Short-Lived Resolution

Before I even start, let’s get one thing out of the way: “short-lived” is pronounced with a long I, as in “short life,” from whence it came.  Anyone who was ever in my class or sipped a beer with me knows how I feel on this.  And I don’t get a crap who says “short-lived,” as in “short live” (which anyone can see does not make a lick of sense), I (my ashes, actually) will go to my watery grave saying “short-lived” with a long I.  Now on to the resolution:

A few days ago I decided I was watching too much television.  So, I resolved to go without TV for a week.  I worked out some details--movies didn’t count nor did downloading Rachel Maddow on the iPad--set my jaw firmly, and went back to my book and coffee.  Later that evening, 20 minutes into The Evening News with Diane Sawyer, I remembered my resolution.  Not only had I broken my firm resolution, I hadn’t even remembered that I had made such a resolution.  Only one thing to do at that point: say “fuck it” and spend the rest of the evening watching TV.

And thus with most of my resolutions . . .

John Deere Day

I don’t trust my memory.  And the further back I go in time the less reliable I’m sure it is.  But I’m going back today to one of my fondest memories from the 50s: John Deere Day.  Maybe some of it is accurate.

We actually didn’t have a John Deere tractor.  We had a Farmall.  At least we did until my brother, Ken, broke it in half; but that’s a story for another blog.  It didn’t make any difference what kind of tractor you had for John Deere Day, or even if you had one; everyone showed up for the social event of the year.  As I remember the day, it happened once a year in the spring.  The John Deere company sponsored food and games and, no doubt the main reason for the event, a display of new tractors.  All this took place on the grounds of my elementary school, State Center. 

The games were silly and the food unexceptional, and we all crawled over the tractors, and generally ran around like idiots.  But the part I remember most vividly were the movies.  Of course, we lived in the country and had only one movie theater in the area, a tiny theater in Jones, Oklahoma, which showed second string movies (but they also showed the wonderful Flash Gordon serials!).  So it was the highlight of the John Deere Day when, as the sun set, a sheet was stretched out (between trees? poles? I don’t remember), the school’s 16 mm projector was brought out, and the movie began.  There was a pause between each reel as it was rewound and the new reel strung up.  And I don’t remember a single movie!  It really wasn’t about the movie; it was about the event, the time away from studies and chores.  John Deere Day was more fun than the State Fair, which, since we exhibited a variety of things, was always about work.  And John Deere Day was about innocence and laughing.  I have no doubt that my memory idealizes the whole event.  That’s okay; I’ll keep those memories, reality be damned.

The Smell of Stale Beer

I miss sleazy bars.  I miss the smell of stale beer and the tinny music from a jukebox.  I miss the clack of the cue ball against carefully racked balls.  I miss the camaraderie, the cheap brew, the taste of soggy pretzels, and the sweat-permeated ambiance of a neighborhood bar.  I never was much of a drinker, although I’ve had my moments.  But I loved the socialization of bars where, well, “everyone knows your name.” 

What brought this train of thought about was a visit last week to B.L.U.E.S. on Halsted(1), a legendary blues bar not far from where I live.  I’ve been there before, usually to hear my friend Rob Stone perform, as was the case this time.  But for some reason, this visit brought back a stream of memories of all those bars I’ve hung out in over the years--and rarely go to now.

The ugly truth of the matter is that being old makes the bar experience far less fun than it used to be.  One becomes invisible anywhere, once one reaches a certain age; in a bar it’s even worse.  I have occasionally, since moving to Chicago, accompanied younger folk to bars, but I just would not go on my own any more.  Even at B.L.U.E.S., I was with my young friends Geri and Carolyn.  I’ve even been there with former students.  But never by myself.  And I miss those days.

One must move on . . .

As for B.L.U.E.S., it’s a great place to hear Chicago style blues.  I encourage you to go there.  Last Tuesday (area residents get in without a cover charge on Tuesdays), as I say, I went to hear Rob Stone(2).  But while there he was joined by the magnificent Big Time Sarah(3), who sang at B.L.U.E.S. on the night it opened in 1979.  Truly a legend.  But if you’re a prude, stay away!  She is  down and dirty.

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1. http://www.wineandleisure.com/sweethomechicago/blues/index.html
2. http://www.robstone.com/index.html
3. http://www.wineandleisure.com/blueswebchicago/bigtimesarah.html