Bert 1

Meet Bert our rescue dog.

So we got this dog last March. His name is Bert. He came with it. Bert’s a 3 year old little short-haired white rescue dog. Claims he’s a Finnish Spitz which is probably about as accurate as claiming I’m a nephew of Napoleon.  In both cases a resemblance howsoever barely. Let him have his airs. As a rescue dog, he’s entitled to his misguided sense of self. As long as he feels good about it.

Dog owners, I’ve discovered, can talk fairly incessantly about their dogs. And in the 8 months we’ve had Bert I’ve thought of a lot of things I can say about Bert and about having a dog-being in the household. So I’m creating a Bert folder and this installation is Bert 1.  It’s not about Bert as much as it is about me, one of my favorite subjects.

I, of course, was counseled regarding introducing Bert into our household. I had to give serious consideration to this new under-18 dependent that didn’t merit a tax deduction. Sure, I agreed gamely, a house-broken, gentle dog with a ready smile as seen from the tail-end, would be welcome. Just one condition. My contribution to Bert’s well-being would consist of petting him. That’s it. I would pet him and say good dog.

Bert’s a great dog. It’s grand to see him happy. Who knows the sadness in him from leaving a household and owner(s) who taught him his domesticated manners. In our house he gets only kind words, 2 square a day and some awesome neighborhood sniffing around.

And I’ve stuck to my commitment. I’m not a jerk about it. I’ll give him the occasional walk and stand-in on occasion at feeding time. But, for the most part, I pet him. He seems happy with that. As am I.

The Mind of the (Slow) Left Lane Driver

You’ve been here. The driver in front of you is in the left lane. He (or she) is going the same speed as the car to his right. Or even slower. You and drivers behind you are either stewing or maneuvering to the right to overcome this left lane hog.

You wonder. What is this driver thinking? Is he on the phone? A self-appointed speed vigilante? Unaware of traffic etiquette? Or simply oblivious?

Recently, I had the “opportunity” to ride shotgun with a colleague who occupied the left lane. As we cruised along, we enjoyed the animus of tailgaters, lights flashers and those of the obscene gesture persuasion who took umbrage at our occupation of the left lane. For my part, I wanted to either strangle the driver or crawl onto the floor of the backseat. Instead I asked the question to which we ALL want know the answer:

Why are you driving in the left lane?

The answer was as revealing as it was simple. There were 3 points:

1. This driver liked the open road. She liked the feel that no one was in front of her. And, to be sure, when you’re driving slower than traffic, most of it that can get past you leaves you in the dust. But for you, the road ahead is clear.
2. For this driver the left lane was the least threatening.  Of three lanes, we all know that entering and exiting traffic in the right most lane presents a constant challenge to the through traffic driver. But what I learned from my left lane lover was her aversion to the center lane. Seems like, with traffic on both sides, there’s just too much going on to be comfortable there. Okay then. Maybe see someone about that.
3. I-thought-so: “I’m going fast enough.” Or “traffic is moving fast enough.”  Love the spirit of vigilantism.  My speed is the right speed.

I still think most slow left lane drivers are oblivious. More commonly they’re on their phone with a brain a 1000 miles away from their corporeal presence. It was gratifying to have the opportunity to understand what is in the mind of at least one slow left lane driver. It doesn’t mean I like them any better.

A Day at the Beach

I have the good fortune to live in a community on the shores of Lake Michigan. To many not familiar with the Great Lakes, a lake is a large puddle in which to sink a line, test your sailing skills or skim the water on skis behind a fast boat. But Lake Michigan, like all five of the Great Lakes is really an inland sea of freshwater. In fact, the largest body of fresh water on the planet. And I live next to it.

Now, don’t get me wrong. My fortune is good enough to enjoy this lake proximity. But not good enough to stare out my window and listen to the waves. I live about 2 miles from the lake, a short bike ride if I were so inclined. But the lazy truth is I drive to the beach carting enough beach paraphernalia that would make a bike ride a shlep. And the prospect of pedaling home with the same crap wearing my wet bathing suit with sand chafing in my, well, you get the idea. So I drive to the beach.

Where I live, the lake sits below bluffs of 150 to 200 feet, part of the lake border moraines formed about 14,000 years ago. Although I could park in a lot at lake level, I choose to leave my car in the parking lot of the municipal park on the bluff and walk down the 88 magnificently crafted stone steps, part of an original design by famous landscape architect Jens Jensen. The bluff is alive and shifts a bit from season to season creating all manner of havoc with the stone step structure. Our park district (the parks & recreation department to those of you outside of Illinois) does a courageous job of maintaining the integrity of these steps. I feel it is my obligation to walk them in appreciation.

On the bluff, even on the hottest days of which today is one, there is usually a breeze which makes one forget about air conditioning. Looking seaward, or lake-ward, one can eye an occasional passing freighter, but more often than not it is just azure blue dotted by various flavors of pleasure craft. And down below come the sounds of people frolicking in the almost comfortable 70 degree water. The smell of grilled-something rises from the picknickers. It is heavenly.

I grab my gear and descend the historic steps embedded into the ancient bluff. Choosing my location – sun or no sun – I set up shop. I may listen to the Cub game often timing my sunbathing to the ½ innings – front, back, shade. Or I may study one section of the NY Times. The beach helps me keep perspective on the miserable fortunes of my baseball team or of the desperate state of our world presented by the NYT. Down here, the breeze is muted and in time I get sufficiently toasty. Then there is only one thing to do. Go for a swim.

Felix Was There – So vote now

Vote for Felix Jung for the Month at the Museum

Go here. Vote: http://www.msichicago.org/matm/finalists/felix-jung/

Do it by 10/4/10

When we considered and committed to applying for the Month at the Museum, Felix blogged about it. One of thousands of his blogs. Felix was there. http://www.avoision.com Before most of us.

When we Tweeted our involvement in #MATM, Felix was there. @avoision

When we pinned ourselves to a Google map, Felix was there.

When we exposed our 1-minute videos to the world, Felix spotlighted the work of others. But Felix was there.

Felix didn’t know it. The Museum didn’t know it.  And I didn’t know it. But Felix has been auditioning for this gig for some time.  Now, Felix should be there.

Month at the Museum TweetUp

What: MATM TweetUp

Millennium Park Map Courtesy of Ruhrfisch. Click to enlarge

Where: Wrigley Square, Millennium Park,  Chicago

When: Monday, August 23, 2010 6PM – ?
Why: Epic Anticipation

(In case of rain: Chicago Cultural Center Randolph Cafe’ (closes at 7 PM))

I’m suggesting a TweetUp for those who are applying for the Museum of Science and Industry Month at the Museum. Monday night, August 23,  a couple days before the semi-final eliminations. On Wednesday, well, most of us will have dashed hopes and go back to our desperate lives.

So if you want to sustain your hopes and avoid desperation for a couple more days, come to the TweetUp at Wrigley Square on Monday. Look for a #MATM sign. Look closely, it will probably be in my back pocket.

Free Wifi available. Food, drinks very close.

See you there? Complete the poll:

Hope Drives Action Toward Month at the Museum – Video

(Impatient? Skip my blah, blah, blah and go directly to my video.)

The Museum of Science and Industry’s unique offer to spend 30 days living in the museum spoke to me.  As soon as I learned of it, I was compelled against all obstacles to complete the application.  And I felt as much drawn to the journey as to the destination.  Here’s the process I packed with me

a) The application had to be completed as independently as possible.  After all, who would be helping me if I were entombed in the museum for 30 days.

b) I would be a members of the community of applicants. I’m a joiner. And who turns up for something like this anyway?

c) The brilliance of the MSI promotion would not interfere with my vocal perspective. Just because I might get voted off the island doesn’t mean I don’t have opinions about it.

OMG, 1K Applicants!

Tracking the #MATM and @msichchicago Tweeters, I captured about 65 people who had self-announced applying.  In my mind, Tweeting about the event and one’s intent to apply seemed to be a reasonable gauge for counting applicants. Yet I had read that MSI marketing director Rob Gallas noted that applications were coming in at 50/day. I didn’t doubt Rob, but I thought that was, maybe, that day, not every day.  But I proved wrong when @msichicago tweeted “awesome” to the over 1000 applicants.

Although my chances of surviving this evaluation gauntlet just dropped to 1:1000, I was ecstatic that we had just created a remarkable gene pool from which the museum might select.  I was moved that so many people had been passionately driven to complete this application acting like Richard Dreyfuss’ character in Close Encounters of the Third Kind as he is drawn to Devil’s Tower. And when we got there, we were not alone.

My Video Waterloo

The application challenge for me was the video.  I had never digitally edited video. My video camera was a Panasonic AVC HD camera with only a camera-mounted mic.  Life was intervening as well. My son had fractured his ankle in a car/bike accident and needed all the tending required in those situations. He’s fine. And the video was completed.

After a marathon multi-location 1-afternoon shoot in 90 degree weather, I produced a first edit of 1:48. And it was deadly. I used my life-line. My wife and I brainstormed and came up with a better lead. I used my improving editing skills to clip a few phrases. I deleted my deadly enunciation of achievements. I added back in my un-rehearsed closing laugh. You can laugh, too. With me or at me. It’s OK. I had fun – in the process.

In Search of the Perfect Ear of Corn

It’s summer. And one of my most favorite annual traditions is going to our neighborhood farmers market on Saturday morning. There, arrayed throughout the makeshift market set up in the municipal parking lot is the summer’s bounty of blueberries and peaches, apples and pears, lettuce, tomatoes and spinach. And of course, corn.

Few can argue that this literal cornucopia (no pun intended) of fresh foodstuff is the cornerstone of amazing summer meals. In fact, what’s in the market establishes the menu for a weekend – a maybe a few weekdays thereafter, of meals.

Corn ripped open by selfish consumers damages a perfectly good product

Everyone knows that, for most of the year, tomatoes shipped in from Mexico or California have the taste of, well, something that has been travelling for days. But from the market, these ripe tomatoes take on a persona entirely apart from their non-seasonal cousins.

Fresh corn on the cob is one of my particular delights. Picked the day before, or sometimes in the earliest hours of that day, the corn arrives in sacks the farmers pile in mounds. On a hot summer day, the corn, wrapped in its elegant and organic husk, retains the coolness and moisture about as fresh as if you had pulled it off the stalk yourself. With almost no exception the corn is exceptional. Crunchy, naturally sweet, juicy and beautiful. And that’s when the problem begins.

Choosing one’s fruit and vegetables is science and art. Test the firmness of the tomato with a light squeeze, snap a green bean, eat a blueberry before buying the quart, feel the weight of the cantaloupe. And if you are really skillful give the fruit a little knock while holding it to your ear listening for just the right sound of both ripe and juicy. Or, preferably, just look at the produce. Maybe ask the vendor what’s ripe and what’s good. They actually tell you. And they’re generally accurate. They know their product.

But corn is a different story. Somewhere, somehow, people seem to believe that the only way to pick corn is to rip it open and examine the kernels. I don’t get it. I watched as one woman ripped open six ear of corn on her way to buying three. That, of course, left three ears of rejected corn now drying and baking in the hot sun. And just who did she think, if she thought at all, would want this corn now shriveling into a mealy, starchy compost?

I often examine these rejects trying to fathom just what failed to impress. Were the kernels too small? Is the bi-color corn not sufficiently bi-colored? Was the corn some insect’s meal before it got to market? No, to all of these. The corn is perfect and well-formed. A treasure of golden delight now turned to pewter.

Corn is easy. Grab an ear and feel the firmness. The rare bad corn will have soft spots suggesting internal rot. Look at the tassels to confirm they are not dried out like the stuff  you get in the grocery store in January. If you’re really concerned, peel back a ½” to confirm the kernels have populated their rows all the way to the end. Put it in your bag and pay the man.

Be a good citizen. Don’t create waste. Don’t damage the merchant’s product from your own selfishness. And don’t leave your rejects for me. I mean really.

What’s In That Breakfast Sandwich

Uncustomarily hungry as I walked to work, I was (I admit it), sucked into the local Kwik-E-Mart advertising their breakfast sandwich & coffee for $2.99.  At my desk, I scarfed the sandwich down pausing only long enough to examine the wrapper listing the ingredients of this sandwich. I’ve listed those ingredients below.

I’ve researched most of the ingredients.  My favorites are Diammonium Phosphate (DAP is used as a fertilizer and a fire retardant) and Dicalcium Phosphate (Tell you doctor if you are pregnant before using this medication).

It will probably be a long time before I get another one of these sandwiches. It just wasn’t very good. Or particularly good for me.

Item	Contents	Detail
English Muffin	Enriched Wheat Flour
		Bleached Wheat Flour
		Malted Barley Flaur
		Niacin
		Ferrous Sulfate
		Thiamine Mononitrate (Vitamin B1)
		Ribolfavin (Vitamin B2)
		Folic Acid
	Water
	Yeast
	Corn meal
	corn flour
	High Fructose Corn Syrup
	Wheat Gluten
	Salt
	Soybean Oil
	Preservatives
		Calcium
		Propianate
		Aluminum Sulfate
		Monocalcium Phosphate
	Dough Conditioners
		Sodium Stearoyl
		Lactylate
		Ascorbic acid
		L-Cysteine
		Calcium Sulfate
		Calcium Peroxide
		Dicalcium Phospate
		Diammonium Phosphate
	Parially hydrogenated cottonseed oil
	Corn Starch
	Citric Acid
	Soy Lecithin (a processing aid)
Sausage	Pork
	Water
	Salt
	Spices
	Dextrose
	Sugar
	Autolyzed Yeast
	Natural Flavor
		corn syrup solids
		lime juice solids
		Natural Flavor
	Flavoring
	TBHQ
	BHT
	Citric Acid
	Lactic Acid
Egg Patty	Whole Eggs
	Whey
	Skim Milk
	Soybean Oil
	Dicalcium Phosphate
	Salt
	Sodium Bicarbonate
	Xanthan Gum
	Artificial Butter Flavor
		partially hydrogenated soybean and cotton seed oil
		Medium chain triglycerides
		Flavors
	Citric Acid
	Liquid Pepper Extract
Cheddar Cheese	Milk
	Cheese culture
	salt
	enzymes
	annatto	(Vegetable color)
	Water
	Cream
	sodium phosphate
	salt
	sodium citrate
	sorbic acid (preservative)
	Apocarotenal(color)
	enzymes

Item	Contents	Detail
English Muffin	Enriched Wheat Flour
		Bleached Wheat Flour
		Malted Barley Flaur
		Niacin
		Ferrous Sulfate
		Thiamine Mononitrate (Vitamin B1)
		Ribolfavin (Vitamin B2)
		Folic Acid
	Water
	Yeast
	Corn meal
	corn flour
	High Fructose Corn Syrup
	Wheat Gluten
	Salt
	Soybean Oil
	Preservatives
		Calcium
		Propianate
		Aluminum Sulfate
		Monocalcium Phosphate
	Dough Conditioners
		Sodium Stearoyl
		Lactylate
		Ascorbic acid
		L-Cysteine
		Calcium Sulfate
		Calcium Peroxide
		Dicalcium Phospate
		Diammonium Phosphate
	Parially hydrogenated cottonseed oil
	Corn Starch
	Citric Acid
	Soy Lecithin (a processing aid)
Sausage	Pork
	Water
	Salt
	Spices
	Dextrose
	Sugar
	Autolyzed Yeast
	Natural Flavor
		corn syrup solids
		lime juice solids
		Natural Flavor
	Flavoring
	TBHQ
	BHT
	Citric Acid
	Lactic Acid
Egg Patty	Whole Eggs
	Whey
	Skim Milk
	Soybean Oil
	Dicalcium Phosphate
	Salt
	Sodium Bicarbonate
	Xanthan Gum
	Artificial Butter Flavor
		partially hydrogenated soybean and cotton seed oil
		Medium chain triglycerides
		Flavors
	Citric Acid
	Liquid Pepper Extract
Cheddar Cheese	Milk
	Cheese culture
	salt
	enzymes
	annatto	(Vegetable color)
	Water
	Cream
	sodium phosphate
	salt
	sodium citrate
	sorbic acid (preservative)
	Apocarotenal(color)
	enzymes

Suicide Is Not Painless for Chicago Metra and Old Navy

In what is most certainly surreal if not loaded with irony, the executive director of Metrarail threw himself in front of a Metra train not only killing himself but endangering passengers and disrupting rail services and schedules.  This remarkably self-centered and selfish executive, Phil Pagano, was being investigated for financial improprieties and was to appear before the Metra board today.  We suppose this answers the question of did he do it. Metrarail is networked throughout the Chicago metropolitan area. It is the Jack Kevorkian of commuter railroads.

While this train goon was being flattened by the  commuter train, just hours later the reality of domestic violence exposed itself at an Old Navy store in Chicago’s Loop. There a seriously out of control 20 something with easy access to a gun blew away his girlfriend and further exhibited his cowardice by deep sixing himself.

Not a happy day in the Windy City

Keebler Chips Deluxe Soft & Chewy Cookies Suck

I’ve learned that one of the best ways to manage a diet away from rampant cookie consumption is to have Keebler’s Chips Deluxe Soft & Chewy cookies in the house. Where we often fly through a variety of commercial cookie brands from Salerno butter cookies to Chips Ahoy, the Keebler Chips Deluxe pretty much brought everything to a standstill.  I mean these cookies really suck.

After perhaps four to six weeks in the house, I finally unloaded 2/3 of the bag of cookies into the garbage disposal. And, for that matter, I think I heard it belch as well. These cookies really suck. Did I mention that.

Now I’m sure there are people who think these cookies are the greatest. This proves, once again, that you cannot go broke underestimating the taste of the American public. What Keebler passes off as soft or chewy is merely mush without taste or texture. And the cookies have all the character of something out of an injection die machine. This is one manicured cookie. Clearly, somebody is buying them. At least once. But they really suck.