), I can finally pass along this link that I've been sitting on for the last few weeks: the trailer for the film adaptation of McEwan's acclaimed novel.

June: The Spring Books Special issue of the Chicago Reader includes my short review of Aaron Petrovich's very fine novella, The Session.

July: I'm currently reading Sherwood Anderson's Winesburg, Ohio and am enjoying it quite a bit.

August: Does Bob Mould have a book inside of him, eager to emerge?

September: Like many small industrial cities of the early 20th Century, Joliet was home to a handful of automobile manufacturers, very small outfits which were destined to last only a few years.

October: Once again, it seems that the Illinois Department of Transportation, or IDOT, needs one more "I" in its name.

November: BibliOdyssey: Amazing Archival Images From the Internet, from the truly amazing website of the same name.

December: "A large gleaming machine with an opening at one end was wheeled in, and once again the cycle ran its Micronite Filter."

Let's see: self-promotion, a short story, admired author, indie bookstore, movie trailer, self-promotion, book excerpt, admired musician, local history, political rant, book lust, link to someone else's blog. Yes, that pretty much encapsulates Pete Lit.

So now, to follow standard blog protocol, I'm tagging three others with this meme: Julie, Tim and Ed.

Apologies

It's been brought to my attention that I hadn't posted to the blog in a while, so much so that the person in question was concerned for my well-being. Rest assured, all is well. Trouble is, my desk setup in my new office (wide-open cubicle with zero privacy) makes posting damned near impossible. I can barely get away with reading other people's blogs as it is - I have to make a conspicuous effort of only reading blogs while eating lunch at my desk, as if to say "Hey, stuffy employer, if I went out to lunch I'd be out for an hour. I'm giving you a break by brown-bagging my lunch at my desk, so cut me some slack on me reading a few blogs while eating my PB&J."

For the indefinite future - at least until I find another job - my posting will largely be confined to a few posts on the weekends, with the rare midweek post. If you haven't heard from me here in a while, drop me an email or something.

Uncle Knows Best

My friend and fellow writer Richard Grayson remembers his uncle, the renowned klezmer clarinetist Dave Tarras.

When I was a kid, Uncle Dave lived on Tilden Avenue in East Flatbush, just across the street from Tilden High School (closed last June and broken up into smaller schools). At one point my mother decided I should have clarinet lessons and Uncle Dave came over and gamely tried to instruct me.

But I have no musical ability whatsoever and I hated the taste of the reed in my mouth. Although I loved Uncle Dave and wanted to please him, whatever came out of my clarinet must have sounded like a catfight.

After just a few weeks, he said, "You don’t like this, do you?"

I shook my head.

"What do you like to do?"

"I don’t know. . . writing?"

"Then you should write." He went downstairs and told my mother the clarinet was not for me.

I wish my own uncles were as understanding. When I was scraping around after grad school, jobless and living with my parents, my California uncle repeatedly mailed me the help wanted ads from the San Jose Mercury - because he loves California so much that he thinks everyone in the world should live there - and my Ohio uncle tried to recruit me into selling Amway. Thanks, no, I replied both times, as diplomatically as possible.

Happy, happy birthday to me*

I'm feeling thankful for the small things today. Or yesterday, actually.

Yesterday was my birthday, never mind how many years I was celebrating. (Hint: I've now reached the legal drinking age, twice.) I'm usually impossible to shop for, especially after my wife Julie already hit the gift jackpot with the iPod she gave me two years ago and the laptop last year. My general take on gifts is that there's really nothing I need, and if I wanted something badly enough I'd just buy it for myself and not wait until my birthday for it. So this year I insisted that no gifts were necessary.

So instead, I indulged myself by taking the day off from work. Then I sat in my easy chair and surfed the web for far too many hours, most of them with my daughter Maddie charmingly hovering nearby. Then in mid-afternoon we were off to Dan's Candies for the autumn tradition of caramel apples, followed by stops at the new digs of our local used book store Book Market (where I gleefully picked up Nathanael West's Miss Lonelyhearts/The Day of the Locust, Mark Costello's The Murphy Stories and Cormac McCarthy's All the Pretty Horses) and B&N (where I picked up the summer issue of Bookforum - not sure why it was still on the shelf, with the fall issue now being out). Back at home, we had excellent carryout from Fat Terry's Rib Crib and an Eli's cheesecake for my birthday dessert.

A wonderful day all around. Julie kept saying it didn't seem like it was an exciting birthday for me, but it was exactly the way I wanted it.

(*Which, of course, refers to this.)

Quite True!

From this week's fortune cookie:

"A man (sic) best possession is a sympathetic wife."

And, in my case, a very patient one, too.

Proud Papa

As enjoyable as the RAGAD reading was, it wasn't the single most gratifying part of my weekend. So if you'll be so kind, please indulge me while I pass along a Proud Papa moment.

When Julie and I went into the city on Saturday night for the reading, we left our six-year-old daughter Maddie with her Aunt Heidi and her cousin Landon, who also live in Joliet. We got back to Joliet around 11 p.m. and went to pick up Maddie. Heidi let us in, and back in Landon's bedroom we found Maddie and Landon both sitting on his bed, Landon's eyes glued to a Pixar DVD while Maddie scribbled intently in a Hello Kitty journal which, we learned, she had gotten that evening at McDonald's. We asked her what she was doing, and she said she was writing a book. (Actually, she writes little books all the time, but this time she was particularly intent on doing so.) We finally convinced her to go home, and we said our goodbyes and proceeded to our car. Maddie climbed in the back seat, buckled herself in and continued writing, even in the pitch blackness. When we got home she found the nearest chair, sat down and continued writing, even though it was hours past her bedtime and she was exhausted from her very long day. I finally convinced her to go to bed. Then the next morning she got up, returned to that same chair, and continued writing until the book was finished.

Although I have not yet read the book, it appears to be graphic novel of sorts, titled Hello Kitty Worlds & Fields. Regardless of the literary merits of the book (which I'm certain is precociously endearing), I can't begin to describe how proud I am to witness her devotion and focus in creating it. I'm sure she would have stayed up all night to finish writing her book had I not talked her into going to bed, showing much more writerly diligence than I've ever practiced myself. Though I had inklings of such before, now I'm convinced we have another writer in the family, and I couldn't be happier with this coming to pass.

We now return you to my regularly scheduled crabby cynicism.

Over and Out

I'm going on blogging hiatus for a little while, as we're spending the rest of this week on a well-deserved vacation at Hilton Head before I start my new job on Monday. I'll be completely offline until Sunday, and after that I really can't foresee being able to blog at work (which has been my most productive blogging locale up until now) for quite some time. So whatever blogging you see here for the next few months will probably be confined to bursts of pent-up posts on the weekends. Bear with me, and enjoy (hopefully) quality over the usual quantity.

Behold the Chocolate Pundit

My wife Julie, the chocolate connoisseur, is now a media-anointed Chocolate Authority, courtesy of Bloomberg.

Julie Anderson, 37, of Joliet, Illinois, eats chocolate at least once a day and occasionally writes up her thoughts on a blog (www.boogaj.com/chocolate_blog). She says there is distinct taste difference when other fats are used for cocoa butter.

"Any product that doesn't have the cocoa butter doesn't taste as good and doesn't feel the same on your tongue,'' said Anderson, who wrote to the FDA opposing the change. "A high-quality chocolate, when you put it in your mouth, it melts and becomes very silky. With hydrogenated oils, it feels kind of waxy or greasy.''

Lest that first sentence cast any aspersions, I must point out that she works out intensely five days a week and keeps a very modest diet, thus retaining her girlish figure while still occasionally sating her sweet tooth.

Spring Has Sprung

"...like a glimpse of paradise across a dull and bitter land..."

Corned Beef and Soda Bread and Stout, Oh My!

The wife has blogged about our St. Patrick's Day feast. (We're stay-at-home types. No braving Amateur Night for us.) Mmmm, that was some goooood eating.

St. Baldrick's -- Thank You!!!

Once again, my heartfelt thanks go out to everyone who donated to St. Baldrick's on my behalf. Including cash and checks, I was able to raise $1,246 in donations this year, just topping my $1,200 goal. The fight against childhood cancer is a never-ending battle, and I'm glad to be able to help the cause in any way that I can. I truly appreciate your continued support.

That photo above is my "after" shot which, believe me, despite its general gruesomeness actually looks much better than me with hair. I always try to have a decent head of hair going by the time St. Baldrick's rolls around, to give the barber something moderately worth cutting off. As a result, I hadn't cut my hair since October, and it was looking pretty sloppy on Friday morning. I think my wife Julie is quite relieved that it's finally all cut off.

Thanks again, everybody!

St. Baldrick's - One More Plea!

As I announced earlier, this Friday I'm having my head shaved to support St. Baldrick's Foundation and CureSearch in the fight against childhood cancer. My donations currently total $1,191 -- a mere $9 shy of my $1,200 fundraising goal for this year. (The total listed on my St. Baldrick's page doesn't include cash donations.) I need just one more donation to put me over the top.

If you've already donated on my behalf, thank you once again. And if you haven't donated but might be leaning toward doing so, there's still plenty of time. You can donate online here. (If you want to donate with check or cash instead, just let me know.) I'll even sweeten the pot a bit. The next person to donate and put me over the $1,200 goal will not only gain my eternal gratitude, but also their choice of one of the following books:

Roddy Doyle - A Star Called Henry
Jonathan Raban - Bad Land: An American Romance
Alan Jacobs - The Narnian: The Life and Imagination of C. S. Lewis
Asne Seierstad - A Hundred and One Days: A Baghdad Journal
Dave Eggers - You Shall Know Our Velocity!

The book will be free, and I'll even cover the shipping charges. If you're the winning donor, I'll follow up for your mailing address. Thanks, everyone!

Getting bald(er) to fight childhood cancer!

Once again this year, I'm having my head shaved in support of St. Baldrick's Foundation, which raises funds for CureSearch, a great organization which supports research and treatment of childhood cancer. This will be the fourth year I've participated in St. Baldrick's, and so far I've raised more than $3,000 for CureSearch, and since its inception St. Baldrick's has raised over $20 million. Despite great progress made during recent years, more children in the U.S. die of cancer than any other disease, with 160,000 new childhood cases worldwide each year. I'm doing whatever I can to help fight this terrible disease, and hope you will, too.

CureSearch's 200 member institutions represent every pediatric cancer program in North America, with its network of 5,000 physicians, nurses and scientists working in laboratories and hospitals conducting childhood cancer research, identifying cancer causes and pioneering new treatments and cures. This network treats and supports 90% of children with cancer in North America. CureSearch's work is credited with the rapid scientific progress in the treatment of children with cancer over the past 50 years. Though once considered fatal, childhood cancer is now curable overall in 78% of childhood cancer patients. With continued funding and advances in research, CureSearch believes the survival rate can be raised to 85% by 2008.

So great progress is being made, but we still have a long way to go, which is where I (and you!) come in. On Friday, March 16, I will be having my head shaved at Fado Irish Pub (100 W. Grand Ave., in Chicago). Head-shaving is a symbolic gesture which shows support to childhood cancer patients, many of whom lose their hair during chemotherapy treatment. I would greatly appreciate it if you would make a donation to St. Baldrick's on my behalf. Donations are tax-deductible and benefit a truly great cause.

If you would like to donate with a credit card online, by phone or by mail, you can do so on my page at the St. Baldrick's website. Or if you'd like to donate with a personal check or cash instead, just contact me (pete_anderson [at] comcast [dot] net) and we'll make the necessary arrangements.

As always, if you’d like to attend the event at Fado, I’d love to have you join me for a beer and a good laugh at my expense. Though I don’t know the exact time of my shearing, it will probably be sometime in the early afternoon. The event is always a lot of fun—there’s plenty of ongoing raffles, silent auctions with great prizes, etc.

If you have any questions, just let me know. Thanks in advance!

Mouse in da House

Quite a stir around la casa last night, as we trapped/killed a mouse in our kitchen. Julie discovered the mouse a few days ago (yes, she shrieked, but didn't dance on a chair in high heels like in the old cartoons) when it popped out from behind the microwave, ran along the counter and disappeared into a heating vent that's built into the countertop just above the old radiator. Julie bought some traps, and I put one of them down behind the counter, on the floor next to the radiator. One night later, our quarry was snared. (We're hoping he was a bachelor with no progeny.)

Lest any members of PETA or some other animal-rights group decry my inhumane treatment of said rodent, let me point out the following:

1) He enjoyed a savory taste of peanut butter immediately before his demise.
2) His death appears to have been instantaneous (broken neck), since the trap was barely moved and there was no blood. Hence, no suffering.
3) Had I live-trapped him, what exactly would I have done with him? If I released him outside he would undoubtedly have found his way right back inside again.
4) During the winter, I'm more than happy to let mice have the run of our detached garage (we park our cars outside anyway), but once they've come inside my house, they've crossed the line.

(Incidentally, if I really wanted to stretch the truth and justify my actions, I could further claim that using a trap gave the mouse a much better fate than succumbing to the teeth of our two ferocious predator cats. But that would be a lie, since neither cat is particularly cat-like with respect to mouse-hunting. Our older cat Mud (who bagged two mice in her youth, to Julie's undying appreciation) showed no interest in this mouse whatsoever, while our younger cat Spike, who was very interested in the mouse (he spent hours in the kitchen, staring at the cabinets, undoubtedly intrigued by the scratching sounds emanating from underneath) is quite the pacifist. He doesn't even eat bugs, but just stares at them and occassionally pats them playfully with his paw.)

Anybody who has any qualms with our decision is welcome, should another mouse invade our house, to come to Joliet, live-trap the mouse and take it home with them as a cherished family pet. But if you're not willing to do so, then keep your objections to yourself.

Egad, Another Year Already...

Photography goes from the sublime to the ridiculous, as the wife is kind enough to post this photo in honor of my birthday.

I was having a good sleep in my car
In the parking lot of the Showboat Casino hotel
I said, "I remember you, you drive like a PTA mother"
You brought me draft beer in a plastic cup

I'm feeling thankful for the small things today
I'm feeling thankful for the small things today

Happy, Happy Birthday to me
Happy Birthday to me and to you

I remember you, I crashed your wedding
With some orange crepe paper and some Halloween candy
Sometimes I wish I were Catholic, I don't know why
I guess I'm happy to see your face at a time like this

Happy, Happy Birthday to me
Happy Birthday to me and to you

--David Lowery, "Happy Birthday to Me"

Finally, there's hope for me...

Who needs Rogaine, anyway?

Booga Talk, Episode 2

Episode 2 of Booga Talk--the podcast which convincingly answers the question, "What happens if you record an over-tired married couple's attempt at topical witty banter?"--is now ripe for the plucking. My apologies in advance to Michael Schaub, Kinky Friedman, Willie Nelson and every other rational, levelheaded, compassionate, non-fratboy-voting Texan.

Big Day

Then...

Now...

And getting better all the time.

Butchering the Classics

Here's a priceless bit of nostalgia (priceless as in: a, irreplaceable; and b, not worth any money): Me and my dad, singing "New York, New York," in a Cincinnati hotel bar in 1994. After a family funeral, I should add--if you knew my family you'd understand.

"New York, New York"

Mr. Sinatra, we are truly and deeply sorry.

Fast Forwarding to 2056

Ladies and gentlemen, introducing me, in fifty years, hectoring the great grandkids.

"Aw, come on, Jimmy, let's go outside and toss the ol' football around."

"Sorry, Great-Gramps, I was just about to step into the teleporter. I'm going to a Deadhead Convention on Venus."

"Hmmph. Never did like the Dead."

(Via Bighappyfunhouse.)

Introducing...

Somehow Julie and I got this crazy idea in our heads that our late-night, bleary-eyed, drifting-off-to-sleep conversations would be enjoyable not just for ourselves to hear, but also for the rest of the world. Whether that's actually the case remains to be seen.

Introducing: Booga Talk.

Long story short, we bought an iRiver MP3 recorder/player, pressed "record" and had one of our mildly amusing chats, with the results refined into finished product via Julie's podcast-editing talents. The first episode covers Ann Coulter, Christian-devouring lions, Brant Miller's thunderstorm survival techniques, and Quizno's, along with musical selections from D+ and Beat Happening.

We enjoyed doing this, and hope you enjoy it as well. We'll keep recording episodes as long as it still amuses us.

Sunday Night Literary Fights

So I'm sitting in the bar on Sunday night, enjoying a sweating bottle of Pabst in the middle of a holiday weekend, just minding my own business. Suddenly a ragged voice cuts through the din, its query clearly directed at me.
    "Who's the greatest American writer of the twentieth century?" the voice demanded.
    "Nelson Algren," I replied, almost automatically.
    "Algren? Bah! He couldn't carry Hemingway's jockstrap."
    That's just the way Hemingway's followers are in this town, always picking fights in bars, as if they're upholding Papa's honor or something. Especially at Garnsey III. The Fitzgerald and Steinbeck fans seem to favor the downtown Joliet bars, where the discussions observe a considerable degree of decorum. But out here in the neighborhood bars matters aren't nearly as polite. I was just glad I wasn't at the Moran AC, where all-out brawls would regularly break out over the subject of Raymond Chandler.
    Fortunately I was able to immediately dismiss the mental image of Hemingway in a jockstrap, and focused on the matter immediately at hand, namely the menacing drunk who dared impugn Algren's reputation.
    "Sure, Hemingway wrote a few good stories," I said calmly, "but Algren wrote an entire book of great ones--ever read The Neon Wilderness? Great stuff, even an illiterate like you might enjoy them."
    He stepped out of the shadows, clenching a beer bottle by its neck in his fat fist. He was a burly man, bearded, salt-and-pepper hair. Looked a bit like Hemingway himself, probably intentionally so. He was obviously a man of action, not prone to deep reflection, and it was clear he didn't want to settle the argument with words. He smashed the base of the bottle against a bar stool, shattering the glass into a weapon whose jagged teeth gleamed ominously in the neon light.
    "Son Also Rises. Old Man and the Sea," he raged.
    "Decent, but I'll take The Man With the Golden Arm over both of them. Probably Never Come Morning, too. By the way, don't you think it's kind of gutless for a Hemingway fan to use something as crude as a broken beer bottle?"
    He stopped momentarily in his tracks, peering quizically at me.
    "I doubt if your hero ever used anything but his bare fists. A broken bottle seems kind of prissy."
    Enraged, he flew at me, slashing the bottle at my head. I ducked and stepped clear.
    "Besides, before you're so quick to cut down Algren, do you know how much Hemingway admired his writing? 'Boy you are good,' Hemingway said about Algren once, and called him the second-greatest living writer."
    The drunk lunged again, but he was at least a half-dozen drinks ahead of me, and his coordination wasn't at all sharp. I easily dodged him again.
    "Sure, Hemingway considered himself to be the greatest living writer, but you can't just ignore the fact that he thought of Algren so highly," I added.
    I baited him like this for a while, exchanging rational arguments for his poorly-aimed swipes at my throat. Looking back, I could have easily escaped this encounter with my dignity and physical well-being intact, but unfortunately I got a bit carried away in eloquence and, distracted by trying to quote a convincing passage from Chicago: City on the Make, I must have stood still just long enought for him to get a bead on me.
    He lunged again, slicing open my chin with the bottle. At that moment I was jarred back to my senses, and knowing that even Algren enjoyed a bare-knuckled brawl every now and then and would undoubtedly have condoned a physical response from me, I coiled up and went after him.
    Long and short of it is, the melee went on for quite some time, the police were called in but I finally talked my way out of the jam, emerging with Algren's honor remaining intact, at the cost of only seven stitches and a tetanus shot for myself. Which sounds bad until you consider that the other guy is still in the hospital.
    By the way, you might have heard the rumors that my injury didn't happen in a bar, but in a coffeehouse, and it didn't result from a literary brawl, but from fainting, falling and cutting myself open on a display shelf. Vicious lies, all of them, probably started by the other guy himself, that coward, mumbling through his head bandages. Ask me sometime, and I'll show you the police report to prove it to you.

The Kindness of Strangers and...

Today's Quirky Nomads podcast includes my retelling of an old anecdote about "the kindness of strangers and the non-kindness of strangers." (Listen here.) The incident really happened, and taught me a few things about the world.

Ask Not For Whom the Jingle Bell Tolls...

My first place of employment, the venerable Santa's Village in East Dundee, may not have its traditional Mother's Day opening this year. And might never re-open.

Over the decades, as tourists began flocking to bigger attractions like Gurnee's Six Flags Great America, attendance declined. Scores of other small parks in the Chicago area and around the country shut their doors. Santa's Village hung on.

Now with a lien on the property and $83,000 in debt to East Dundee, Santa's Village is closed. For the first time in its history, on the traditional opening weekend no children will crowd around the "North Pole" or clamor for a pony ride.

Up for sale, the park on a recent day looked as forlorn as an abandoned child. The snowball ride sat silent; the treehouse slide was empty; even the ponies had left for greener pastures.

During the summer of 1983 I worked in a food stand, the Pixie Pantry, which served the most basic fare--the entire menu was hamburgers, cheeseburgers, hot dogs, chili dogs and fries. Yet we were always swamped, with a continuous line of customers for 4+ hours every weekend day, and maybe 2-3 hours on weekdays. The allure was probably due to the sign outside that said the building was air-conditioned, a claim refuted by my perpetually-sweat-soaked workshirt. My guess is that by the time people realized there wasn't any air conditioning, they had already been in line for ten minutes and figured they just might as well stay. It certainly wasn't the quality of the food that drew such huge crowds.

Working at Santa's Village was one of those physically punishing, demoralizing, criminally-low-paying ($3/hour at the time) jobs that every teenager should be required to endure. It rather starkly showed me what my life could be like if I didn't knuckle down and get good grades in college, which I was starting that following fall. I definitely learned from the experience.

(Trib site requires registration...if not already registered, use "double@mailinator.com" to log on, with "123456" as the password. Thanks to bugmenot.com, as always.)

A Tasty New Banner?

I'm sorely tempted to use this as my new banner logo...then again, I haven't eaten in a while, so that just might be my stomach talking. Anyway, this is a fun image generator--try it yourself!

(Via the always essential Boing Boing.)

The Debut of Stitch-Cast

The missus has launched a brand-new podcast, Stitch-Cast, which focuses primarily on fiber arts (knitting, quilting, etc.). Head over and check it out--whether or not you're into fiber arts, I'm sure you'll find it enjoyable.

St. Baldrick's 2006 - Success!

St. Baldrick's was once again a great experience. Thanks to a few late donations, I moved well past my fundraising goal of $1,000, raising a total of $1,212. That's my "after" photo above, which bears a faintly disturbing resemblance to Uncle Fester. What made it even better than past years was that I took the day off from work, and Julie and Maddie came along with me to the event. (Here's another photo, of the shearing in-progress, with Maddie looking on amusedly.) And we were joined by our friends Theresa and John; after the shearing we headed downstairs for an excellent lunch of bangers and mash, accompanied of course by a fine pint of Guinness.

I'd like to thank everyone who donated on my behalf, or even just offered an encouraging word. It's truly wonderful to see this annual outpouring of support--partly for what it does for my self-esteem, of course, but mostly for what it means to every kid out there who has cancer or who might someday face having cancer. One of St. Baldrick's Chicago leaders, Tom Leonhardt, introduced himself at Fado, pointed at Maddie--who is blessed with excellent health--and said "That's the reason we do all of this." I thought he expressed it perfectly.

If you'd still like to donate, my donor page remains open for online donations--cash and checks are still welcomed as well.

Thanks everybody!!!

St. Baldrick's - One Last Appeal!

Tomorrow I'm having my head shaved to fight children's cancer (12:45 PM at Fado Irish Pub, Grand Avenue and Clark Street) for St. Baldrick's Foundation. At $972 in donations, I'm still a bit short of my $1,000 goal, so if you want to donate on my behalf, there's still time! You can donate online at my St. Baldrick's webpage, or if you prefer cash or check just contact me and we'll make the necessary arrangements. This is a great cause that I really believe in, and I am genuinely grateful for any and all support I receive.

More info:
St. Baldrick's Foundation
CureSearch

(Previous posts here and here.)

St. Baldrick's Update!

As you may recall, I'm once again having my head shaved in the fight against childhood cancer, benefitting CureSearch via St. Baldrick's Foundation. So far I've raised $627 from many generous donors--if you've already donated, you have my humble gratitude. But I'm still well short of my $1,000 fundraising goal. With a bit more of a push, though, I'm confident I can easily exceed that goal.

If you would still like to donate, there's still plenty of time! You can donate online with a credit card at my St. Baldrick's page; otherwise if you'd like to donate via personal check or cash, just email me and we'll make the necessary arrangements.

My shearing is scheduled for 12:45 PM on Friday, March 10th at Fado Irish Pub (100 W. Grand Ave. in Chicago). If you're going to be downtown that day, I'd love to have you stop by to share a pint of stout and a good laugh at my shiny-domed head. The event has always been quite enjoyable, and they have numerous excellent raffle and silent auction prizes (partial list here) throughout the day. Hope to see you there!

Getting Bald(er) to Fight Childhood Cancer!

It’s that time of year again! Once again I will have my head shaved to benefit St. Baldrick’s Foundation, a very worthy organization which raises critical funds for CureSearch (the National Childhood Cancer Foundation and Children’s Oncology Group, or COG). This will be the third year I’ve participated in this great cause, and thanks to many generous donors I have raised nearly $2,400 so far. St. Baldrick’s has raised $12 million since its inception in 2000, with $5.3MM of that total raised in 2005 alone.

The COG is made up of more than 4,000 childhood cancer experts, working at 230 leading childhood cancer institutions in the U.S. and worldwide. This cooperative research group leads the world in finding new cancer treatments, with its members treating over 90% of all children with cancer in North America. Sadly, despite the great strides made of late in research and treatment, cancer remains the leading disease killer of children. 46 children are diagnosed with cancer every day. 40 years ago, childhood cancer was almost fatal—but today, 77% of child cancer patients can now be cured. St. Baldrick’s helps COG institutions continue their work at a time when other funding is hard to come by—grants from the National Cancer Institute are received as reimbursements only after the work is done, and cover only 35-40% of the actual costs involved in research.

The COG needs much more help than traditional funding sources can provide, in order to continue its valuable work. Which is why I’m dedicated to helping this fine organization through St. Baldrick’s. On Friday March 10th, I will have my head shaved as part of an all-day event at Fado Irish Pub in Chicago (100 W. Grand Ave. in Chicago). Shaving my head is both my way of making a small sacrifice to the cause, as well as a sign of solidarity with child cancer patients, many of whom lose their hair during chemotherapy.

I would be very pleased if you would be willing to donate to St. Baldrick’s on my behalf. If you would like to donate online via a credit card, you may do so through my page at the St. Baldrick’s website. Or, if you would like to donate with a check or cash, just let me know and we’ll make the necessary arrangements.

As always, if you’d like to attend the event at Fado, I’d love to have you join me for a beer and a good laugh at my expense. Though I don’t know the exact time of my shearing, it will probably be sometime in the early afternoon. The event is always a lot of fun—there’s plenty of ongoing raffles, silent auctions with great prizes, etc.

If you have any questions, just let me know. Thanks in advance!

The Sign of Four

Okay, I'm game.

Four jobs you've had in your life:
1. Credit manager/analyst
2. Burger flipper
3. Radio news reporter
4. Consulting intern/flunky

Four movies you could watch over and over:
1. On the Waterfront
2. Local Hero
3. Diner
4. Clerks

Four places you've lived:
1. Cary, IL
2. Champaign-Urbana, IL
3. Chicago, IL
4. Joliet, IL
(yes, I have only lived in Illinois)

Four TV shows you love to watch:
1. Prison Break
2. The Amazing Race
3. Law & Order
4. Fawlty Towers

Four places you've been on vacation:
1. Alaska (Anchorage, Denali, Homer, Seward)
2. Cologne, Germany
3. Seattle/Olympic Peninsula
4. Boston

Four websites you visit daily:
1. Gapers Block
2. Bookslut
3. Bighappyfunhouse
4. Booga J

Four of your favorite foods:
1. English ale
2. Crab legs
3. BBQ pulled pork sandwiches
4. Chicken and mushroom pizza from Tomato Head

Four places you'd rather be:
1. Home with Julie and Maddie
2. Southport Lanes
3. Denali National Park
4. Writing for a living

(Via Mumble Herder.)

We (Heart) Booga J

As I've mentioned before, my wife Julie has rapidly made a name for herself in the knitting world, for her highly-regarded felted bag designs, management of the 800-member Knitting Blogs Web Ring, and her own blog. She's also now the debut interviewee in a new online knitting mag, Knitting Fog, which I encourage you to check out.

By somehow finding enough time for her online ventures, homeschooling our daughter Maddie, and the considerable fawning attention I require, she is threatening the theory that there are only twenty-four hours in a day. We should all be as industrious as she is. I'm quite proud of her.

Readers! Show Yourselves!

I'm always a bit perplexed when somebody leaves a comment on my blog or emails me for the first time, and says they've been reading my blog for a while. Makes me wonder how many people are reading my blog that I know nothing about. Lo and behold...riding to my rescue is:

Frappr is an interesting Google Maps application which shows who your readers are and where they're from. If you read my blog regularly and have a minute or two to spare, please click through the above link and leave your information. Thanks in advance!

Happy Halloween From All the Gang

Hey, We're Famous!

Well, this antique appliance in our house is famous, anyway. Or maybe just momentarily familiar to Web-savvy antiques enthusiasts in the Chicago area.

So Darned Proud!

The lovely and talented Julie is rapidly making a name for herself as a knitting designer. Here's a brief interview with her at New York Knits.

A Shout-Out From Bookslut.com

This week I received my very first link from the wonderful folks at Bookslut. (Thanks, Michael!) Free review copies of books, Joe Meno liking my writing, Aleksandar Hemon answering my query as if I actually knew what the hell I'm talking about...and now this.

My Lord, I almost feel like I've finally arrived.

Apologies in Advance

My blog posting volume may be highly diminished over the next few months. My company is retrofitting our office space for fire sprinklers--finally--and we've been moved to temporary space which has a lot less privacy than previous. So my ability to discretely spin the long-winded musings and ratings you've come to love--or at least cringingly tolerate--may be compromised for a while.

Bear with me. I'll do whatever I can to get us through this crisis.

The Kid

Here's Maddie, wearing Julie's latest knitting creation. Oh my, she's growing up so fast. I'm one proud papa.

Right Back At Ya, Sweetheart!

Six great years!

I (Heart) Meetings

Recently, while flipping through one the numerous legal pads that litter my cubicle, I came across this pencil-written passage. Presumably I wrote it while the meeting was still in progress.

To them it was a meeting, just part of corporate protocol and a means of convincing themselves that open lines of communication existed in the organization. But for me it was nothing more than an hour of my life wasted, burned away, that I would never get back.

Corporate life can be such a carnival sometimes.

Who's That Man...

...beneath that planetarium-esque dome?

Just me, a few days after being sheared for St. Baldrick's. My heartfelt thanks goes out to everyone who sponsored me in support of the fight against childhood cancer. I raised $1,281 for the cause without trying too particularly hard, which is a wonderful testament to your generosity and goodwill. St. Baldrick's has raised $2.2 million this year so far, with many more donations yet to be processed.

If you would still like to donate, it's not too late! You can donate online here, or if you'd prefer cash or check please email me (pete_andersonATcomcastDOTnet) for details.

Giddy With Excitement

I'm lunching with the reclusive "Golden Rule Jones"--not his real name--today. Not to name-drop or anything, but I don't meet celebrities, or even pseudo-celebrities, very often.

...

Lunch with Sam--still didn't catch his last name!--went rather nicely. He's well-spoken, thoughtful and generous with a lunch tab. He was on his way to record his latest Hello Beautiful review piece for WBEZ, but still found ample time for a get-together. We had a nice long talk about books and writers--Ward Just, Stuart Dybek, Larry Heinemann--and how we got started doing this whole crazy blogging thing. Overall, a very rewarding visit.

And in case you're wondering, he looks a bit like Anthony Edwards of "ER" fame, but with a beard and not as tall as the actor.

The Deed is Done.

It doesn't look half bad, actually. The barber said I had a good skull for shaving, but even if that was nothing more than him angling for a tip, he was out of luck--after all, he was there on a volunteer basis and I'm cheap to begin with. So I can safely say that I look quite a bit better than Montgomery Burns.

I'm tied up with a family wedding tonight and tomorrow, but hopefully I'll post an "After" photo on Sunday. Like I said, it looks pretty good, so if you're looking for some sort of freak show voyeurism you may be disappointed. If that's the case, there's always Jim Rose.

Baldness Scenarios, One More Time

Pro:

Yul Brynner

Con:

Nick Hornby*

I'm scheduled to be sheared tomorrow, Friday March 11th, at 1:00 PM at Fado Irish Pub (100 W. Grand Avenue in Chicago). Feel free to stop by for a good laugh at my expense, as well as possible libations. There will be a silent auction with a nice array of stuff--see the Fado link above for more details. As you can see, I've blown past my fundraising goal, bringing in $1,206 with several more promised checks in the proverbial mail. But if you'd still like to donate, it's not too late!

*Admittedly, Hornby is a bit of a stretch as "Con", but I still can't find a photo of Scottie Pippen after his gruesomely ill-advised decision to shave his head about ten years ago, after MJ's first retirement. The sight of that was enough to make Scottie an inaugural inductee into the Ugly Bald Hall of Fame.

Baldness, Pro and Con

Pro:

Michael Jordan

Con:

Montgomery Burns

SPONSOR ME!

One Serious Family

This is priceless. During the weekend of my dad's funeral, one of my cousins gave me a copy of this photo, which was taken at a family wedding in Boone, Iowa in 1963. My mom is the third woman from the left, my dad the third man from the right, and my sister Kathy is sitting in front; all the rest are various aunts and uncles. Technically, there's only one actual aunt and uncle in the photo, with the others being my mom's cousins and cousins-in-law. My parents are of that era when it was considered proper, as a sign of respect, to address family members of the older generation as Aunt or Uncle, even if they weren't your parents' siblings.

The gag is that all of them agreed beforehand to assume a mock-serious pose--I'm not sure what the Napoleonic hand-in-jacket pose of the men was supposed to signify--but several of the women smiled anyway. My mom's family is an extremely friendly bunch, and can't help smiling even when they're trying not to.

Help Fight Childhood Cancer!

It's that time of year again. I'm having my head shaved to raise money for the fight against childhood cancer. I'm raising donations for St. Baldrick's, which was established in 2000 as a fundraising group for CureSearch National Childhood Cancer Foundation. CureSearch NCCF supports the work of CureSearch Children’s Oncology Group, a network of physicians, nurses and scientists who conduct clinical trials in childhood cancer and perform cutting-edge research at more than 200 member institutions, representing every pediatric cancer program in North America, treating over 90 percent of children with cancer in North America.

Cancer continues to be the leading cause of death by disease in children, but today 77 percent of children with cancer can now be cured. As a result of CureSearch COG’s collaborative research effort, the cancer death rate has dropped more dramatically for children than for any other age group and has
directly led to significant increases in cure rates for childhood cancer.

The fight against cancer has particular resonance for me this year, as my dad recently passed away from liver and colon cancer after a three year fight. And my older brother, Chuck, died of brain cancer in 1977 at the age of 22. Although St. Baldrick's and CureSearch NCCF specifically target childhood cancer, every shred of information we can learn about this terrible disease gets us one step closer to a cure that will benefit all of us.

St. Baldrick's was founded in 2000 and has raised almost $7 million so far, with $3.5 million of that coming in last year and $2 million the year before that. The process is simple--I gather donations from generous people such as yourselves, and then I will have my head shaved in public, at Fado Irish Pub (100 W. Grand Avenue, Chicago) on Friday, March 11, 2005. I had a great experience with St. Baldrick's last year, and consider myself fortunate to have raised $1,200 for the cause, versus a goal of only $500. This year I'm doubling my goal, to $1,000, and hope to far surpass that as well. The headshaving is a symbolic show of solidarity with child cancer patients, many of whom lose their hair with chemotherapy.

If you would like to sponsor me with an online donation, you can do so with a credit card at my St. Baldrick's page, where you can also track my fundraising progress. My page is located here.

That's my "Before" picture up there right now, and after the big day there will be a gruesome "After" photo for your amusement. (Here's last year's photo--one of my coworkers said I looked like Michael Stipe, which I'm hoping he meant as a compliment.)

If you would like to sponsor me with a check or cash, please contact me and we'll make the necessary arrangements. Also, if you'd like to witness my shearing in person on March 11, you're welcome to do so, whether it's for moral support or just a good laugh. Once we get closer to the date I'll have a better idea of the specific time I'll be shaved--it will probably be early afternoon.

More info:
St. Baldrick's Foundation
CureSearch National Childhood Cancer Foundation

Thank you so much, in advance!

Apologies

No new postings for the rest of this week, to both pay my respects to my dad and attempt to finally defeat a particularly nasty head cold. Check back this Monday for new writing developments and my first of many pitches for St. Baldricks. Thanks for your patience.

So Long, Old Buddy

Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it rises? but who takes off his eye from a comet when that breaks out? Who bends not his ear to any bell which upon any occasion rings? but who can remove it from that bell which is passing a piece of himself out of this world? No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were. Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

--John Donne, Meditation XVII

Thankful, Indeed

In a lot of ways, it's been a tough year. But one thing that I can say I'm thankful for is that I wasn't standing in my backyard at around 7:30 last night. The tree shown above snapped from the weight of the snow and ice, after having been pummelled by heavy winds earlier in the day, and rained major sections of the trunk and countless branches onto the yard. It wasn't one of our healthier trees, anyway--it looks like it might have been hit by lightning sometime in the past and had previously lost a huge branch, and was probably starting to rot inside.

No casualties, other than a bent birdfeeder pole and possibly Maddie's sandbox, which bore the full weight of the biggest section of trunk that fell. Both of our neighborhood brown squirrels, who I think might have lived in the tree, survived and have spent most of the morning happily engorging themselves on the corncobs and peanuts I left for them.

A Girl After My Own (Bleeding) Heart

Pardon me while I record two of Maddie's priceless utterances for posterity. Please bear in mind that she won't be four until October.

+ Maddie was telling me about watching Julie play "The Sims" on our computer, and she said that "the lady in the red dress was kissing the lady that cleans the house," which I thought was memorable in its own right. But then she topped it by adding, "They are definitely married."

+ Last night while we were picking up dinner, she was sitting in her car seat doing her usual made-up monologue while looking through a book (she's only pretending to read right now, but she'll be reading on her own before too much longer), when I heard her suddenly exclaim, "There's a good Washington and a bad Washington. The bad Washington is the one with George Bush."

I swear on my grandmother's grave that both of these incidents are true. Makes a papa proud.

You Know, I Just Might Do That...

Pete, A to Z

Late once again to the meme party. (Via Max.)

A - Age: 38
B - Band listening to right now: The Outnumbered, Surveying the Damage
C - Career future: Same as "J", unless my writing finally gets published
D - Dad's name: John
E - Easiest person to talk to: Julie (for intelligent discourse); Maddie (for charming nonsense)
F - Favorite song: (as if I could choose just one!)
G - Gummy Bears or Gummy Worms: Neither. Yuck.
H - Hometown: Cary, Illinois
I - Instruments: Harmonica, trombone (not simulataneously)
J - Job: Senior Credit Analyst
K - Kids: Madeleine, age 3 2/3
L - Longest car ride ever: Champaign, Illinois to Boston (nonstop)
M - Mom's name: Dorothy
N - Number of people you slept with: Agree with Max ("a gentleman never tells....")
P - Phobia[s]: Four more years of Bush and Cheney
Q - Quote: "Don't look back. Something might be gaining on you." --Satchel Paige
R - Reason to smile: Coming home
S - Song you sang last: Mountain Goats, "Palmcorder Yanja"
T - Time you wake up: 5:00 AM
U - Unknown fact about me: Once dropped trou on stage at a charity auction (actually, not so "unknown")
V - Vegetable you hate: Hate, none. Love, none. Neutral, most.
W - Worst habit: Chewing on side of tongue, like gum
X - X-rays you've had: nose (broken by muggers), left ring finger (broken by softball)
Y - Yummy food: BBQ pulled pork sandwich from Fat Terry's
Z - Zodiac sign: Virgo

Photo of the Week

(Entire Madeleine gallery starts here.)

The New House

We're celebrating. The photo is of our new house, located in the older Near West Side of Joliet. As of this morning, our current house is sold. (Or we have a signed deal to sell it. Mere technicality...I hope.) We're quite thrilled. Our current home is nice, but it's not really "us" and it's never really felt like home. But the older home we're buying (built in 1927) is almost exactly what we've been looking for, and we can easily envision living in it for the rest of our lives.

More photos here.

Bald! Bald! Baldrick's!

The deed is done. Here's the gruesome end result:

Actually, I don't think it looks too bad. A friend at work said I look like Michael Stipe, which I'm assuming was meant as a compliment. Interestingly, my scalp is already back to stubble, a little more than twenty-four hours later. Soon my hair will be back to normal, and it will once again be sadly obvious that I'm bald by nature, not by choice. Sigh.

The St. Baldrick's event at Smith & Wollensky was excellent--well-run and a lot of fun. Lots of warmth and camaraderie, and really made me feel like I was part of something important. A local representative of the NCCF (unfortunately, I've forgotten his name) took the time to talk to me and thank me for my participation. I thanked him, in return, for having the chance to be part of it.

I'd like to thank each and every one of you who supported my efforts, either through donation or encouragement. I'm not a terribly effective saleman, but I was successful far beyond my expectations--fortunately, this is such a great cause that it practically sold itself.

If you'd still like to donate, by no means is it too late! Any and all donations, no matter how tardy or how small, are greatly welcomed by St. Baldrick's and the NCCF. Every dollar gets us a little closer to finding a cure. As before, you can donate online with a credit card here, or if you'd prefer check or cash, email me to make the necessary arrangements.

A huge thanks to each and every one of you!

24 Hours and Counting

Before...

I'm scheduled for shearing at 12:40 PM on Friday, at Smith & Wollensky, 318 N. State St. in Chicago.

Feel free to drop by for a good laugh. I'm hoping for either Michael Jordan or Yul Brynner. But I'm expecting ET.

Help Fight Childhood Cancer!

In last Sunday's newspaper I discovered this great cause--St. Baldrick's Celebration, which is a charitable fundraiser which supports the National Childhood Cancer Foundation. Despite great progress made during the past few years, cancer still kills more children than any other disease. The NCCF is a great organization which backs both cancer research and treatment of young patients. In supporting NCCF, we can all do a little bit towards finding a cure.

Which is where I (and you!) come in. On March 12, the day of St. Baldrick's Celebration, I will have my head shaved at Smith & Wollensky in Chicago. The head-shaving is a symbolic gesture of solidarity with cancer patients, many of whom lose their hair during chemotherapy. I am hoping to personally raise $500 in donations in my name to benefit St. Baldrick's and the NCCF. St. Baldrick's raised over $2 million in donations last year and $3 million since its inception in 2000.

Now, those of you who know me personally realize that I'm already quite follically-challenged, and thus will be sacrificing very little hair to this great cause. But, based on the photos I've seen of last year's event, it appears that only clippers are used at the event locations, leaving a thin stubble. I intend to take it one step further, and blade-shave it right down to my scalp. (Hopefully the end result will be closer to Michael Jordan than Scottie Pippen.) I'll post an "after" photo here once the shaving is complete.

If you would like to donate, you can do so via credit card through my page at the St. Baldrick's website. Or if you'd prefer to donate with check or cash, just email me and we'll make all the necessary arrangements.

For more information on St. Baldrick's Celebration, click here, and for the National Childhood Cancer Foundation, click here.

Thank you so much!

Greetings, Amy Iuppa!

Sandrine and Rob Iuppa proudly announce the joyous arrival of Amy Elizabeth, who was born on Sunday, February 1st. She was seven pounds, eleven ounces, and Papa says both she and Sandrine are doing well. He also states "We enjoyed our first Super Bowl together although I prohibited her from watching halftime." (If only we all were as fortunate!)

The Big Lug

After all, a blog isn't really a blog without a self-indulgent cat photo. This is Spike, the second of three in our feline collection.

Greetings, David Steinberg!

Best wishes to Beth and Fred on their handsome new arrival! David made his world debut on Monday, October 27, in Northampton, MA.

Ordinary Life

There are just so many stories out there that are never heard. Millions of interesting people, and thousands of fascinating ones, living lives made anonymous by the fact that nobody ever bothered talking to them and asking them to reflect on where they are, how they got here, and where they see themselves going. Instead, the media dwells on the famous, the glamorous, the star-powered (temporary) marriages, the gorgeously empty people who have nothing worthwhile to say. Those whose sole purpose for opening up is to shill their latest movie.

I'd love to start a magazine called "Common Man: Celebrating Ordinary Life." It would be entirely devoted to interviewing everyday people, the kind who fly completely under the media's radar, asking them about their lives, their dreams, their fears, their quirks. Studs Terkel would be an obvious influence, though the magazine would be more freeform and less thematically-based than Terkel's books. The only drawback I see, other than the likely lack of marketability, is that my inward nature makes me more observer than interviewer. But maybe a project like this would draw me out of my shell. We'll see.

about me...

Name: Pete Anderson
Aliases: Booga P, Marlin (from Finding Nemo), Potor, Rancid Pete, Viking Pete.
Residence: Joliet, Illinois (Mottos: "City of Champions", "City of Stone and Steel", "Home of Rudy", and "No, I Haven't Seen Jake and Elwood") for the past six years.
Former Residence: Chicago (various North Side neighborhoods).
Family: Wife Julie (entrepreneur, crafter, mom and homeschooler of dazzling versatility), daughter Madeleine (three years old and already well on her way to being twice as smart as me), plus the usual parents, siblings and in-laws.
Education: University of Illinois, for both bachelors' and graduate degrees. The school so nice, I went there twice.
Actual Career: Commercial credit analysis, currently within the commercial real estate industry. Sometimes tedious, though it will do for now. Health insurance and a 401K are hard to beat, especially considering the following...
Aspiring Career: Fiction writer. Inspirations include Nelson Algren, Studs Terkel, Aleksandar Hemon and Ralph Ellison. All of whom I'm so deeply in awe of that, realizing I'll never measure up to any of them, sometimes I feel I should give up writing completely. But I soldier on. I have written a rough draft of my first novel, Eden, several short stories and numerous fiction entries on my blog. Nothing published as yet. A few stories published so far (see sidebar) with none of them exactly setting the world on fire.
Other Passions: Voracious reading, photographic jaunts, coffee, quality time with family, under-the-radar music.
Former Passions: Baseball and most other spectator sports.
Primary Non-Passions: Yardwork and all other home repair, pretentiousness, the Bush Adminstration.
Favorite Film: On the Waterfront
Favorite Book: Hunger by Knut Hamsun

about me...

Name: Pete Anderson
Aliases: Booga P, Marlin (from Finding Nemo), Potor, Rancid Pete, Viking Pete.
Residence: Joliet, Illinois (Mottos: "City of Champions", "City of Stone and Steel", "Home of Rudy", and "No, I Haven't Seen Jake and Elwood") for the past six years.
Former Residence: Chicago (various North Side neighborhoods).
Family: Wife Julie (entrepreneur, crafter, mom and homeschooler of dazzling versatility), daughter Madeleine (three years old and already well on her way to being twice as smart as me), plus the usual parents, siblings and in-laws.
Education: University of Illinois, for both bachelors' and graduate degrees. The school so nice, I went there twice.
Actual Career: Commercial credit analysis, currently within the commercial real estate industry. Sometimes tedious, though it will do for now. Health insurance and a 401K are hard to beat, especially considering the following...
Aspiring Career: Fiction writer. Inspirations include Nelson Algren, Studs Terkel, Aleksandar Hemon and Ralph Ellison. All of whom I'm so deeply in awe of that, realizing I'll never measure up to any of them, sometimes I feel I should give up writing completely. But I soldier on. I have written a rough draft of my first novel, Eden, several short stories and numerous fiction entries on my blog. Nothing published as yet. A few stories published so far (see sidebar) with none of them exactly setting the world on fire.
Other Passions: Voracious reading, photographic jaunts, coffee, quality time with family, under-the-radar music.
Former Passions: Baseball and most other spectator sports.
Primary Non-Passions: Yardwork and all other home repair, pretentiousness, the Bush Adminstration.
Favorite Film: On the Waterfront
Favorite Book: Hunger by Knut Hamsun