Chicago Pride Day, 2012

I skipped the Pride Parade today for the first time since moving here.  Not that I’ve ever stayed for the full parade: at around three hours minimum, my ancient knees just can’t take it.  But I didn’t even try to catch any of it this year.  Why?

Parades are for the young.  In the case of the Pride Parade, the parade is for young gay men.  Oh, I would guess the audience for the parade these days is close to half straight--this is a very popular parade; but you know what I mean--still young, straight or gay.  Even though there are floats for such organizations as Prime Timers, the majority of the parade is for the young: the music, the spectators, and the young men on the floats.  I am not young, and I do not feel comfortable around young gay men anymore.  Not that they see me: I have become the Old Invisible.

Which is ironic, as these young gay men would not be able to be so out and proud were it not for those of us of a certain age coming first.  I remember when gay bars were raided and bartenders’ and customers’ names, addresses, and places of employment were published in the paper.  Many people lost their jobs because of a bar raid.  I worked as a bartender, starting in gay clubs before moving to straight supper clubs, and it was sheer luck, and, in one case, being tipped off in advance, that kept me out of jail and off that list.  My teaching career would have been ruined instantly.  A friend of mine was a passenger in a car with his partner; he leaned over and kissed his partner on the cheek not realizing there was a cop behind them.  They were pulled over and arrested; my friend was asked to leave the art department of the university where he was a student.  The art department asked him to leave?  For being gay?

We helped change the world, some by protesting, others, like myself, by trying to teach tolerance and never permitting bullying or abusive language in my class, by not hiding the fact that Walt Whitman was gay (my college professor insisted that the Good Gray Poet was just friendly to men), and by telling students that Allen Ginsberg and Adrien Rich, both included in high school anthologies that didn’t mention their being gay, were, in fact, out and openly gay.  No protest signs for me, but I did my part, I think.

I hope that some of these young people understand what went before.  But I have my doubts.  It’s too easy to let the past slip away, and when I was young I was just as guilty.  Now, I am the past, I fear, and I am slipping away also.  At least when it comes to Pride parades and young men and popular music and . . .
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Note:  I just caught the evening news:  850,000 people were in attendance today!  And as always the governor walked the entire length of the parade as did the mayor.  

Weapons of Mass Destruction?

“We have weapons of mass destruction we have to address here at home. Poverty is a weapon of mass destruction. Homelessness is a weapon of mass destruction. Unemployment is a weapon of mass destruction.”    ~Dennis Kucinich

At my favorite local coffee shop, I sit by the front window on Sheffield.  Directly across the street is Jonquil Park.  A few days ago I was talking with a friend, around 7:45 in the morning, and she pointed out there there were four homeless men sleeping in the park.  Two were on a berm on the far side, one was on a berm near Sheffield, and the fourth was on a park bench.  We expressed concern for children wanting to play in the park, although other people were using the park--staying away from the sleeping men.  We even expressed concern for the men.   What we didn’t have were answers to the problem of homelessness.

Another issue came up last week when a favorite coffee shop, Panera’s, was closed for a few days to be converted into a Panera Cares.  This is only the fourth such shop in the country.  The concept is pay-what-you-can: there are no cash registers and no prices on the menu; instead, there are “suggested” prices and donation boxes; you drop in whatever you can afford to pay, or choose to pay.  If you have no money at all, you can work at cleaning in the shop for an hour for your food.  According to the news reports on Panera Cares, all of them are making a profit, in spite of the radical pricing structure--and all profits go to social services organizations in the area.  My rash comment about the change at Panera’s:  “It will become Homeless Central.” That was a remark I regretted as soon as I said it and still regret.  At the same time, there is an element of truth in it, which is doing battle with my conscience.

There are many homeless people in Chicago, as there are in all big cities.  Unfortunately, the term “homeless” only begins to describe these souls.  Are they drug abusers?  Alcoholics? Mentally ill?  Are they lazy, as many seem to think, or are they there through no circumstances of their own?  I’ve seen a man begging on the L, dragging a child along with him; yet what was their relationship and their situation?  The answers are not easy to come by, and I certainly don’t have any.  I never give to beggars, but I often buy Streetwise, the homeless magazine sold by former homeless persons.  I donate to the Chicago Food Bank, but I won’t drop a penny into the cups of the men and women sitting downtown, usually with some handmade sign declaring their problems.  Are any of those signs true?  How are we passersby to know?

Even the government seems at a loss as to what to do.  A few days ago a homeless man was sleeping in Jonquil Park.  Some city workers were mowing and said something to the man, who apparently cussed them out.  They called the police.  Within minutes there were seven police cars there, the man had been handcuffed and thrown to the ground, surrounded by a gaggle of cops, and within minutes hauled off.  Surely such a massive show of force was unnecessary.  And yet should the worker have to deal with that abuse?

Lots of questions.  Very few answers.  And I believe it going to get worse before it gets better: there is a trend in the government and with people in general to blame the victim, and I only see that getting worse.  It’s so much easier to blame the homeless then to work on actual solutions to the problem.

Bloomsday and the Ulysses Virgin

Bloomsday was yesterday, June 16.  This is the day celebrated around the world as the day in 1904 when Leopold Bloom, a fictional character created by James Joyce, made his perambulations around Dublin.  That’s a sentence that hardly begins to describe the day described in the novel Ulysses, a novel many consider the greatest of the 20th century.

Joyce never used the term “Bloomsday” himself; instead it was originated to celebrate the hold that this novel has had on so many people, the Irish in particular.  I have to say right up front that I have not read Ulysses--I’m a Ulysses virgin.  It’s one of those “Great Books” that I’ve always meant to read but haven’t gotten to yet--like War and Peace.  Well, that’s not quite the real reason: I’m scared to death of the novel!  It’s notoriously difficult to read, and many people start it never to finish it; so I have postponed tackling it.  But this summer is the time.

This new resolution came about after attending for the first time the Bloomsday celebrations here in Chicago.  One of my instructors is involved in it and she encouraged us to go, even those of us who have not read the book.  So, on June 14 I went (it was held on that day due to a difficulty in finding a venue on the actual Bloomsday).  I sat in the corner and tried to be inconspicuous, hoping that others couldn’t somehow read in my eyes that I was there under false pretenses.  I needn’t have worried: I wasn't the only "virgin" there and the evening was delightful!  And that evening was the deciding factor in my attempting the novel this summer.

The affair was held at the beautiful Newberry Library.  There were introductory remarks followed by a series of ten readings from various parts of the novel.  While a couple of the readers were actors, most were just lovers of Joyce and were chosen because of their skill in reading.  The first reader was actually Tim Reilly, the Irish vice Consul; he had the accent down pat, to no one's surprise.  The final reader was a woman who has been reading the same selection from Mollie Bloom’s famous soliloquy at the end of the book for twenty years; it was an extraordinary presentation and that reading alone would have encouraged me to tackle the book.

And now from Amazon I'm getting the novel; from The Teaching Company I am getting their 24 lesson course on Ulysses.  From the library I’m getting Ulysses Annotated: Notes for James Joyce's Ulysses.

Let me gather up my reading materials, my DVD lessons, my nerve, and perhaps a few bottles of Ohara’s Celtic Stout and dive in.  I’ll let you know how it all turns out!

Who Would Have Guessed?

Sometimes, too much information is not a good thing.  I just found out that some of the germiest places we come across in an average day are restaurant menus!  Who knew?  I was reading an article on-line from AARP (I am of a certain age, after all) about common places with the most germs.  Menus were number one.  But then as the article asked: have you ever seen anyone ever clean a menu?  And think of the number of people who handle menus.  I’m not a germaphobe, but I’ll be using hand sanitizer after ordering in the future.  [For the record, my spellcheck likes neither “germiest” nor “germaphobe"; screw it.]

And you’ll never guess what comes in second.  I couldn't have been more surprised--or disgusted:  lemon wedges.  Like in iced tea.  A recent study found that 70% of lemon wedges had germs on them,  including E. coli and other fecal bacteria.   Euuugh..........  “No lemon, please.”  [Another note: I had to look up how to spell “euuugh”; what is surprising is that I found it.  What is not surprising is that my spellcheck doesn’t like it.]

Third was condiment dispensers.  The same people who handle menus also handle condiment dispensers.  Is it considered bad form to wear rubber gloves while eating in a restaurant?

After that were restroom door handles.  Hardly surprising.  Come on guys, how many times have you seen men leave without washing their hands?  I always use a paper towel to open the door.  But then what does one do in restrooms with those infernal blow dryers?  Maybe I’ll just pee in the alley; I know my body is clean.

Then comes soap dispensers.  Makes sense: you use the soap dispenser before you wash your hands.   Charles Gerba, Ph.D., who directed a study of bacteria on soap dispensers, said, "[T]he bottoms are touched by dirty hands, so there's a continuous culture feeding millions of bacteria."  And think where those hands were just a few seconds before touching the dispenser?  I grow faint . . .

The list is rounded out with grocery store carts, airplane bathrooms, and doctor’s offices.  Doctor’s offices?  That is, after all, where sick people go.  I would guess hospitals are much the same. 

I think I’ll just shut myself up in my apartment, hand sanitizer at the ready, and never venture forth again.