On Shawn, Nastia, Jonathan, Michael, et al.

Every time the Olympics come around, I always say that I don’t have any interest in watching them. Not because I hate it, just because I’m so involved in other things, it’s secondary, and I shrug it off.

Then I catch an event that features one of our new medalist, and I’m blown away. I’m awed. I’m hooked. And I find myself drawn to a TV whenever an pivotal event is coming on. The sheer physicality and strength that these people have, to be able to compete with their equals from around the world, and truly be recognized for being the best of the best, who wouldn’t be drawn to it?

Take for example Michael Phelps going for his record gold medal. Many people find him polarizing… he’s either a hero and a god, or he’s jut an overexposed celeb that is overshadowing others who deserve to be recognized. I’m on the fence in this regard, only because while I agree that the press has made these games the Michael Phelps show, it was the 4 x 100m Men’s Free race that the US team won (and he was part of) that got me hooked on watching. The sheer amazment the group I was with had as Jason Lezak, who was almost a full length behind the French in that final lap, came up and won not only in a world record time, but by a mere 10th of a second and a finger!

But back to Phelps. I was at a party on Saturday night, and suddenly someone suggested we go down and watch Phelps final race. 10 people descended around a fuzzy TV screen to watch a historical moment. I didn’t know half of these people before the party, nor will I probably see them again except for another similar gathering, but for one moment we were all together, all completely different people, but gathered in awe at this man’s achievement.

I happened to catch Jonathan Horton in his gold medal winning High Bar gymnastic performance just two nights ago, and again I was amazed. I bitch about the pain in my arm from doing a few push ups, and then I look at this kid- yeah he’s in his early 20’s, but he’s a kid compared to me- and I feel a little inferior. Who can’t for a moment? But that’s also the beauty of these games… theses people train their entire lives to do this, not to make the rest of us feel fat or unhealthy, but to awe, to inspire, to do for us what we cannot.

The girls are just as amazing. Props to the Williams sister for taking gold in doubles tennis. Congrats to  Misti- May Treanor and Kerri Walsh for not only 108 consecutive beach volleyball victories, but for that gold they sealed with win 108. As I write this, our women’s soccer team won their third gold in 4 games, defeating Brazil.

And then we have that duo we call Shawn Johnson and Nastia Liukin. Between the two of them, they (with the rest of the women’s gymnastics team) flipped, jumped, swung and for the most part defied gravity to win 8 medals, including top two for balance beam and the all around individual exercises. Regardless if those Chinese girls were way to young to compete (whether or not they were, they still looked like 12 year olds tramped out with too much makeup), our girls overcame and each took a gold home for the team. The sheer excitement in Shawn’s face when she just knew she sealed the gold on the balance beam, while detractors could say it was youthful hubris, was really pride knowing she worked her ass off and she was the best. It was incredible.

And so now these names are now added to the growing lexicon of US Olympians, to join Mary Lou Retton, Kerri Strung, Mark Spitz, Bruce Jenner, Brandy Chastain and so many others, who went for the gold and brought it back, to inspire us when frankly there is so little to inspire us with, and now be featured in Nike and Wheaties adds for the next few months.

But the cool thing is that we’re not the only ones to be inspired in such a way. Take India, who for the first time in history, have two medalist… Abhinav Bindra, a gold medalist in shooting, and a bronze in wrestling from Sushil Kumar. 1 billion people, and their first medals in the history of the games. Or how about Rohullah Nikpai from Afghanistan, who won a bronze in taekwando. This is Afghanistan’s first medal ever. And this guy is going to get a house for it! I read people in Kabul were conserving their electricity just so they could listen to the match. That’s insane.

But that’s just what the Olympics can do. It’s inspiring. It’s heroic. It’s everything the Greeks designed it to be. I need to remember that everytime it comes on. Sometimes we all need a little inspiration.

Random recap of the weekend gone by

It’s been a long weekend, and there’s a lot in my head, so this is going to be very hodge podge. Be thankful I don’t go stream of consciousness on you.

Let’s start with weather. I so much dislike this time of year for the inconsistencies in mother nature’s whims. The spring winds and showers… blah. Where are the 65° days and the sunshine? The past week was full of rain, thunderstorms (yes that’s springlike, but not at 40°) and even a hint of snow. Friday I saw hail… granted while I was in PA, but it was hail. I’m so looking forward to Florida in June, and now see in part why Alan and Erin feel the need to escape to Raliegh by summer’s end. Apologies, but the extended Chicago winter blahs are hitting me hard. Next thing you know I’ll be gripping that it’s not fall yet.

I mentioned PA. I have just returned from little Washington where I spent time visiting my family for my Grandfather’s memorial service. Yes, the one that passed in January. A pleasant weekend altogether. It was great seeing my extended family. Friday was my sister’s oldest son’s 8th birthday, where we enjoyed dinner, played the Wii (I bowled and played tennis with Cam and Braydon, while Rick tried golfing with some great success), and Rick and I almost stole my sister’s new puppy Coco away to bring home to join Jose and Claudia. My nephews crack me up the most, especially as kept Rick and I on our toes all weekend long. The funniest part: as Rick and I explored and did some outdoors photos at my brother’s new property on Saturday morning, his two boys Gavin and Colton, who were restricted from venturing past the garage door so they would not get muddy, would yell to us ‘Uncle Jon, Uncle Wick, come back here! Where are you going?’ That and Saturday night, Colton turned to Rick, with his parents sitting right there, and asked, ‘Can you walk me to the bathroom please?’ I love that they love him so much, shows that they consider him so much a part of the family.

Which brings me to my father’s discomfort with our relationship. He introduced Rick to some extended family as my ‘friend’; seriously dad, dead people know we are a couple, just get over it. I almost felt embarrassed for him at this point. The annoyance came later, when during a slide show of my grandfather’s life, a family tree was displayed. All of my relatives and siblings were listed with their spouses and children, except for me. Maybe it’s selfish and simple to be peeved about such an innocuous slight which I probably was the only to notice, but it hurts. To me, I equate it to, say, excluding my cousin because he was adopted. You wouldn’t do that. I need to get over it, and accept his lack of acceptance, but I don’t do well with letting sleeping dogs lie.

Saturday night, we joined my girlfriends from high school for a few drinks. It was a great way to let off steam after so much intense family time, and we had fun catching up. I get the impression that a trip to Chicago is imminent for them, and Rick offered our place to stay next visit. I don’t think he realizes what trouble he has invited upon himself with the five of us all in the same place. He’ll learn.

Monday afternoon, I lunched with Alan, and we discussed the upcoming end of the Premiership and Champions league soccer season. Our team Manchester United stand at the precipice of winning both, with 4 matches standing between them and the Premiership, while also having to face Barcelona in Champions League semifinals. Chelsea is right on their heels on both fronts, with a CL semis match up with Liverpool ahead of them. For the Premiership, being the glass half full type, I was hoping for a loss or draw to their Monday match up with Wigan. Alan, wary as he is, put his marbles behind Chelsea’s chances at success and the potential for United to tumble, but I felt strong that Wigan would pull a 1-1 draw and diminish Chelsea’s title hopes. Sorry Alan, I gotta say I win this one, as Chelsea indeed drew 1-1 to Wigan in Monday’s match up, and are now 5 points back behind United. Let’s just hope I’m right and United also win against Blackburn this weekend so they can pull a 1-0 victory over Chelsea at Stamford Bridge next weekend. In between, I’m also hoping for United to have Champions League success over Barca. A busy couple of weeks coming up.

Finally, I am looking forward to starting my new job next week. I’m getting a bit eager to get back into the swing of things and to tackle a new adventure. In the meantime, I’m getting antsy, so thankfully Frank called and wants to meet out tonight. Maybe some time away from the house will do me good.

The CTA/Crazy Person Road Show

The #22 Clark bus is easily one of my least favorite bus lines with a schedule that’s about as regular as a constipated dog and just as miserable, but when heading down to Ginger’s Ale House for a soccer match it’s cheaper than a cab. So this past Tuesday afternoon I stood in the sleet and blustery cold waiting for my ride like the April fool I am, looking forward to joining Alan for the Man United match against Roma.

The bus arrives typically packed, and I decide to make my way to an opening towards the back. The first thing I notice in route is a middle aged woman, dressed in complete mismatching clothing, gnawing on a breadstick or pretzel or something equally chewy, with a mound of boxes piled higher than a standing person on the seat next to her. It’s an obnoxious amount of crap, stuffed in white Hefty bags and a milk crate or two, covered in a tattered red tarp. To assume she’s a transient or homeless person is of course presumptuous of me, and to insinuate that only someone with serious mental issues would dare bring that much crap onto the public transit with them is borderline profiling, but come on. Would any rational human being dare board a bus in mid day, or for that matter, any time of day with what could most likely be half of their worldly goods? Yeah, didn’t think so. I was perturbed at the bus driver for allowing this woman to take the time to board and de-board the bus with all of this crap, and then take up more than one seat, effectively blocking the ability for a handicapped person to be able to board and sit. It was obnoxious.

It reminded me of a much more grevious offense I witnessed on the #147 bus about two months back. I boarded, and where there was supposed to be the senior reserved seating/ handicap spot was the little old woman who lived in the alley… with her entire life’s goods with her. And I’m talking about a mound of crates, boxes and laundry bags buried under (again!) a tattered red tarp (I actually can’t recall if this lady is actually the same person with less stuff on from Clark bus, but it wouldn’t surprise me one bit). The junk took up at least three seats, which shocked the hell out of me that the driver would even remotely permit such a thing.

What drove me to the brink was that when we approached Berwyn, the lady proceeded to leave the bus, and had to unload all of her possessions as well. Mind you, I was on my way to work at the time, so I was a bit antsy to get moving. I took her, and I’m not exaggerating, 10 minutes to unload her junk from the bus. 10 minutes. and the driver barely even blinked at the inconvenience she was causing to the rest of us. Hell, another 147 passed us while we sat and waited. I was, how do you say, livid.

The ultimate fault of these incidents lies with the CTA driver who allowed such ridiculousness to occur. These drivers are paid, and quite well contrary to what some may think, to ensure their bus gets from A to B in a timely and scheduled manner, and the passengers riding on it arrive safely and without great inconvenience. Especially since we pay $2.25 a ride, right?

But time and again I have witnessed such idiocracy as, say, the bus driver who allowed a bicyclist onto the 147… with his bike. And I don’t mean with the bike on the rack at the front, I mean in the middle of the aisle. Hello! The bus driver who allowed this then conveniently switches with another bus driver at Foster Avenue, and as the bus starts onto Lake Shore the back door alarm is buzzing wildly. The bike ended up causing the back door to jam open and break, and forced the driver to pull over on Drive, and of course everyone on the bus then had to exit the bus, walk on LSD at 10am in the morning in traffic, to board a new bus. That bicyclist was not very popular with the rest of us, let me tell you. I was thisclose to beating the shit out of him, especially since I am a bicyclist myself, and WE KNOW BETTER!

The scariest moment I ever had on the bus was a Wednesday about 2 weeks ago, as I took the #151 down to Big Chicks for Euchre. These two ghetto as idiots barge onto the bus screaming and throwing attitude at each other, supposedly because one guy cut in front of the other boarding the bus. Okay, this pisses me off as well, and I’ve gotten into my verbal sparring with an asshole or two who have done that to me as well. Granted it’s not like their is a line to get on the bus, but to be pushed aside as you try to board, well that’s just asinine. However, this argument was heated and escalated to the point that the guy at the front of the bus shouted to the other, ‘what, you gonna call da police? Fine, do it fucka, I’ll show you mine then,’ and at this proceeded to REACH INTO HIS COAT.

The first thing that flashed into my head was, oh fuck, I’m going to be on the front page of tomorrow’s paper: Edgewater man and 9 others killed in CTA shootout. At that moment, me and the other passengers suddenly feared for our lives, scrambled for the exit faster than you can say run, and never looked back.

Again, I ask, where in the hell was the driver during all of this, hmm? Yeah, taking a coffee break probably.

Not everyone of my CTA rides are this scary. More so, I end up trapped near the crazy people and simply annoyed; like the wild/tangled hair bespectacled schizo bitch who rides the Broadway bus, whom I have had the displeasure of riding within a few seats of twice this week. Like many schizophrenics who don’t take their meds, she rants and raves to the unseen, arguing and swearing up a storm. Sometimes I just want to shove a towel in her mouth, but I’m afraid she may try to kill me. Rick was riding to the paint store with me when she boarded for my most recent encounter, and finally got to see up close this particular specimen I’ve told him about in the past. It only took 10 minutes and two blocks from our stop for him to suddenly push me towards the exit. ‘If I had to ride one more block with crazy, I would have snapped,’ he commented as the bus rolled away. I could only smile.

But back to the Clark bus on Tuesday, and our wonderful transient with the red tarp. The woman stared blankly forward as the bus churned it’s way down North Clark, until we arrived at Lawrence Avenue. Here, she proceeded to disembark with all of her goods, a process that mercifully took only two minutes. I could only gawk at the absurdity of it all. I wasn’t overly annoyed, as it didn’t cut extraordinarily into my commute time, and she wasn’t in my way at all. I manged to get to the match only a few minutes late, and Alan and I got to enjoy United’s 2-0 victory over Roma. Overall, it was a lucky day today.

Then again, who knows what the next CTA episode may bring.

Finger lickin' foul

Alan and I spent the day hanging out downtown on Wednesday. We enjoyed lunch at Perry’s Deli on N. Franklin, and oh my were the sandwiches HUGE! Very fantastic. Afterwards, we dodged the snow bullets to hit Rock Records on West Washington for all of five minutes, as I searched in vain for the new Bob Mould and realized in Technicolor why the indie CD shop was a dying breed. Blah, a dreadful selection. I guess the three rows of Jack Johnson’s new disc should have been my first indicator.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent at Elephant & Castle on Adams, where we watched the England national soccer team, under the guidance of new coach Fabio Capello, take on Switzerland and win 2-1 at Wembley. It was a slightly boring match, as the first half showed the players not making as strong of an effort as they could have. The second half more than made up for it. I guess Capello gave them what for at the half, as it was his first match as their coach. Frankly, we prefer watching United and the Premiership matches.

But it was the ride home that was full of great amusement for the two of us, and was, for me, one of the highlights of the afternoon. We sat in judgement of those around us, giddy and a bit toasted from the beers we imbibed at Elephant & Castle. As we glanced around at the train full of commuters cramming their way onto the Brown Line as rush hour was just starting up, I got Alan to do a bit of people watching. I think he saw the humor I find in it.

One guy immediately caught our interest and immediately became the target of our disdain, so much that I commented to Alan, ‘I think that guy is writing my blog for me”. My guess was he was a student, most likely from Roosevelt University by the way he dressed, because no one from the Art School of Doom, er, the Art Institute, would EVER be caught dead in public with what he was wearing: sweatpants. But not just any color, a lovely shade of turquoise sweatpants. Alan scoffed at the look, and nearly burst out laughing at this guy’s choice fashions. Meanwhile, I couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t as ‘supported’ as he could have been… not that there was much to speak of, in front or behind. Sweats reveal all, which is why they are for lounging around the house, not for riding the subway.

The true error of sweats guy ways, however, was that he chose the train to munch on McDonald’s fries. He licked his greasy fingers hungrily with every bite, and even had the ignorance to smack his lips as he ate. I thought Alan and I were going to choke, we tried so hard not to laugh. Instead, we commented aloud at how cool it was to eat with one’s mouth open on the train, and how hungry he was making us.

Sweats/Fry Guy’s eating habit was a crude, ignorant yet all too common display of peoples manners on our public transit system. So many times I’ve had to hold back from gagging as I enter a train to the rancid smell of decaying chicken bones that some asshole left behind on his or her commute from Howard Street to the Loop. Then there are the high school delinquents who proceed to munch loudly on hot fries and cheese curls, wiping their psuedo-cheese encrusted fingers on the same seats that the rest of us have to sit in. It’s foul, messy, and illegal. Yet no one who works for the CTA makes an effort to put a stop to this gross flouting of etiquette and decency. Hell, they even encourage it, with Starbucks, Dunkin Donuts and convenience stores in the El stations. Yuck.

As Alan departed with a smile at Armitage, karma, or maybe just dumb luck, struck me, as Sweats/Fry Guy suddenly sat next to me where Alan had been just moments before. Luckily, I jumped up and off the train at Fullerton, so I didn’t allow him the chance to wipe his greasy fry hand on me. Ick. Needless to say, while that’s hopefully the last I’ll ever see of Fry Guy, I’m sure Chicken Man or Burrito Boy will be replacing him on another train commute in the near future.