Don't Mess With My Space

Today I  got mad enough to sit down and write about it.   I've been leaving my footprints on the southeast corner of the Oak Street Beach for decades.   My beloved piece of the beach was  a refuge where I could read, do crossword puzzles or just veg out.  In April and May it was pretty much me and the seagulls.  After that is was me and my beach friends or my kids.  In September and October it was back to blessed solitude.   It has gradually been getting more populated, probably a result  of a combination of the economy, the lack of crazed volleyball players and, sadly, the violence at North Avenue.  More and more young families are now Oak Street beachers.  We welcomed them and their $1000. strollers and their crazy excess of beach toys. 

 It was okay when Bruce the "massage guy" set up shop at the head of the boardwalk.  He's a good guy and his clients quietly enjoy their therapy under his awning.  It really wasn't okay when Anthony put up the restaurant, but we learned to live with it because it was classy and actually had good food.    We made fun of his prices, but we liked him and his staff. Also, he was so kind to the elderly Gold Coast grandmas who loved his Sunday buffet.  The city did not renew Anthony's lease and instead gave it to a well connected restaurant group who has turned it into a gaudy, cheesy overpriced concession stand.  Then came the vendor with the outrageously priced rentals of lounge chairs and beach umbrellas.  Taking  up good beach space and practicing sporadic hours - that's good business?

Today was the last straw.  I got there before my friend, Marcia.  I settled in, opened my crossword puzzle, oiled myself up and sank into my chair. I got about 30 minutes of solitude.  Then they came..... the tourists including the foreign ones with no clue about protocol or courtesy, the locals with their abundance of pricey toys, and about a million 20 somethings who belong many beaches north of here.  They set up too many volleyball courts, tossed around too many footballs in high traffic areas and displayed way too much skin (and flab).

The so called restaurant started some amplified "music" that interfered with my brain - was trying to complete a crossword puzzle and read a book.  Then I finally got it. 36 years of sacred space down the drain.  It happened gradually, but today it hit me smack in the face.  Oak Street is turning into North Avenue - or even worse - Coney Island

HELP.

Man Vs. Machine

Technology is amazing.  The electronic voice instructed me to" Please proceed to register 8."  I did as I was told.  I unloaded the contents of my basket onto the counter.  The young, artistically tattooed cashier started scanning my $80.52 worth of items and bagging them.  All this while engaging in a lively and flirtatious conversation (gripe session) with the young, artistically pierced cashier at register 7.  I swiped my credit card, followed the prompts, signed the box, picked up my three expertly balanced bags and proceeded to the exit.  There was no eye contact, no "hello", no "goodbye", no "Thank you for shopping at Walgreens,"

Next time, I''m not going to do what I'm told.  I'm going to wait for register 1 where a gentle, older woman -with a sparkle in her eye and who works from a seated position,  will greet me, engage in conversation and thank me sincerely.  It may take a minute longer than register 8, but I'll feel better and hopefully, so will she.

Faith Restored - In The Lyric Opera And Mankind

After leaving a breathtaking and mostly perfect Aida at the Lyric, we jumped on the #20 bus to Michigan Avenue.  The crowd at the bus stop was bigger than usual.  The bus, which is usually empty, was packed.

The crowd on the curb waiting for the bus were geezers with Aida programs.  The packed masses on the bus were 20 somethings from all races, ethnic groups and fashion groups. Some were coming from the Hawks game, some probably from work or other activities.

As  the geezers started to enter the bus, the 20 somethings started jumping up out of their seats to give them to us.

I used to say, "thanks, but it's a short trip."  Now I say, "thank you and thank your mother for raising you the right way.

Chicago Lyric Opera.   Redeemed.

Chicago's young people.  Admired.

Rinaldo - Skip The Opera - Listen At Home - Better Yet, Take The Bus.

We have never left the opera early.  Not until last week.  Rinaldo by Handel.  Beautiful music at times.
Act One:

Repetitive, very Handel-like.  Sort of like an organ recital with costumes and special effects.
Can't appreciate counter tenor voices.  Everyone sounded alike - men and women - come to think of it they looked alike too.
Intermission One:
Decided over champagne that we'd leave at the second intermission.
Act Two:
Finally, some action and some male voices - well, one bass voice.  A superb vocal and dramatic  performance by Elsa Van Den Heever as the evil Armida ended with a bang.  Really, a bang.

It almost made us change our minds about leaving at intermission. Well, almost.
Intermission Two:
We left.  Walking into the balmy Chicago air.  Yes, balmy.

Act Three:
The #146 bus home. 
Stage right. Obese Lesbian couple PDA being observed by a Judgemental Geezer in a suit with a chamber music program in his pocket. An old fart hitting on a young woman with crutches. 
Stage left.  No English spoken here VERY LOUDLY.

Center stage.  Frantic woman with suitcase madly searching for something in her purse all the way up Michigan Avenue.  Bicycle messenger not able to load his bike without help from driver.
Hmmmm.  I see an Opera in this bus drama.  Really, see what we'd have missed if we had walked.  Really.
Skip Rinaldo and take a bus ride.

Conversation With A Chicago Cabbie

It is the day of the Michigan and Arizona primaries.  I am loaded down with groceries and can't walk the 4 blocks to the bus.  Cabbies don't like to pick up people carrying grocery bags.  They want people with luggage.  Finally a strikingly handsome cabbie with a well tended beard and a beautiful, bright orange turban not only picked me up, but also helped load my groceries in the back seat.

I notice a Ron Paul sticker in the back seat on the notice that lets you know who to call with compliments or complaints.

Me:         "You know someone put a Ron Paul sticker in your cab?"

Cabbie:   "Yes, ma'am.  Yes I do."

Me:        "Okay, just wanted to make sure you knew."

Cabbie:  "Know why I leave it there?"

Me:       "Why?"

Cabbie:   " Driving a cab makes you a student of people.  I have been studying all those  guys.  Ron Paul.  He is the only one who isn't lying to us."   

               
Me:          "Thanks for the smooth ride and the clean cab.  And I think you're right about Mr. Paul."

Cabbie:    "Have a great evening." 

.....As he helped me unload my groceries from his cab. 

Surprisingly pleasant interlude.  Yes, I gave him a great tip. I take back everything I've said about cabbies in Chicago.  Well, almost everything.

Keys Disease Defined

Keys Disease
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From Lynnkipedia - a totally bogus free encyclopedia

   Not to be confused with Locks Disease

Keys Disease (Clavis Morbus) is an infectious, but rarely fatal, disease affecting humans ( homo sapiens). It is believed to be air borne.  In some instances felines (cats) especially the feral variety are affected by or may be carriers of the disease.  The infection causes several days of euphoria and high excitement, followed by malaise and an indifference to time commitments and obligations.

Keys disease is a severe plague on organized activities and the ability to move projects ahead at any rate of speed.  In its most infectious state it is capable of totally destroying the concept of a deadline.  Most susceptible to contamination are boaters, fishermen, sunbathers, lap swimmers, conch lovers and just about anyone who wanders below mile marker 126.5 on the Overseas Highway, also known as U.S. 1 in the farthest southeast reaches of the United States.


Causes/ Signs and Symptoms
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Ocean breezes. intense sunshine, abundant fishing and a party atmoshere are thought to cause Keys Disease.  Some researchers are studying the part that coral reefs may play in the proliferation of the disease.  Although there is evidence that Native Americans came to the Keys as early as 3000 B.C., it was not until the 16th century that others arrived there.  The first settlers were Spanish fishermen who came from Cuba, a mere 90 miles to the south.  There is no documentation of Keys Disease in those early days.
The earliest symptoms can be traced back to the days of Ernest Hemingway.  Many of those affected have outward symptoms of "Hemingway Wannabe", which is most often contracted by over the hill retired men from the Midwest. Other symptoms include uncontrollable urges to sing "Wasting Away in Margaritaville" with a longneck in hand and a plate of deep fried something or other in front of you.

Clinical Signs
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Bare Feet, often with ankle bracelets and/or toe rings
Unshaven faces on men
Over- sized sunglasses on women

Deep tans, often with creases around eyes and mouth
Tropical or Harley themed tattoos
Absence of timepieces
Ignorance of national political news

Treatment
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Treatment must take place on the mainland.  There is no effective way to fight Keys Disease while actually in the Keys.  For short term treatment, a trip to the craziness of Miami traffic may provide temporary relief.

Long term treatment must involve travel to the North or Midwest, preferably during a snow storm, and for longer lasting results, a blizzard.



Prognosis
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Unfortunately, the only permanent cure for Keys Disease is abstinence from travel on the southernmost reaches of U.S. 1. 

Fortunately, since the disease is not fatal, periodic travel to the Keys is not physically or mentally life threatening and may, in fact, prolong life for those who expose themselves prudently.

I Have Keys Disease. Re-Posting to Compensate. Keys Disease Definition to Follow.

http://lynncrawfordsays.blogspot.com/2010/02/jewels-of-atlantic_21.html