I was wandering around the neighborhood this morning taking care of some business when I saw a middle-aged man peeking into the old Villa May Pizzaria that’s been empty for almost two years. My neighbors and I have been wondering what would eventually occupy the incredibly-convenient-for-us space.
Me: Is someone finally doing something with this place? Man: Yeah… It’s going to be a Middle-Eastern restaurant. Me: Great! I live across the street. Man: I’m Gene Shulter, your alderman. I’m just checking in on our little projects. Me: Oh! Hi. Gene: Let’s see how the other ones are coming along.
And with that he lumbered off down Montrose — to check in on the construction at Damen, I presume.
My neighbor was out of the country for a few weeks and asked me to move his cars when the streets were being cleaned to keep him from getting a ticket.
Done.
Today, for some reason, I decided to check on the cars to make sure they were okay. They were not okay. They were gone. Panic. I started calculating the cost if they were towed. What is it, $100/day? 10 days? 2 cars? Oy. Well, maybe they were stolen. Is that better?
I called 311 (useless), the impound lot (mostly useless) and my alderman’s office (very helpful!) before finally realizing I needed to e-mail my neighbor, tell him the bad news, and get the license plate numbers so I could figure out what actually happened. My e-mail began, “I hope your trip was going well because I’m going to ruin it…”
A few minutes later I received a response.
I am sooo sorry. We got home Sun. and I found the cars safe and sound. I’ve been using them and completely forgot to give you a huge thank you. I’m sorry to have put you through the last few hours of misery. I owe you big time.
Phew. Problem solved.
Oh wait. Not yet. First I need to make an awkward call to the alderman’s office and explain the situation to the nice man who was gonna “help me out of my pickle.”
I was in Boise for business and after we had finished for the day I went running along the Boise River. It’s a beautiful city with mountains and streams and all those other things Chicago lacks.
Then I ran by this and I liked Boise even more:
I’ve never seen live action role-playing (LARPing) in person before. It looks… pretty… fun.
My dad has spent years working on a pond in his backyard. It’s actually quite lovely. There’s a garden train and waterfalls and all kinds of flowers. He’s had some trouble with the fish, though.
Every year it seems like something else goes wrong. Once the pond had a leak. Once the heater he got to keep the water from freezing during the winter broke. Last summer there was a big rain storm while my parents were out of town. The pond overflowed and the fish “escaped” into the garden.
The kids who live next-door took a photo of the fish on their Sunday stroll before catching them. If you look closely, you can see that the fish are swimming over model train tracks.
This winter, my dad decided to let the fish fend for themselves.
Dad: I’ve tried everything to keep them alive and they always die.
The pond was frozen solid for most of the winter, but somehow the fish (or perhaps their progeny?) survived. Weird.
The New Colony just posted a song from the final show of our 2009 season: Tupperware: An American Musical Fable. Take a listen.
I’m really excited to be a part of this group, even in the minor role of board member. It’s theater companies like these that make Chicago the most exciting theater city in the world — at least in my opinion. You should definitely come see the show, which opens July 13th.
If the mood strikes you, we’re also in the midst of our summer donation drive. Any donation would be a big help. Here’s more information:
Everyone benefits when a musical has musicians! The audience claps! The singers sing!
Your $25 donation will pay for the stipend of one musician for one performance of Tupperware. Your contribution is tax-deductible, and you’ll have the warm fuzzy feeling that you helped a daddy get new strings for his baby. You would also, of course, be invited to come see Tupperware and notice that $25 is not that much to support such a talented group.
How to donate:
Make a secure online donation with paypal via our website: http://thenewcolony.org/support.php
Send a check made payable to The New Colony to PO BOX 409256, Chicago IL 60640
Tupperware: An American Musical Fable is scheduled to open July 13th, 2009 at La Costa Theatre, 3931 N Elston Ave – Chicago IL 60618
Tickets on sale at http://thenewcolony.org/tupperware
For more information visit http://thenewcolony.org or e-mail info@thenewcolony.org
The New Colony is a 501(c)(3) non-profit corporation. Financial contributions are tax-deductible. Nothing is given in return for a tax-deductible donation
My grandparents were very excited to get me one of those cards that plays music for my birthday. Unfortunately, they couldn’t figure out how to record the message that plays before the music, so when I opened it all I heard was, “Press and hold button to record your message before the song.” Sometimes technology just gets in the way.
Yay! Shama’s finally back from Ireland. I went with her dad and brother to meet her at the airport, but before I did I stopped by Party City and got the largest non-Hannah-Montana balloon they had.
We waited outside of Exit A, as instructed by the monitors, for over an hour… but no Shama. We saw the Aer Lingus flight attendants in their teal crazysuits come and go… but no Shama. We started to worry — did they lose her luggage? Did she pick a fight with a customs agent? Did she turn into a being of pure energy and lose interest in humanity?
Finally, we saw a grumpy girl, head down, dragging bags behind her, pass right in front of us — coming from the opposite end of the terminal.
Shama somehow managed to pass through the doors of Exit B and had been wandering the airport for the last 20 minutes wondering why no one bothered to meet her at the airport.
Shama: I kept thinking, “Who’s the idiot with the balloon?”
That’s me. I’m the idiot with the balloon. Welcome home, Shama.
I spend most of my time at work programming a sprawling application that is used by almost everyone at Jellyvision as their main production tool. We’re constantly adding in new features so it can be a little buggy. I often hear about it when it acts up.
Talking to Ryan in the kitchen today, he said, “I know I complain about [software] a lot, but I wanted you to know that it behaved really well today.”
I gave a similar report to Allard after dog sitting his new puppy last week.
Yay! Gratuitous picture of a puppy that looks like an Ewok!
Wolfram Research recently released their new analytical search engine, WolframAlpha. It’s nice to see an Illinois company making a big splash.
Just for fun I “Wolframed” myself to see what it would say; it didn’t hurt a bit!
It seems my name has become quite popular lately. My parents were literally ahead of the curve on this one. What was an obscure name when they picked it in the 70’s has become the 40th most popular name in America.
A giant new Whole Foods opened up near work this week — the third biggest in the world. It’s a pretty amazing place, actually. This morning, walking to work, I ran into someone who was less enthusiastic about it:
Dude: Hey, man, let me ask you something. Evan’s Inner Monologue: (Uh oh. Here we go.) Evan: What’s that? Dude: You don’t think this Whole Foods belongs here, do you? Evan: I don’t know. It just moved from across the street. What’s the difference? Dude: It’s a sell-out. That’s what it is. Why you got to sell out President Obama like that? Evan’s Inner Monologue: (Wait. What? Obama? How can I get out of this conversation.) Evan: Well, as long as VIP’s is still there, right? Dude: Yeah! That’s a good point. I never thought of that!
About two years ago I wrote about my brother Brian taking a softball in the face after it took a bad hop. Well, like brother, like brother. I’m now the proud owner of three stitches aftera similar incident. On this trip to the emergency room, however, Brian wasn’t the patient, he was the doctor. Well, actually he was working in pediatrics and didn’t do the stitches himself as I hoped he would, but he came down and ushered me through the ER. Handy!
By the way, along with my stitches, I’m also the proud owner of a really stupid looking moustache/mutton chops amalgam.
Somehow I got on a mailing list for retirees: AARP sends me membership cards, charities ask me to consider my legacy, and this week I was informed how men my age sometimes have difficulty urinating.
I’m like some sort of time traveler getting a sneak peek at my junk mail from 30 years in the future. (Will there even be junk mail 30 years from now?)
Journey to the End of the Night 2009 has come and gone and no one could have asked for better weather… unless you were sprinting as fast as you could wearing a gorilla suit. In that case you might have preferred it a bit cooler.
I think my favorite part of the whole night might have been the bus ride home with blue and pink ribboned Chicagoans boarding and disembarking, all sharing stories of their adventures that night.
Other fond memories:
Accidentally chasing three dudes who weren’t actually playing the game — possibly freaking them out a little bit.
A cop yelling out his car at me… only to ask me where my gorilla mask was. (I would have worn it but I couldn’t see anything out of it. Also, it smelled weird.)
Chasing people through Bridgeport where it was nice to see that kids still actually play outside in their neighborhood. They loved the idea of our game so I gave them the few blue armbands I had collected and told them if they wore them they might get chased by people with pink armbands. They ended up just running from anyone who came by.
Below is a map of the checkpoints for anyone who might be interested. As a “staff chaser” my job was to patrol certain choke points and make people run.
In London we happened to walk past a statue of Michael Faraday outside the Institution of Engineering and Technology. I had Shama stop and take a picture of me with him. (Nice pose, Evan.)
While we were walking away, another dude was getting another lady to take his picture in front of the statue. When I asked if he was an engineer too, the lady laughed, nodded, and rolled her eyes.
In Dublin Shama had me stop and take a photo of her punching James Joyce in the balls.
