Oak Lawn Memories

I woke up this morning thinking of my detour years in Oak Lawn.  Before I lived there, I thought of it as the place where south siders moved when real estate hucksters knocked on their doors crying: "the blacks are coming . . . the blacks are coming" and the homeowners scurried away.

By the time I arrived things were built up:   ranch homes, Catholic churches, great park facilities. It was the good union middle class life we yearn for today.  I loved it.  Probably because I was in love with Gerry -- the man who had brought me there.  And probably because his friends were so welcoming of this exotic north sider.

On Sundays we would go to one of the many golf courses.  He played, I struggled.  I say now: "I loved everything about golf except the golf:  the early morning quiet, the grass and trees, the sunshine and the big breakfast after.

There were comedy clubs, dance clubs, diners and steak houses, many on and around 95th Street.  The joke was: "on the north side it's "sauce."  On the south side it's "gravy."  Oak Lawners loved to jitterbug and drink.

Gerry and I (and Oak Lawn) lasted for about 5 years.  Then the impossibility of it all caught up with us.  That impossibility was definitely personal, not geographic.  I'll always have Oak Lawn.

Reading

Sandra Verthein's post about reading stats caught me off guard.  80% of US families did not buy or read a book last year.  42% of college grads never read another book after college.  This puts a new slant on "best sellers," doesn't it?

My friend Kathy always said that reading great literature was the best form of therapy.  If you agree that reading expands our place in the universe and inspires empathy you understand what she is getting at.

Maybe health care professionals should start book clubs among their patients.  I'll always take the written word over popping a pill.

Sky High

Watching Million Dollar Listing: New York, the Bravo reality show, isn't any fun anymore.  The millions have gone as sky high as the buildings.  The real estate and the people who buy it are way too "special" -- even for a natural voyeur like me.

New York is going the way of Venice and other "trophy" cities: only affordable for global oligarchs and other billionaires who often don't even live there but touch down every once in awhile and boast of the precious address.

So where do the squeezed out New Yorkers -- especially the creatives --  go?  Brooklyn has been mined, as have Harlem and Queens.  Some are in eastern Pennsylvania.  Others are snapping up depressed real estate as far away as Detroit.

Bill says many are coming up the Hudson River to Kingston, New York, where he has his office.  It is a delightful little town.  I especially liked the big comfortable independent book store and the little pizza place next door.  Delicious!

Artists always seem to find a way.  Just like Bill and Elsa.  They landed in wonderful Woodstock after their cross country adventure last summer.

Keeping Them in Mind

When your family lives elsewhere it's crucial to have an image of where they are. The house, the rooms, the yard, the road.  A place to put their faces.  This helps to keep them in your mind and heart.  I realized this upon returning from a visit to upstate New York, where Bill, Elsa, Natalie and Diego moved last summer from Los Angeles.  The gap in imagining their surroundings was stressful.  Yes, mental pictures are important.

So, how was Woodstock?  Lots of t-shirts, jeans, sandals, beards, and everything organic.  No chain stores, malls, fast food, or tall buildings.  Gorgeous trees everywhere.  Two-lane roads.  It's so appropriate that the Grateful Dead grabbed the headlines while I was there.

I loved the week in Woodstock territory.  And, the view from the 26th floor looked good upon my return.

Stretched Out Style

I noticed a little headline on the NY Times web page: "NBA Draft Needs a Men's Wear Makeover."
"Oh no you don't." I cried.  "You're not going to ruin one of my favorite fashion shows of the year."  I don't know these young players, or any of their stats.  I show up for the outfits.

When your legs reach higher than the interviewer's head, you don't buy off the rack.  These custom made suits are amazing.  The number one pick in the NBA 2015 draft goes to:  the electric blue suit with the skinny tie.  The number two pick are the silver porcupine shoes.

All of the lottery teams are winners.  They got NBA fashion at its finest.

Outside the Lines

I am following with interest the controversy stirred up by Laura Kipnis.  She is the Northwestern University Professor and author.  I knew her when I was married to her father. Since then, I have applauded from the sidelines as she occasionally hits the headlines with her provocative points of view.

Laura says that the current across-the-board bans against university professors dating students is caused by “sexual paranoia” on campus.  In retaliation, some NU students sued her for sexual harrassment under Title IX.  Which led to Kipnis’ argument that this is an absurd stretch for the use of Title IX.  The University has stood behind her, the suit went nowhere, but the controversy remains.

Ah, Universities.  Let’s go back for the football, basketball, or maybe a class reunion. 

Ah, Academia.  Outside the sight of those who scratch for a living.  Or, remembered fondly by those who are living their lives, and can barely remember what Ulysses was about anyway.

Ah, Professors.  Still fighting for the world of ideas and taking seriously the concept of rational thought.  The powerful have long since bent rationality to serve their material or ideological interests.

Good for you Laura Kipnis.  She says “bring it” and is smart enough to take what comes her way.

Kudos to Kerr

The NBA finals start this week.  No Bulls, but plenty to get excited about.  LeBron vs. Steph.  Star Power vs. Team Power.  Two down-on-their-heels cities (Cleveland/Oakland) that deserve some fun.

I'm for the Warriors and it's because of Steve Kerr.  Yes, he was a sharp shooter for the Bulls.  And yes, he made a game-winning finals shot inches away from Michael Jordan.  But, there's more.

Steve Kerr was born in Beirut, Lebanon. His parents were teachers at the American University of Beirut.  He father Malcolm was an international expert on the middle east and he wrote with compassion about Arab life.  That didn't stop a terrorist from shooting him dead.

Steve was back in the U.S. attending college.  He was 18.

Let's tip the scales of life a little for Steve.