The Alligator on the Chicago River

No dangerous thrill
About the river now that
They caught the gator.



http://www.chicagobreakingnews.com/2010/08/alligator-spotted-on-north-branch-of-chicago-river.html

We wore our boots, got our cameras and armed ourselves with sticks -- just in case.
We cut school and set out to the Chicago River, hoping to see the alligator.
We hunted through the reeds, stepping over the broken glass and soggy rubbish, making no noise (except when trying to scare each other).
We saw the river with new eyes.
We spied ducks, geese, some jumping fish and the tail of a beaver as it slid into the water, but our quarry eluded us.
We saw on the news that evening that the gator was captured an hour before we got there.
We secretly hoped it laid eggs.

American Ideals and Islamic Terrorism

Every time America has strayed from the principle of equality under the law for all people, we end up viewing it as a black mark on our history.

Every time Americans compromise their ideals (such as those codified in the Bill of Rights) in response to anti-American terrorism, the terrorists score a victory.

Every time Americans equate radical, Islamic zealots with all Muslims, Osama bin Laden comes closer to his stated goal of instigating a war between the West and the Islamic world.

Every time Americans justify repressive policy on our part by pointing to repressive policy in another country, we erode our claim to moral superiority.

Location, Location, Location

I used to be a regular at a bar near my apartment, "Garret Ripley's".  I'd go there almost every day.  Even when alone, I'd go to read or write over a couple of pints of Boddington's.  The owners and staff knew me by name, and I knew them; someone would start pouring my Boddy's the minute I walked in the door.  Cute servers would chat with me between rounds like we were old friends.  It felt special.  And that feeling of being special, as much as the Boddington's, kept me coming back.

This week, Facebook launched its "Places" feature, in line with social networking technologies like FourSquare and Gowalla.  You, with your GPS-enabled mobile phone, can "check in" to the places you vsit, broadcasting your city-crawling lifestyle to your friends.  You're also rewarded for "accomplishments" both wide (you've visited the most places in your neighborhood) and deep (you're the most regular of the regulars at your favorite pub).  Now, feeling special is easier than ever: these services will express admiration of your worldliness, and show appreciation of your repeat business -- all while providing businesses with valuable customer intelligence as outlined in the fine print of their privacy policies.

Commentators on the State Of Society have the same critique of these technologies as they had for blogging, Facebook and Twitter: they feed our narcissism, they substitute stunted forms of interaction for real human interaction, they publicize things better kept private, they create a barrier to "authentic" experience...  There's truth in all those notions, but that doesn't interest me much.  These aren't technologies that are aimed at solving particular problems, they're technologies that are looking for a use.  And while the initial applications are sometimes bizarre, it's interesting to see the uses people do find for them, and how that causes the technology to evolve.

FourSquare and Gowalla users can leave their friends messages, retrievable only when their friends check into the location it was left.  The messages can be useful, like "try the corn bisque -- it's dynamite", or just fun Kilroy-was-here markers, like finding a friend's initials carved into your school desk.  As the things you can leave for your friends to find become more sophisticated and multi-media, entire parallel dimensions of reality will be created, accessible through your mobile devices, where the public, physical world is only one part of what you can discover.  All the old haunts are new again.  It's easy to imagine "Dungeons & Dragons" types of games, played in a virtual overlay on the physical world.  "London Below", the hidden world existing sideways to the real London from Neil Gaiman's book Neverwhere, seems prophetic.

Of course, if you're technically savvy, there's no reason to even leave your house to explore this virtual world. I have a friend who writes applications against the FourSquare API such that he has generated phantom digital proxies of himself who spend all day wandering plausible routes (plausible, to prevent FourSquare from noticing it isn't a real person, and blocking it) and checking into places around town.  He describes it as the "game underneath the game" of FourSquare.

Digital realities and phantoms who wander a world similar to our own, but invisible without the proper gear and permission.  The craziest science fiction is coming true in our lifetime.

Do you check into places using social media?  If so, what do you enjoy about it?  How would you like to see this develop?  If not, what's your biggest turn-off about it?  What changes would get you to use a location check-in system?

Bedtime, Age 6

    I’m already moving as I bat down the light switch. The dark pushes the light back into the bulb and then swallows it, but I’m flying, my feet clearing any shadowy arms that might snatch from under the bed.  Landing, I scramble to make sure nothing hangs over the edge.  I know the rules for avoiding what lurks underneath.  Following the rules keeps me safe.

    All the monsters in the dark have rules, and six-year-olds know them instinctively.  Light and grown-ups scare them away.  Things that live under beds can’t reach up on top of them.  Blankets protect whatever they cover.  Things that peer in the window won’t come inside if you pretend you’re asleep.  Things that live in closets can’t open doors by themselves.

    Oh, no.

    The closet door is cracked open -- just a little bit, but enough.  The opening is a black slash in the nighttime gloom.  The watching darkness freezes me.  I’m afraid to look, but terrified of looking away.  I carefully sit up, trying to make no sound -- and a bedspring’s creak sends a gasp to squeeze my throat.  The shadows shift around me but I keep my eyes on the closet.  The shapes that flutter at the corner of my vision want me to look at them.  I know better.

    I have nothing but my hands to push the door shut.  I have to reach -- to lean -- over the edge of the bed.  This is part of the rules too.  If you forget to check before the lights are out, whatever happens is your own fault.  That’s when they get you, when you make a mistake.  Mommy and Daddy won't always be there to protect you, you know.  I reach over the edge, trying to watch both the dark slash and the shadowy floor, suddenly forgetting whether something will spring from where I’m looking, or from where I’m not.  I imagine if I push too softly, the door will bounce on the latch and the crack will yawn open like a hungry mouth.

    I forget about whatever is under the bed as I slam my palm against the closet door.  It closes with a too-loud CLACK, and I dive back to the safety zone, burrowing into the warm covers, squeezing my eyes shut so I don’t see the fluttering things that want me to see them.  I lie very still, waiting for my heartbeat to slow.

    The danger fades, and feels a little silly; gentler dreams come out to play like wary mice.  Secure in blankets, all I need to do is act asleep -- until I am.  I'm safe again for one more night.

"Second Chance"

Image via Wikipedia

When Lucifer was invited back to Heaven to petition for readmission, he laughed -- even as he chose his best suit and tie.  Unfurling his long-unused wings and ascending, he mused that he was but a minion when he Fell.  Now he was a ruler.  What could Heaven offer him?  But as he walked the shining white promenades, inhaling the incense fanned by Seraphim's wings and basking in the ambient Grace, he was struck by how the mind kindly forgets the glories it deems forever lost.  Sitting in the waiting room, sipping complimentary Ambrosia, Lucifer couldn't stop stealing glances at the office door.  His palms began to sweat.

A cherub opened the door with precise punctuality and ushered him inside.  He introduced himself, inquired if Lucifer needed anything before they began, and then asked some casual “warm-up” questions.  The script was unchanged since Lucifer’s time on the other side of that table.  After the pleasantries came the only question that mattered in Heaven.

“Do you repent of your sins and come to the Lord asking forgiveness?”

Lucifer had no false modesty about his oratorical prowess.  He had prepared an ode of contrition that could inspire men to form new religions of redemption, and make the Archangels themselves blubber with teary compassion.  It almost seemed a waste to debut it to this fluttering baby whose name he had already forgotten.  His eyes downcast, a penitent smile on his lips, he gave his answer.

“No, and no.”

Lucifer blinked.  Words spun of gold got lost somewhere between his mind and his tongue, and raw truth -- unbidden, undecorated and irretrievable -- came out instead.  This place!  All his subtle talents, developed and honed in the long years since the Fall, counted for nothing in Heaven.  The final bit of artifice, his own illusions, flaked away like charred skin.  The cherub’s big eyes, the color of a clear noon-day sky, held bottomless pity.

“Thank you for your time.”

Lucifer stared at the objects in the tiny interview room, from the tasteful furniture and neat stacks of writing parchment to the way the color of the walls gently diffused light.  The smallest things in Heaven were truly lovely. But they would never value him here.  He could spend an eternity trying, with the same result.  Even Heaven wasn’t worth that. “Thank you for your indulgence, little brother.”

Outside, he could feel Heaven rejecting him, its spaces folding away like a delicate sea creature recoiling its fronds.  He expected the sudden wave of vertigo -- he had felt it first when being cast from the only home he knew.  A second time he Fell, his body gaining speed, his feathers bursting into flame, searing, curling black.  He felt no pain at all this time.  This time he was falling home.

Toy Story 3

I enjoyed Pixar's new movie, Toy Story 3, which elicited a few thoughts:

• It's not a "kids' movie". It's firmly a "parents' movie". The themes of being "outgrown" and having to let go probably resonate strongest with parents, especially of teens.
• Mr. & Mrs. Potato Head raise questions of the nature of the "self": an association of physical parts? Or a ghost in the machine?  The Potato Heads appear to be both.
• Mr. Tortilla Head was Dali-surreal and bizarre. Mr. Doo-Doo Head was just plain wrong.
• Toys feel things deeply, and "betrayal" can send them down dark paths. If any Micronauts come asking for me, please tell them nothing.
• If Pixar wanted to venture into Horror, they made a good start with Big Baby and the Watchful Monkey.  Yikes.
• Ken is not gay. He is merely fabulous.

Restaurant Review: Elate

Built in 1926, the Hotel Wacker, a holdout from less trendy times in Chicago's River North district, is gone.  In its place stands the Hotel Felix, bearing no resemblance to the shabby old apartment hotel, outside which transient folk would drink from bottles in brown paper bags.  Now, urbanites sip cocktails on the patio of Elate, the eight-month old restaurant in the Hotel Felix, which sports a modern, minimalist cool from its unadorned floors and tables to its high, exposed-ductwork ceiling.

Though separately owned, Elate shares some of the LEED-certified ethos of the boutique hotel, from its use of reclaimed materials, to its large selection of "biodynamic, organic, or sustainably produced" wines.  The menu declares that it promotes "local and organic products whenever possible," but also features Jidori chicken (California), Meyer beef (Colorado) and Rushing Waters trout (Wisconsin).  Explains Executive Chef Randal Jacobs, it’s about finding the best quality and flavor.  Premium products like these "distinguishes the restaurant" to industry insiders and self-educated foodies alike.

A gracious, gently-spoken host, Chef Jacobs likes to "let the good qualities of food speak for themselves."  They were eloquent in a four-course tasting, starting with an amuse bouche of a baguette slice with tomatoes and rosemary concassé, draped with a silky shaving of Serrano ham and topped with arugula.  The love of fresh herbs, the playful variations on classic pairings and the careful balance between acidity and richness echoed through the courses ahead.  

The citrus gazpacho smelled of roasted tomatillos with a spritz of grapefruit and looked like a minced fruit salad.  Indeed, bits of fruit were balanced against avocado, peppers and onions, with cucumbers and toasted bread adding crunch.  It is a joyous riot of sweet, sour, savory and spice: springtime in a bowl.

Serious earthy aromas heralded the second course.  A lone slice of pink grapefruit was no match against the nutty richness of meaty French Horn mushrooms and brussel sprouts, the outer leaves fried crisp.  A delicately herbed hollandaise softened the dish, a hearty contrast to the previous course.

Elate's barbecued pork belly is pure indulgence.  Typically a 50/50 fat-to-meat ratio, Chef Jacobs procures a Dutch product closer to 85/15.  This he brines, applies a Kansas City spice rub, slow cooks, brushes with barbecue sauce, and chars.  The resulting slab of piggy custard is sweet, creamy and decadent.  Only the assertive tartness and crunch of the accompanying sauerkraut in cider vinegar and Granny Smith apple slices cut through the glorious fat.

I love cilantro, but never thought to use it in dessert.  Chef Jacobs does exactly that in his Lime Curd Crisp, layering lime cream, toasted phyllo, raspberries macerated with cilantro, and a dollop of torched coconut meringue.  The sweet and sour, creamy and crispy confection has a lovely herbal freshness unlike any dessert I've ever tasted.

In a neighborhood already replete with dining options, Elate’s basic focus on quality ingredients in balanced compositions make it a noteworthy addition, one that I hope remains a fixture on Clark and Huron for years to come.

Elate at the Hotel Felix

111 W. Huron Street

Chicago IL 60654

(312) 202-9900

elatechicago.com