Rogers Park street scene

There's no present like the moment the used-up and tossed aside not quite dried out strawberry shaped juice container looking down on its luck like the Virgin Mary’s faded but still sacred heart whispers up not the least bit bitter or glum from its clump of weeds to the crow who's perched on a soon to be glowing streetlight’s sturdy arm and who's quickly losing interest in both never more and tomorrow morning’s preyed upon glories

An apocalypse will paint beauty we’ll never know

I was there, but I wasn’t
where snowy wisps skitter
across the beige-brown sand,
and skim-milk rolls
stand frozen, no longer
struggling to reach the shore.
Gulls wheel high and fall back.
I couldn’t hear them calling,
“Here’s the beauty
when life stops, and then goes.”

---

I don't have a camera, so this is how I captured the wintry landscape along Lake Michigan in the aftermath of the recent blizzard.

Seeing other cities

Eventually all relationships grow stale, and after 28 years together I'm beginning to think it's time to move on. Chicago and I have had a really great run together, but it's not really working out for either of us any longer.

We each have a share of the blame to shoulder, and she's got some pretty big ones to pile on the criticism. I looked the other way when she hung out with friends of questionable character and threw money around on superficial baubles. I stuck it out through the frigid times when I had to retreat into my apartment until she warmed to me again.

Admittedly, I wasn't pulling my end as well as I should have; especially with the tax base dwindling each year. I did some flirting with other locales, but never anything serious. To tell the truth, her individual quirks became less and less endearing. They began to grate on my nerves to the point where I lost interest.

We're holding each other back. So, if there's a metropolis out there looking for a fun new citizen to add to her ranks, you can reach me here. I prefer large public transportation systems, some nice greenery and cozy neighborhood bars. A growing economy would seal the deal. Feel free to send a photo, but I can also look you up on Google Earth.

In other news, I'm working on my poem-a-week resolution and should deliver on that promise (for better or worse) tomorrow.

A New Year Artfully Resolved

My comrade in art George Kokines converted his Rogers Park studio into a gallery for a "Works In Progress" show yesterday, and I was lucky enough to be involved in the planning and orchestration. It was his New Year's gift to Chicago, and I thought I'd share some photos from the event.

As you can see, George has quite a wide range of technique, media and inspiration, and there was a great energy in the room as we all kicked 2008 off on an expressive note. George has provided me with much guidance and focus in my creative endeavors the past year, and I hope we'll prod each other toward an even more inventive future.

Fresh starts, new beginnings

New Year's Day has always been one of my favorite holidays. I appreciate the spirit of renewal that we celebrate as the calendar flips and the year turns. The starting point may be arbitrary, but there's still significance in beginning again our planetary journey around the sun.

In the midst of winter's cold grip, it's good to warm ourselves with thoughts of reinvention and self improvement. Here on the far north side of Chicago, even the weather cooperated in reaffirming that seasonal metaphor. A fresh blanket of snow fell on the trees and walks, painting the neighborhood in a pristine white as if to symbolize a clean slate.

Personally, I don't have any specific resolutions other than to be better at everything. Nationally, I don't know what the year ahead has in store, but I have a strong feeling it won't be dull. Universally, I wish everyone a happy, peaceful and loving solar spin.

Words of healing power

This is an important poem for me. I'm writing it to commemorate a very exciting event that will take place in my neighborhood next year. It's the fulfillment of a dream long held by a group of active and concerned community members.

On January 21, 2008 the Heartland Alliance will open a new federally qualified health clinic in Rogers Park. It's a project to which my friends and I have been closely linked for almost two years. Through the facility, our neighbors will be able to find a community-based, medical home that will offer a wide range of care.

In the coming weeks, I'll provide more details on the opening and the official ribbon cutting that will follow soon after. For now, I want to share the excitement I'm feeling and post the blank versed words I put together to celebrate the joyful expectation of a community's new healing power.

A small hand reaches
By Francis Scudellari

A small hand reaches high,
Lifted
Out of indifference,
Clasping
At hope, releases at last,
Embraced,
Pain held too close, bound tight
Inside,
Hers only, entirely,
Offered,
Gifted gladly, ours to/o
Accept,
Grasping answers, common
Concern
Transformed beyond caring
To heal

A child's voice allowed, up
Rises
Names his wants once muffled,
Prayers
No more pushed down, only
Spoken
To/o distant ears, whispered,
Hush-shed
On tear-moistened pillows,
Sings out,
Now awake, tuned, telling
Touches
Reveal requests plaintive,
Painting
Limned hurts, ever ours to/o
Set free

Versed in the urban experience

I love my Chicago neighborhood, and have always felt that its many positives far outweigh its unsolved challenges. Living in Rogers Park is an urban experience that won't appeal to everyone, but the natural beauty of the nearby lake shore coupled with a vibrant cultural scene make it a perfect place for me.

Drawn by Lake Michigan's proximity and a still robust affordable housing stock, hard working folks of all ethnicities and incomes make our corner of the city one of the most diverse zip codes in the nation. Unfortunately, due to broader social factors and the city government's too frequent negligence, we also have to struggle with issues of poverty and homelessness.

In an increasingly pay-to-play world, public services are perpetually underfunded, understaffed and under-performing. Our local schools don't offer a good education to those kids whose parents can't afford a private opt-out. Mass transit is being threatened with massive service cuts and fare increases. The county health system is approaching budgetary collapse.

Public safety has devolved into a game of high-tech call and response. Surveillance cameras and sensors are mounted on poles at crime hot-spots to gather evidence more reliably than the human eyes and ears walled in behind brick and mortar facades. Most often, when the cops arrive, whatever was taking place has already moved somewhere else.

Sirens are an all too frequent part of the local soundscape. Thankfully, gunfire isn't as common, but shots still ring out more often than I'd like to admit. Sometimes it's hard for the untrained ear to distinguish real gunfire from more benign disturbances, so you always hope you heard wrong.

When a loud bang rings out, you can only wait for the sirens and pray that another young person hasn't lost their life to senseless street violence. The following poem was inspired by a recent night of such uncertain aural stimulation.

Four Shots
By Francis Scudellari

Four shots, then two, one more
Staccato, rhythmic pops,
Crisp claps, crackling echoes
Shatter the mid-night calm

Staring, brick-walled, I wait
Unsure, probe the silence,
Once serene, sleep-walk made
Too close, seeming fatal

Distant sirens cry out
Infants pulled from sep'rate
Drowsy cribs, converging
Nightmares, now awakened

Imagined violence
Suddenly surreal, first
Arrival announced, screeched
Squad car or ambulance?

Abstractly expressing birthday wishes for George Kokines

As a birthday tribute to my good friend and world renowned local artist George Kokines, I'm posting here a sampling of his paintings. These are all pieces from his Études series, in which he worked his abstract magic to transform the traditional subject of the still life.

George's birthday was yesterday (Nov. 17), and I would have put up a post sooner for the occasion, but our clique of the like minded was having too good a time celebrating out on the town.

If some of the images below appear a bit crooked, don't worry, it's just your eyes.

Peace, a meditation in 4 parts: One, Idealism vs. Ideologies

If you've ever participated in an anti-war protest like the one that took place in Chicago's loop on Saturday, you can't help but feel a creeping sense of disappointment. Disappointment that almost 5 years on the message isn't reaching more people; disappointment that bigger things aren't being accomplished; disappointment that too many seem concerned with furthering their narrow organizational goals rather than building a true movement for peace.

It wasn't all bad. Thousands of ordinary folks did rally from around the Midwest to voice their opposition to the Iraq War and its many harmful repercussions. Speeches were made; most with moving and coherent arguments for making better use of the billions of dollars spent on this foreign policy sinkhole. At the end of the day, however, everyone went their separate ways and the course of the war proceeds apace.

Polls show a large majority of Americans are now against our president's Middle Eastern military adventure, but that doesn't translate into a social movement strong enough to influence the country's foreign and domestic policies. There's no coherent vision of a way forward coming from the Left, and that's why so many have meekly taken the hand of our current administration, which is leading us all down a very dark path.

Most Americans still view the peace movement with a mixture of suspicion and cynicism. They suspect that the protest is being driven by the same lefty fringe elements who have always staked a claim to its leadership. They're dubious whether the marches are effective, or are merely empty gestures best left to youth and stuck-in-the-60s radicals. For the idea of Peace to catch fire in the popular imagination, we have to frame the debate in a completely new way — casting aside the whithered ideologies of the past and reviving the ideals that have laid dormant too long in our collective consciousness.

We are hampered by a creative laziness that too easily falls back on old models of resistance, and closes itself off from the full range of new possibilities for change. Our times call for openness; the recapturing of an innocence that allows us to see the world and our actions in new contexts. Only by breaking free of the cages we've built around our imaginations can we reach our full potential.

Idealism is often viewed with skepticism in our society, which confuses principled opposition with naivité. We use the slippery slope of exceptions to damn our hope of better days. Rather than trusting in and appealing to the better natures of the broad majority, we condemn and elevate the example of the most selfish and narrowly motivated.

The only thing we fear more than failure is uncertainty, and many times that causes us to clasp on to the first sure sounding solution offered us. Ambiguity marks this moment in human history, and rather than being cowered into shadowy corners of regressive ideas, we need to take advantage of the possibility for true creativity that comes with it.

There are valuable lessons to be learned from history, but true art lies in mixing those old forms with innovative techniques. It's a challenge that we all must actively take up, and stop waiting passively for the answers to drop deus-ex-machina like from heaven.

To be continued ...

Peace, perfect peace
by Toots and the Maytals

Peace, perfect peace
I cry for peace in this neighborhood
Oh, love, perfect love
I beg you for love in this neighborhood

No water can cool this fire,
Only the Lord can save us
I cry for peace in this neighborhood

I take a look inside and this is what I see
We need more love, we need more love in this community
Oh, I take a look inside and this is what I see
We need more love, we need more love in this community

Peace, perfect peace
I cry for peace in this neighborhood
Oh, love, perfect love
I cry for love in this neighborhood

No water can cool this fire
Only the Lord can save us
I cry for peace in this neighborhood

I take a look inside and this is what I see
Faith can move mountains, only love can set us free
I take a look inside and this is what I see
We need more love, we need more love in this community

Peace, perfect peace
I cried for peace in this neighborhood
Oh, love, oh, love, perfect love
I cried for love in this neighborhood

A Fall Night Out in Rogers Park: Catching Cabaret, Carving Pumpkins

The amazing and very local (it's literally right around the corner from me at 6970 N. Glenwood Ave.) theater company Theo Ubique is mounting a new production of the musical Cabaret. Last night a group of us attended the final preview before tonight's opening. Under the incredible direction of Fred Anzevino, all the performances were exceptional and I highly recommend dropping by Rogers Park to check it out.

I even have a small personal connection to the production. My good friend George Kokines created 30 large scale drawings based on the sketches of George Grosz, which I helped hang around the theater space to give the audience added insight into the time and place of the drama.

The sometimes cartoonish, sometimes ghoulish characters that populate Grosz's drawings definitely put one in the mood of Berlin between the wars. Below is a sampling of the pieces we hung along the south wall of the space ...

If you're not familiar with Cabaret, it's an interesting play to revive now. Depicting the denizens of a decadent Berlin night club sleep walking their way through life as the Nazis rise to power, it's a cautionary tale of the need to be on guard against the naive belief that the worst can never happen and others will take care of society's problems for us.

Choosing to ignore the spread of brutal, reactionary and racist ideologies, we end up abetting the contagion. There are times when we have to take a stand, no matter how much we'd rather be dancing our lives away. Here is a more detailed shot of a couple sketches ...

After the play ended, our little gang of drawing hangers met at the local watering hole (the Buffalo Bar at the Heartland Café) to raise a glass to the kickoff of a very successful run for Theo Ubique. Sophie, below letting Jim know what's what, organized a pumpkin carving to benefit the good folks at the Howard Area Community Center. If you click on the image to enlarge it and squint, you can make out my knife work next to Sophie's elbow.

Terry, who risked life and limb atop a rickety ladder to staple most of the drawings in place, had a point at the end of his finger to make ...

George basked in the awareness that 25 cents would soon be his because of the Red Sox trending toward a World Series sweep of my favored Rockies. Wanting to give us amateurs a chance, he left the gourd sculpting to Jim and I.

Celebrating Picasso's Gift

Pablo Picasso was born on this date in 1881, and we residents of Chicago are lucky enough to have received a very special gift of public sculpture from one of the last century's most famous visual artists.

He was a towering figure in popular culture — known the world over for his bold, innovative work, over-sized personality and leftist political leanings — and Chicago's Picasso is a perfect reminder of that legacy.

The gloriously ambiguous 50-foot steel structure still graces Daley Plaza downtown, and is one of our city's most famous landmarks. The artist generously refused payment for the work, which was unveiled in 1967 amid some controversy locally. It's become the focal point of many a political rally, as the plaza is a traditional gathering place for protests of all varieties.


I took the photo above during Chicago's participation in the March 15, 2003 worldwide day of protest against the impending war in Iraq. I think the image is a fitting 126th anniversary tribute to Picasso who painted one of the most powerful statements against war: Guernica.

Uncle Sam ain't helping, so it's up to US.

Note: The location of this event has been changed to Heartland Cafe at 7001 N. Glenwood Ave. due to flooding at the Wishbone.

If you're anywhere near Chicago this Sunday, come out to the Wishbone restaurant at 1001 W. Washington to help support local musician Micki Croisant whose mother got blindsided by an illness that cost her her job and health insurance. There will be great live entertainment, a chance to win amazing prizes in a raffle, and lots of awesome articles for sale in a silent auction. All money raised will go to help pay Mary Ann Croisant's medical bills, because as the poster above (designed by local artist Christine Cozza) says, we've got her back even if the government doesn't.

In an interesting bit of serendipity, I donated a limited edition print of a painting by acclaimed comic book artist Alex Ross to the auction, and I found out yesterday that he graduated from the same art school as Micki and frequently spoke to classes there, becoming quite the local hero to the students. The artwork itself was also particularly appropriate because it was taken from the Uncle Sam comic book that Ross created with writer Steve Darnall for Vertigo comics.

It's the story of a down-and-out Sam wandering the streets homeless, plagued by troubling flashbacks from his past, trying to understand exactly who he is and how he got there. The painting shows Sam in ragged clothes, with his top hat extended looking for a handout. It's a startling look in the mirror for we Americans. Unfortunately, until we fix our broken health care system, more and more of us will be relying on the kindness of strangers just to survive.

Digging for Fire: Chicago's big burn

Since Prometheus bore it down from Mount Olympus, fire has held a special symbolic place in the human imagination. When controlled it is the powerful giver of welcomed heat and light. When unleashed by malicious force or unhappy accident, its flames can be the source of unexpected pain, punishment and vast destruction.

The city of Chicago is quite familiar with both sides of that burning equation. Its identity was forged in the heat of the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 that put to ruin the town that once was, and made possible the bustling metropolis that rose Phoenix-like from the ashes. October 8th marks the 136th anniversary of the start of the blaze.

The prevailing myth tells that the storied conflagration got kick started by Mrs. O'Leary's cow. Historians take issue with blaming the bovine, but the fable of the errant barn animal caught hold of the popular imagination as quickly and irrevocably as the flames tore through the wood frame structures of the city. The cow's presumed guilt may explain Chicago's fancy for slaughterhouses in the ensuing decades.

The fire's spread was abetted by both Nature and our locale's inability to nurture safe conditions. A poorly planned urban experiment, the city had built itself up almost exclusively with lumber, laying wooden planks for sidewalks and streets. It's meager fire-fighting capabilities were almost exhausted before the fatal blaze hit. A prolonged drought had dried out Chicago's predominantly wood structures to the point the city was essentially built of match sticks. Blistering winds from the southwest added an extra bit of bad luck, fanning the flames across downtown.

The fire burned itself out after about 30 hours, aided by a change in wind that brought a dousing drizzle. The damage wrought included over 200 deaths, nearly 100,000 left homeless, and $200 million in property loss. Showing its resilience and dedication to rise up to the challenge, in just over 20 years Chicago had re-imagined and re-invented itself — unveiling its reborn wonders at the World's Columbian Exposition in 1893.

The double-edged nature of fire is certainly an apt metaphor for the creative imagination. In the darkest of times, fed by cynicism, fear and suspicion, it can conjure up worst case scenarios that await a mere spark to burn their way into reality. On the flip side, however, the engines of our minds can be used to shine a light on possibilities once thought too remote to ever warm the cockles of our doubting hearts.

I know that I'm personally prone to negativity about the future prospects of a world so entangled in faulty wiring. I'm trying to burn off those backward pulling attitudes and forge a more forward looking self. The inspiration for renewal is all around me, I just need to dig within the fire of my imagination to discover the many reasons for hope.

Dig For Fire
by Pixies

there is this old woman
she lives down the road
you can often find her
kneeling inside of her hole
and i often ask her
"are you looking for the mother lode?"
huh?
no.
no my child, this is not my desire
and then she said

i'm digging for fire
i'm digging for fire
i'm digging for fire
i'm digging for fire

there is this old man
who spent so much of his life sleeping
that he is able to keep awake for the rest of his years
he resides
on a beach
in the town
where i am going to live
and i often ask him
"are you looking for the mother lode?"
huh?
no.
no my child, this is not my desire
and then he said

i'm digging for fire
i'm digging for fire
i'm digging for fire
i'm digging for fire

(Graphic from Chicago in Flames -- The Rush for Lives Over Randolph Street Bridge, originally from Harper's Weekly, by John R Chapin.)

A sporting interlude

Needing a break from the rigors of blogging about the sorry state of American politics, your humble narrator ventured out to the cathedral at the corner of Clark and Addison streets in Chicago to engage in a little mid-afternoon meditation.


As you can tell by the flapping flags atop the historic Wrigley Field scoreboard, it was a warm and blustery day at the friendly confines, and that meant lots of home runs and ensuing frivolity for the gathered Cubs fans. The north side national leaguers are in first place with a handful of games left, so the crowd was already verging on giddy.


My good friend Jim made the journey down from Madison, WI to join us in a late season bit of merry making. The double fisted chap is my brother-in-law Chris, as always keeping things festive.


Jim brought a couple other Illinois refugees down with him from Dairyland. Chris, pictured below, hadn't been to a game since she was a kid, and was soaking up the atmosphere at the ballpark. Liz is a south sider by birth and inclination, so she maintained a low profile in order to protect her White Sox street cred.


Also making a renewed acquaintance with the old ball yard was my good friend George who rediscovered his Cub roots after having strayed into Yankee territory. Maybe he and Lou Piniella are bringing some of that Bronx magic to Wrigleyville.


It was such a nice day that even yours truly was caught cracking a smile ... or at least a smirk. Check back with me when they actually win the whole thing.

It was a banner day for all involved as the Cubbies vanquished the Pirates 13 runs to 8. I'll be back to my usual blog antics tomorrow.

Short in acquaintance, Long in thought

He stopped by our booth as the art festival was winding down. He wanted to sample our panini, but he also wanted to show us his wares. They were ceramics that bore the unauthorized likenesses of favorite cartoon characters. They could be used for certain illicit purposes if that was one's bent, but they were cool in their own right and he enjoyed sharing them with us.

He had a ready smile and a deep laugh; a kindred soul in a neighborhood full of the proudly idiosyncratic. We worked a trade of merchandise and banter, and he moved on to try his luck with the other vendors. Later that night we met him again over a beer to unwind from a long weekend's work. He introduced himself as Tommy Long, and pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket.

He'd found a poem he'd written years back, and he wanted to read it to us. Struggling to decipher his own handwriting, scribbled and now faded, he couldn't hide the joy of it. It boasted about this our city, Chicago. It wasn't very good, but it made him happy and that was good enough for all of us. We parted that night and I fully expected to bump into him again soon on one of the many well-trod paths of our neighborhood.

Today, a little more than three weeks later, the news made it back to me through the local grapevine that Tommy Long had died at the too young age of 49. Known by some as the Mayor of Jarvis Beach, he took his usual swim yesterday evening but couldn't make it back to the shore. Rescued but not revived, Tommy Long passed on to the realm of legend at 7:22pm on September 18 at my namesake hospital.

I hope those laying him to rest will read that poem over whatever place serves as home to his remains. It would make a most fitting tribute, and I can imagine him smiling in spirit as they do.

Chicago Celtic Fest 2007: Wanting Summer to Linger

Today's autobiographical trivia: Appearances to the contrary, your humble narrator is not of pure-bred Italian descent. One fourth of my lineage actually lies further north in the land of the Celts; my paternal grandmother's surname being Havens.

In order to assuage that green corner of my soul, I occasionally indulge it in bits of Irish culture. So it was that I gladly accepted my friend Patrick's invite to join him today at Chicago's annual Celtic Fest for a stellar musical lineup. The evening air was chilled, as locally Summer has given way to Fall, but the downtown setting of Petrillo Music Shell was spectacular as always:

The Irish group Lúnasa started the night with a wonderful more traditional set of reels and folk music. They were followed by the pride of Wales Jon Langford, who was backed by assorted former band mates and friends, including The Welsh Male Voice Choir. I've always been a big fan of Langford going back to his days with the Mekons, and he played a great set including one of my favorite songs:

Pill sailor
by Jon Langford

A pit bull tattoo
One good eye of blue
That's wandering still
But what can you do
These ropes are all knotted and tangled round me
I'm a sailor who wandered a little too far from the sea

Did they raise up this child just to die
To stare for too long into the sky
Shirley Bassey's from Tiger Bay
But I spend my nights down in Pill
They shut down the docks
Thrown our lives on the rocks
But my good eye's wandering still
Past the pubs where I festered all day
Transporter bridge transport me away
'Cos these rope are all knotted and tangled round me
I'm a sailor who wandered a little to far from the sea

They passed in the channel great ships by the score
To carry out coal and to carry in ore
And at night these old sea legs were anxious to stray
They'd come from all over but never intended to stay
So tell me something I don't know
And find me a skipper with somewhere to go

As if that weren't cool enough, the evening's headliner was Dolores O'Riordan, who formerly fronted the Cranberries. She performed a rousing set of Irish-inflected rock. One of the more popular numbers was the Cranberries hit Linger, which seemed appropriate to the mood of the crowd. Recognizing that this weekend marks the end of Chicago's summer festival season, we all wanted to linger just a bit longer after all the music had been played.


As my mission is always to educate self and others, my parting note will be that I learned there are actually seven original Celtic nations: Ireland; Scotland; Wales; Isle of Man; Cornwall; Galicia, Spain and Brittany, France. Humanity has moved around and mixed itself up quite nicely, so we should all celebrate and take pride in the various cultural heritages that span our globe.

Getting us from A to B: Don't follow these leaders

We in Chicago have survived a threatened public transit doomsday, at least until the bill comes due again in November. By dipping into next year's budget for a short-term funding fix, the politicians in Springfield averted the prospect of a 50% fare hike and service cuts (see Crisis averted: RTA accepts state's aid from the Chicago Sun Times). Now they go back to the bargaining table to try to find more permanent solutions.

You wouldn't think that it would be such a struggle to cobble together backing for public transit at a time of soaring gas prices and increasing scientific evidence of fossil fuel's contribution to climate change. Unfortunately, here in Illinois as elsewhere around the country, politics is more about electability and serving the short-sighted self interest of narrow constituencies.

Why should a downstate rep support a bill that keeps the trains and buses running in the faraway big city of Chicago? Well, if you pulled your eyes away from the latest bit of celebrity gossip looping on your TV, you might see the black clouds of exhaust drifting southward. We may not live close by, but we share the same atmosphere.

It's becoming increasingly patently obvious that we're going to have to make this journey to sustainable living without the help of the misleaders in our state and nation's capitals. They have their own marching orders, and to follow them is to take up the off-the-cliff path of the pied piper's rats. Our best hope is with each other, and any political solutions will have to come from us joining together to demand what we need to build a livable future.

I have to admit my own selfish motives for this political rant, as I needed an excuse to post the lyrics to a new favorite song by the UK's Badly Drawn Boy. There's even a nifty music video for it on YouTube.

Journey from A to B
by Badly Drawn Boy

I measured the distance from heaven to hell
How we will do, only time will tell
Oh, when will you stop worrying!
What anyone says doesn't mean a thing
Just tell me you're feeling it
And you're not disbelieving it

I'll pay you in kind or in silver and gold
I want to ignore all the stories I'm told
Make me an offer I cannot refuse
You know if I win then that means you lose
Just say you're believing it
That you're not not feeling it

Dwelling on the memories
Is such a waste of energy
It's simple when you see it, in front of you
on walls in bedrooms

Hold your head up higher
Don't tell me you're not strong enough
Is your journey over
I hope you feel that I'm the one
Only time will tell
Just say you'll be loving me
for an eternity
Oh, I feel tired of all these games
Everywhere, everything is the same
Tell me you promise you might come with me
The start of a journey from A to B
I'll be happy to carry you
Even though I know
I haven't got the strength to hold you
I need you more than ever before
If our journey's over
I hope that you will find someone
Who will love you more
Now not for the first time
What I want might not be mine
If you say you won't come along
Then I know I can go it alone

Spreading the good news: community health victory

Last year, I worked alongside a small but committed group of neighbors, public officials and non-profit professionals to apply for a grant to build a Federally Qualified Health Center locally. Yesterday the official word went out that our application was approved and we'll see our new clinic opening its doors in February 2008. Check out the press release posted on the Neighbors for a Healthy Rogers Park Web site.

Rogers Park, where I've lived for the past 5 years, is an area on the far north side of Chicago that has an abysmally low level of local health resources. Residents without health insurance, and there are over 20,000 at best guess (one-third of the total population), have to take 3 different buses to reach the county public hospital to receive treatment.

Such a long trek discourages the sick from making anything but emergency visits, and that's when care is the most expensive to administer — a major contributing factor to the Cook county health system's current budget crisis. It's also a terrible situation in which to put folks with chronic conditions such as diabetes, as they require regular visits in order to monitor their health.

Giving the people of our neighborhood a close-by medical home will make it easier for them to seek preventative care, which will not only improve their overall health but save the county and private health systems money by reducing the reliance on emergency room visits. It is a tremendous victory for all of us in Rogers Park, and proof that it is possible to make a positive difference when we come together as a community to address our most vital needs.

We still have much work to do both here in Rogers Park and across the US. The clinic, as important as it is, will only address a fraction of the community's need. With a county health system that is teetering on the brink of collapse, those without a place to receive quality care could escalate sharply. That crisis isn't unique to our city either, as there are 46 million Americans currently without health insurance.

I've been a long-time proponent of single payer health care, and I still believe that's the country's best hope (check out Physicians for a National Health Program to learn more). It's a long term goal, however, as the political will is still not strong enough to overturn the lobbying muscle of the current stakeholders in our dysfunctional health system. While we try to build a movement strong enough to coerce more politicians to jump on the universal health care bandwagon (not to be confused with universal private health insurance), we'll need to win these short term local battles for more health resources.

Wasted crime: How to disappear completely

It was quite a surreal adventure in my neighborhood today, with media circulating rumors about a bank robber taking hostages and helicopters audibly circling throughout the afternoon. Barricades were erected, streets closed off, and gawking residents told to keep their distance, yet in the end the wannabe thief disappeared with nothing stolen, no hostages taken, and quite a few folks scratching their heads.

The facts are still murky, but it appears that a man in hospital scrubs talked his way into the back entrance of First Commerical Bank, a scant three blocks from my apartment. The man may or may not have been armed. At first it was thought that he took hostages, but now they say he didn't. The building was surrounded by Chicago police, FBI and swat teams yet somehow the perp walked away, allegedly empty-handed.

Police and news helicopters spent the day either looking for him or looking for a story. The good news is that no one was hurt in the ordeal that wasn't. The Chicago Sun Times gives us the sketchy details in their story Officials: Armed man escaped without cash.

It all puts me in mind of a favorite song by Radiohead. Wouldn't it be nice to walk away from a big mistake, and just disappear as if nothing ever happened.

How To Disappear Completely

That there, that's not me
I go where I please
I walk through walls
I float down the Liffey

I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here, I'm not here

In a little while
I'll be gone
The moment's already passed
Yeah, it's gone

I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here, I'm not here

Strobe lights and blown speakers
Fireworks and hurricanes

I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here, I'm not here ...

Lost weekend: Sandwiched reality

I know my blogging idleness this weekend must seem sinful, but I swear I wasn't doing the devil's work. In fact my hands were quite busy with loved labor lost in the physical realm.

I spent many fruitful hours (and some not so fruitfull ones) at our neighborhood arts fest pushing panini for my dear friends Terry & Nancy, who own Gold 'N Pear Catering. We met many wonderful folks who stopped by the booth at the Glenwood Avenue Arts Festival, and once we got all the logistical kinks worked out we had a great time.

The sandwiches were so good, they got credit for performing a miracle. A repeat customer exclaimed that one of the panini indeed saved his friend's life. I'd divine that it was an exaggeration, but I'm sure Terry and Nancy will take it as a ringing endorsement.

I'll apply my industriousness back to the blog tomorrow, so stay tuned. There are two awards, a meme, and a Wired article soon to appear. I'm sure I'll throw in a song lyric or two as well.