I know next to nothing about Silicone Prairie, which for this year’s May Day dropped a couple recklessly nervy songs through underground Kansas City punk label Mutants 4 Nuclear Waste. There’s barely any information on the Bandcamp landing page for their release, simply titled Two Songs, except the cryptic message “Recorded on the Silicone Prairie.”
According to international digital music magazine Record Turnover, Mutants 4 Nuclear Waste is run by Ian Teeple, a prolific Kansas City musician who seems to play in just about every emerging weirdo-punk band in his hometown, including Warm Bodies and several using some version of the name “Natural Man” (Natural Man & the Flamin’ Hot Band, the Natural M*n Band, et cetera). After Mutants 4 Nuclear Waste uploaded Two Songs to Bandcamp, music journalist Aaron Rhodes added Silicone Prairie to the list of bands on Teeple’s Discogs profile. I trust Rhodes, since he’s the editor in chief of Shuttlecock, a music site that covers the Kansas City scene.
Teeple sings with a puckish swagger, and I’m completely charmed by the speedy “Ozone Day,” which rides whimsical, elastic guitars and tinny electronic drums that pop like firecrackers. Teeple’s insistent, frenzied vocals zoom along to keep up with the song, which sounds like an early new-wave single played at the wrong speed. The other cut on Two Songs is a cover of “Padded Cell” by notoriously obnoxious Chicagoland punks the Mentally Ill. v
We cross winding rivers 100 miles from our Chicago concrete urban space. Bright city lights fade as Midwestern neighbors and Wisconsin loved ones social distance. Faded rustic farmhouses dot our horizon. Green pastures calm our pandemic angst.
Towering maples and oak trees guide us along cobbled roads. Our boys run through open fields surrounded by lake and creeks. They catch their first fish. They marvel at how Wisconsin lakes melted thousands of years ago from glaciers at the end of the last ice age.
We breathe in the fresh Wisconsin air on July 4th, 2020. We walk along wild dandelions and gather fresh berries with cousins. We refuel as the sunsets. Our magical bonfire burns bright.
The full moon glows above us as crickets chirp. Eventually, owls lull us to sleep.
Hours later, hummingbirds sound our wake up call. We glide along damp grass toward the peaceful pond. Our boys spend hours crawling toward turtles and jumping with frogs.
Thanks to our cousins and family, we enjoy a lovely day on the water. Our nine-year-old rocks the knee board for the first time.
His seven-year-old brother beams from the inner tube as his older cousin keeps him safe. Their confidence soars with the exhilaration and euphoria of their special experience. We treasure time spent with family of every generation.
Epic!
We savor the joy of our time in Wisconsin. We wish farewell to our cousins who live in towns named after former Native Americans inhabitants. Fun fact, Milwaukee translates to the “rich and beautiful land” by the Potawatomi.
Pure exhilaration
As we drive back to Chicago, we talk about how fur traders and Native American converged. Fur traders upset the eco system as they hunted animals.
Today, we face new challenges. We recharge to pivot, evolve with change and do our best.
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Show Me Chicago previews, reviews and expresses opinions on what’s happening in Chicago from Blockbuster Theater, to what’s new in dining, arts, and the neighborhoods.
It’s hardly a secret that Mad King Trump and his cabal of devious dirty tricksters, demonic foul players and devisers of dirty pools are busy concocting schemes to choke off the collective will of Black and Hispanic voters.
Their chief strategy: The antisocial distancing of polling locations calculated to stifle this cohort of voters from braving the long trek there in the first place; then to force long lines (which tend to compress) that they hope will stoke the existential menace Covid 19 poses.
The way to thwart their pernicious intent and stir up a headwind that sweeps voters to the polls? I propose we borrow a common tack of the supermarket deli counter by structuring a take-a-number system. With this tactic, voters won’t be forced to slot themselves into life-threatening lines and be free spread out of harm’s way as they wait for their number to be announced via loudspeaker, while it’s simultaneously beamed from a comfortably visible screen.
The deli-counter strategy: destined to counter a voter-suppression strategy of the Trump team of dirt-dealing despots.
Show Me Chicago previews, reviews and expresses opinions on what’s happening in Chicago from Blockbuster Theater, to what’s new in dining, arts, and the neighborhoods.
Thirteen years ago, today, I was sitting in my pajamas, scrolling through my Facebook feed, reading a spectacular number of messages from friends offering me their congratulations on my engagement. Mike and I had gotten engaged the night before, on the most perfect day of my life. There had been literal fireworks, of course, but more than that, the whole day was a flawless combination of us being the two of us alone, us being the two of us together, and us being the two of us in public, having fun, trying out our lives together. It was a gorgeous day.
As I scrolled through, my phone rang. Mike’s mother called. She’d just fielded a call letting her know Mike was en route to the hospital. A moment later my phone rang again it was one of Mike’s coworkers and softball teammates. Mike had suffered a massive seizure. I grabbed his car and sped down Lower Wacker to meet him at the hospital, moments after he became conscious.
I can’t tell you how much older I feel now than I did thirteen years ago. The passage of time has lost all of its meaning, and whenever I consider that girl, the 23-year-old who flew to Mike’s bedside in a flurry of tears and song, the girl who stood guard outside his hospital room and wouldn’t let in anyone wearing grief on their sleeve, the girl who planned a wedding and managed his medications and organized his schedule and yelled at him to pull his weight around the house and at work because he WASN’T dying and that meant he had the burdens of living, I feel overwhelming exhaustion.
How did I do it? How did I know what was needed, what was wanted, what was warranted, who kind of raw chutzpah does it take to become that person? Am I still that person now?
Thirteen years ago, today, we stepped into a world of brain surgery and chemotherapy and an ever-shifting set of goalposts. Thirteen years ago today, I became who I am. I made the choices to become who I am. I stopped being who I was.
—
Mike spent nearly all of the past month in the hospital. First for his fifth brain surgery, placing a shunt to relieve the pressure of fluid trapped in his ventricle. Then after a brief return home, because of a pulmonary embolism that grew, threw a clot into his lung, and caused an infarction. I have never seen pain like I saw those five days. I have never known fear quite the flavor of hoping, hoping, hoping that he managed not to regain lucidity enough to know what was happening to him as I looked at scans of collapsed lungs and watched him struggle to breathe.
He’s home now. Stronger than he’s been in two months. But there always seems to be a toll.
There was a COVID scare in there, as well. Five days I sat alone in my room, not permitted in the hospital, but also not allowed to be with the children. What would I have written during those days, I wonder, if I’d had the presence of mind to be able to write? I don’t know that I had a single coherent thought. I don’t know that I made it more than a few hours without breaking down. This month has been so hard, and if I had to choose between the five days of solitude, not knowing if my husband was safe and not being able to hug my children, I don’t know if I would choose those days or the five of watching Mike suffer.
It never seems to be safe for me to land. And despite him coming home, we are still waiting for it to be safe for us to breathe.
—
The first full day Mike was home, I climbed into his rented hospital bed with him. I curled up on his chest and belly, my arms and legs bent like a spider’s, my ear resting on his heart. With his left hand propped on my shoulder, he wound both arms around me, warm and close and quiet, and I listened to his heart beating the way I did nearly thirteen years ago, when he was first going through treatment and didn’t know how little time he was supposed to have. I remembered our cool basement bedroom in Pilsen, the light coming under the blackout curtains I made for him, his breath even and unbothered. I asked him then if he believed in Heaven.
“All I want is to end up wherever you are,” he said.
I was better at holding back tears thirteen years ago. Another youthful energy that is slipping away from me.
—
My therapist is an indigenous woman, trauma-informed, and formerly worked with incarcerated people. Sometimes I argue with her, because I argue a lot. Usually, I listen to her, because that’s what I’m supposed to do, and I trust her. Sometimes I even follow her advice. Sometimes.
I appreciate her perspective.
“Do you think 13 is an unlucky number?” she asked me.
“No, I don’t think I do. I think it’s an incredible number. He was supposed to have a year and a half, and to make it to thirteen years isn’t unlucky, it’s spectacular. If somebody had told me thirteen years ago that it’s what we’d have, exactly thirteen years and no more, I’d be grateful. I’m grateful now.”
She told me that in her culture, 13 is a meaningful, powerful number. The number of moons in the year. A number associated with the sacred feminine. A number to be honored.
Embarking now on the fourteenth year of our lives with glioblastoma, I wish I had pointed out to her that the anniversary is the end. The thirteenth year is over. What meaning does the next one hold?
—
Thirteen years ago today, I woke up happier than I had ever been in my life. I was going to marry my best friend, my favorite person, the man who saved me from myself like a knight errant on a white horse. I woke up in the glow of pure bliss, supreme certainty. He kissed me goodbye, long and lingering, his arms warm and strong, his hair thick and still damp from the shower. I could feel his dimples smiling into me with my eyes closed against the morning glow under the curtains. Goosebumps climbed up my shoulders as the ceiling fan spun, and he whispered to me, “Good morning, Panda Bear. I’ll see you after work.”
“Don’t go, fiancé,” I whispered back, knowing that the word would stop him in his tracks, that he would have to sit with it, revel in it, that it would cling to him like the water in his hair. “Future husband.”
And he kissed me some more before doing what he always did, always does, the right and proper thing. He tucked my arms back under the blanket. He kissed me again and left the room. He walked up the stairs as I sang him love songs, chuckling to himself, because he wouldn’t be late to work for something as silly as my being romantic the morning after we got engaged.
And the next time I saw him, the world was smaller.
—
It’s a difficult day. It’s Mike’s Cancerversary. Most years we throw a party, we drink a little too much and hug all our friends and celebrate that Mike is still here.
Mike is still here.
But there are no parties. No hugs from old friends. Despite the state opening up, it’s simply not safe. Why on earth would we risk death from the virus when we have managed to avoid it so long?
Mike is home and he can rest. And hopefully, the exhaustion of this season will begin to fall off of us, and we can try to find whatever sacred there is in fourteen.
Lea Grover scribbles about sex-positive parenting, marriage after cancer, and vegetarian cooking. When she isn’t revising her upcoming memoir, she can be found singing opera, smeared to the elbow in pastels, or complaining/bragging about her children on twitter (@bcmgsupermommy) and facebook.
Show Me Chicago previews, reviews and expresses opinions on what’s happening in Chicago from Blockbuster Theater, to what’s new in dining, arts, and the neighborhoods.
What would you do if you were able to create something with your best friend? I mean, really, in this time of COVID-19 quarantine, it feels hard to even imagine hanging out with your best friend. That’s what Jason Ferguson and Marcus Fitzgerald did. They decided to hang out virtually and create something positive to highlight their favorite place.Chicago
Both of them have different careers by day. Marcus Fitzgerald is an engineer and Jason Ferguson is an Emergency Management consultant, but they both love music. Ever since they were in school together at their West Side Elementary School music bonded them. It was the thing that kept them through the different circumstances of their environment. Though challenging, they were able to foster a level of closeness to their community because of the great foundation they had in their family unit.
But during this COVID-19 quarantine, they needed something to get their minds off of the fact that they couldn’t get out and be with the rest of the world. They decided to collaborate on a project, a five song EP, that they feel like indoctrinates a new wave of the ’90s to 2020. Their recent song Blank is an ode to the ’90s hits and artists such as SWV, Jodeci, and Mary J. Blige.
They decided that they wanted us to take that music and give a feel that is a 2020 version of excellence in R&B and hip hop mixed. Their new song does it all. More than anything, they wanted to gel together something that gave a visual to how they felt. Using the creator Blinks’ support, they created a video to go along with the song. It’s a great hit. Check it out in the link below, leave comments, and follow them both on Instagram at their hashtags.
Good music is everything. It’ll even lift you out of a somber mood during quarantine.
Eraina Davis is a writer and entrepreneur. She has written for “Healthy Living” magazine as well as several academic publications. She opened one of the first pop-up shops in downtown New Haven, Connecticut called The Good Life, where she gave advice to entrepreneurs. She holds a Bachelor of Arts, an M.Ed in Education and an MAR in Religion from Yale.
Show Me Chicago previews, reviews and expresses opinions on what’s happening in Chicago from Blockbuster Theater, to what’s new in dining, arts, and the neighborhoods.
Did you see Jimmy Fallondo “Stuck in the Middle With You” on The Tonight Show?”
What I should really ask is, “Did you see Jimmy Fallon singing “Stuck in the Middle With You” on The Tonight Show?”
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I mean, was he really singing? It sounded so frigging good. I was up talking to myself, and I caught myself asking “Is homeboy lip-synching?”
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Now, I never talk to myself like that, but it does make me sound cool, right? Anyway, I do talk out loud, like those people at scary movies, and sometimes wake my wife from a romance-novel-slumber.
This Saturday morning she confronted me, “Did you know you were talking to yourself last night?” “Yes,” I said. “Who else can I talk to, Jimmy?”
Show Me Chicago previews, reviews and expresses opinions on what’s happening in Chicago from Blockbuster Theater, to what’s new in dining, arts, and the neighborhoods.
In the last couple of weeks in Chicago, the press has been reporting on the violence as a SPIKE. Unfortunately, the so-called spike is a wholesale slaughter. The massive amount of killings and shootings in the month of May passed off to the public as a “Spike” turned into the month of June that set an all-time record for killings and shootings with 92 souls murdered, and over 550 shot. Given Chicago’s past history its becomes a serious challenge to use the word spike. Something is very wrong and as hard as it is for folks to accept it, it’s very real and is continuing through the first 4 days of July which has already recorded 20 murdered and 83 wounded.
The gang shooters can only be described as suffering from an empathy deficit disorder. The victim list has included a 1-year-old, 2- 3-year-olds, 2- ten-year-olds, and several 13-year-olds, one of whom was dancing in her living room. A stupifying death toll of innocence. Last night at a 4th of July block party 4 gunmen showed up and began firing into the crowd that left 4 dead and another 4 wounded. Another ho-hum mass shooting in the Englewood neighborhood where life is a fragile bargain rescindable at any time. No question, words, and speeches will follow, come Monday, more of the same spiel by thoroughly confused and hapless so-called leaders.
The press will record their words as they fight for camera time and print space. Useless words that will never make the shooters blench. Larry Hoover one of the most notorious gang leaders in Chicago’s history and responsible for hundreds of murders, and the architect of a massive narcotics cartel in the U.S. once told me that, “yea! the news media and the TV are always blabbing that the PEN IS MIGHTIER THAN THE SWORD, BUT ONLY IF IT’S SHOT OUT OF A GUN, AND REMEMBER THE FASTEST WAY TO A MANS HEART IS A 45 CALIBER PISTOL.” That is the mentality the so-called leaders are dealing with.
Hoover is still in Prison in Colorado and is constantly looking for a Parol, and believe it or not, he has plenty of help on the outside from folks who are so out of touch, they can only be described as useful idiots. Chicago’s leaders and their failure to come to grips with reality have their collective PRIGGISHNESS on display. It leaves one wondering if behind the appearance of fictitious benevolence, kindness, and so-called good-willed intentions if there is not a sinister calculating agenda afoot.
Chicago and Cook County desperately need a leader without swagger, selfishness, pomposity, or a sense of entitlement. All the education in the world, all the political skills, and quick-witted responses, that get politicians elected in no way can prepare elected officials for the problems they face fighting hardcore gangs that are literally terrorizing their cities. Mayor Lightfoot might seem like she wears the hat of not only the mayor but police strategist and top cop. It’s impossible unless you lived, worked, and have dealt with the city gangs. They simply will not ever respond to pleas and speeches, programs, and services.
Chicago needs immediate consequences. Handcuffing the police is playing with fire, the city has a serious crime problem, anyone in a leadership position who cannot see that needs to step aside if the goal is to stop the grizzly killings and shootings. How many babies, toddlers, children, and teens have to be slaughtered until reality sets in? Only one word separates MENSA FROM DENSA. Constantly making war on the Police and favoring the criminal ought to be obvious, the daily headlines are sending a message. Since Thursday, the mayor and her top cop have announced that Chicago’s cops will be allowed just one day off until further notice. Since Thursday 1200 extra cops have flooded the neighborhoods.
Since Thursday 18 souls have been murdered and already 80 have been shot. A lesson for the mayor and her top cop from a prominent local professor.”The number of police doesn’t mean squat if they are not allowed to be the Police.” To continue the “WAR ON COPS” is on full display in Chicago, and to allow it to continue, the hapless souls who are killed and wounded in the city are victims of imbecility. It’s always good to keep an open mind but not to the point that one’s BRAINS fall out. This is about lives, not the whims of the ACLU who seem to be second-guessing Chicago’s policing strategies at every turn. What’s more civil than preventing people from being shot and killed.?
Bob Angone is a Marine VETERAN and a retired Chicago Police Lieutenant. He worked his entire Career covering the streets of Chicago as a Tactical Officer, Tactical Sergeant, and Tactical Lieutenant. His last assignments were in special Functions, he was the C/O of the CPD Swat teams his last five years and was an HBT (Hostage Barricade Terrorist) Sergeant for 10 years.
Show Me Chicago previews, reviews and expresses opinions on what’s happening in Chicago from Blockbuster Theater, to what’s new in dining, arts, and the neighborhoods.
Celebrate a higher level of lipstick consciousness on July 29 — National Lipstick Day.
Just like other cosmetics, lipstick has environmental implications.
Start by looking at the ingredients. They include Passion Flower, or Passiflora edulis extract, a Brazilian-based plant oil full of antioxidants like Vitamin C, as well as fruit pigments, shea butter and Vitamin E.
Other standards include botanicals, plant essences and natural mineral pigments.
You can even find lipstick branded as vegan, cruelty-free from animal testing and made in America.
Other natural lipsticks use oils from rosehip and green tea seeds; butters from cocoa and mango seeds; and apricot and organic castor seed oils — all free of chemicals such as parabens and phthalates.
If you’re concerned about pollution issues, some lipsticks are made with sustainable-energy processes. Other manufacturers advertise their lipsticks’ biodegradable ingredients, recyclable packaging, and wind and passive-solar power in their warehouses.
And then enjoy the luxurious feeling as you counter the dry, dehydrating heat outdoors.
Show Me Chicago previews, reviews and expresses opinions on what’s happening in Chicago from Blockbuster Theater, to what’s new in dining, arts, and the neighborhoods.
With tight end David Njoku requesting a trade, why should the Chicago Bears avoid the former first-round pick?
Hypothetically speaking, the Chicago Bears could manage to get creative and figure out a way to land Cleveland Browns tight end David Njoku, however doing so wouldn’t be very smart. While Njoku is just 23 years old and a former first-round pick who’s got two years left on his rookie contract, the Bears seem to be set with the tight end position.
In free agency, the Bears also added Jimmy Graham on a two-year deal while spending the 43rd overall pick in the 2020 NFL Draft on Notre Dame tight end Cole Kmet? The motive behind both these moves? Graham will end up being a mentor for Kmet, who was a two-sport athlete in college, splitting his time between football and baseball.
There are a few obstacles that exist with adding a guy like Njoku this late in the offseason. First, due to the pandemic, the Bears won’t know how healthy Njoku is. He missed a good chunk of the 2019 season with a wrist injury, that cost him valuable playing time. Since every NFL player has been virtually practicing this offseason, there is no guarantee that Njoku returns to his 2018 form that saw him start 14 games, catch 56 passes, and score four touchdowns.
Second, the compensation that the Browns would want for Njoku seems to be all over the place On one hand, the Browns seem to want a first-round pick for Njoku but on the other hand, some teams believe that he’s worth a day three draft pick, likely being a fourth or fifth-rounder as fair compensation.
Third, while Njoku has two years remaining on his current deal, for any trade to happen, he’ll likely want a contract extension. With Austin Hoopersigning a four-year deal with $42 million dollars and San Francisco 49ers tight end George Kittle ready to sign a contract extension as well, Njoku will likely use the contracts of Hooper and Kittle to be able to set his own price tag, one that could quickly be out of the Bears reach.
Finally, the implications of adding Njoku wouldn’t be good for Kmet, who the Bears view as being the future at the tight end position. Pairing up Njoku with Kmet would allow for head coach Matt Nagy to use more 12 personnel, however, there would only be so many targets to go around, between Allen Robinson, Anthony Miller, Tarik Cohen, Kmet, and Njoku.
Overall, the Bears shouldn’t add Njoku due to his injury history, as well as the compensation that would be required to trade for him. While the Bears do have first, second, and third-round picks in the 2021 NFL Draft, there is no point in trading future draft capital away, especially when the future at tight end is already on the roster.
With tight end David Njoku demanding a trade on Friday, the Chicago Bears should be one of the first callers.
Last season, the Chicago Bears had the worst tight end group in the entire NFL, and it wasn’t particularly close. When you, as a franchise, finish a full season without one tight end topping 100 yards on the year, it’s time to take the position seriously in the offseason.
General manager Ryan Pace set out to change the position from the get-go, making veteran tight end Jimmy Graham one of the team’s first free agent signings. Graham, who was most recently with the Green Bay Packers, has not been near the upper echelon of tight ends for a few seasons now.
But, Graham is not here for the long haul. He’s here to help the quarterbacks by giving them a sure-handed option in crucial situations, as well as help in the development with second-round pick Cole Kmet.
With Graham and Kmet as the top two guys on the depth chart, the Bears very well could go into the offseason banking on their combined talent. However, things change and options arise — as we’ve heard over the past two days, now, with David Njoku.
The Cleveland Browns tight end has officially requested a trade, and agent Drew Rosenhaus wants to get it done before training camp — that’s just a few weeks agway.
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Cleveland signed Austin Hooper to a 4-year, $44 million deal in free agency while also drafting Harrison Bryant. Therefore, Njoku’s stance is justified and, quite frankly, he deserves a new team. Chicago would be the perfect landing spot, especially for his foreseeable future.
In order to get Njoku, what would the Bears have to give up? Let’s examine a couple of trade options.
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