Ten Wet Weather Songs. Do You Know Them All?

I believe it's raining all over the world. — I believe it’s raining all over the world.

It’s another dreary, gray day in January and I am thinking about … rain. I know a Chicago winter should be all about snow, but we have been blessed(?) by warm weather for most of the season, so the precipitation that is popping up in my head is the wet stuff instead of the white stuff. And as I look through my microscope I find myself humming water songs. So here are 10 rainy songs for the day. I hope the earworms don’t start eating away at your brains too!

MY TOP TEN RAIN AND STORM SONGS

Taxi by Harry Chapin. Just another rainy day in San Francisco. Smoking pot may be legal now, but I still wouldn’t want my cabbie or Uber driver to be flying that high.
Rainy Day Woman 12 & 35 by Bob Dylan. Another song about getting stoned. Is there a pattern here?
The Rain Song by Led Zeppelin. Isn’t every song by Zep about lighting up?
Love Reign O’er Me by the Who. Yes, I know that “reign” isn’t “rain.” But Roger Daltrey sings about cool rain falling like tears. So it counts.
The Rain in Spain from the original cast recording of My Fair Lady. You knew I had to include one show tune on my list.
Riders on the Storm by the Doors. This one may be my favorite. It has a moody feel that always triggers a memory to a late spring afternoon during my high school years, standing in the rain waiting for a lift from friends. (No Uber in 1971)
Rhapsody in the Rain and Lightnin’ Strikes by Lou Christie. A two-bagger from the sixties. Sweet Lou always seemed to get lucky when the weather took a turn for the worse.
Rain on the Roof by the Lovin’ Spoonful. A less intense 60’s love song than Lou’s two, with John Sebastian memorializing a rainy afternoon.
Electrical Storm by U2. A less well known U2 song, but it’s one of their best of the 2000s.
Kathy’s Song by Simon and Garfunkel. Unless you are a pretty big S & G fan you might not know this one. It is worth a listen. It ends with one of my all-time favorite lyrics — there but for the grace of you go I.

AND A FEW MORE

Rain by the Beatles. Just because it is the Beatles.
Set Fire to the Rain by Adele. Just because it is Adele.
Rainy Night in Georgia by Brook Benton. I believe it’s raining all over the world.
The Rain, The Park, and Other Things by the Cowsills. Because without the Cowsills we wouldn’t have had the Partridges. And how could we have made it through the 70s without the Partridges?
November Rain by Guns’n’Roses. Because November rain is better than November snow.

I know there are as many rain songs as there are streaks on my windshield on a wet afternoon. So what are some of yours?

A trivia question for those of you so inclined, courtesy of Margeson’s Pub Quiz. One of the recording artists named above is the only such artist to have a number one hit during the 1970s with a TV theme song. Can you name the artist and the song? A shout out to my buddy Broonsy for getting this one right when it counted.

photo credit: Thomas Hawk Wet Mornings via photopin (license)

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Don’t Fence Me In.

The text message popped up on my phone early this month.

“We need 98 people to renew their memberships before Trump takes the stage at a rally in Toledo tonight. Yours expired. Renew now.”

The text came with a link to NRSC.news. A little Google research for “NRSC” turned up the National Republic Senatorial Committee. Huh? Had I ever been a member of a Republican senate fundraising group?

Anyone who has met me, or has read a blog of mine or my co-correspondent Anne would probably have a pretty good guess that I have not been supporting many Republican candidates for Senate or for anything else. I have voiced my support for anyone running against Donald Trump.

So I was a loss as to how the Republicans got me on their message blast list. I didn’t pay it much attention, even after getting a follow-up text saying I was now listed as LAPSED (their caps.) Well, maybe I cheered a bit when I found out I had lapsed. Hoorah!

Then before sunrise this morning I was reading a column by Thomas Edsall in the New York Times, discussing how superior the Republicans are to the Democrats in digital marketing. The column detailed a technique called “geofencing.” It’s a technology that allows an agency to set a “digital rope” around a particular area and capture the cell numbers of any phone passing into the zone. And a conservative advocacy group called CatholicVote.org has been particularly effective in circling Catholic churches and texting people who enter them. And no, they haven’t been advocating for Bernie or Amy or Joe.

Could I have somehow been roped in? I am a semi-observant Jewish boy who rarely enters a synagogue, much less a church. No way I could have been marked as a church goer. And then the sun rose and the dawn came and I had a revelation. I had been to a Catholic church recently.

You see, I have a new great-niece, the daughter of my fantastic nephew and his more fantastic wife, and we were happy to celebrate the baby’s combined “Hebrew Naming – Baptism” ceremony with the family. The baby naming was at a restaurant (by definition, Jewish ceremonies involve food) and the lovely baptism ceremony was, of course, was in a church.

So perhaps I have been fenced. To be clear, this would have been accomplished by an outside agency, not someone from the local church or at the ceremony. And maybe my blurbs from the NRSC are totally unrelated.

In any case, it is good to be aware of the various means of digital tracking we can come into contact with every day. Remember, someone is always watching, listening, and whispering into our ears.

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Pet Names–What Do You Call Your Partner?

It is a four-letter word that I like to use. In fact, I use it a lot. My friends have taken bets on how many times that four-letter combo will leave my mouth on a given night. If you are a gambling person here is a hint: play the over. It is something I am likely to say way more than you would expect.

Is it the “f-word”? No, not that, though I do occasionally mumble it under my breath when I knock over a glass of wine. Not the “s-word” either, but I sometimes have to bite my tongue to keep from screaming it out when I knock over a second glass of wine. And there are certain other 4-letter curse words that I don’t think I have ever used, even though they are becoming more and more common in movie theaters and home theaters alike.

No, my four-letter favorite is a little more “G” rated, a little more family-friendly–and that is how I use it. And how Barb does, too. As our friends know and laugh at, it is our incessant habit of calling each other “Babe.” Not dear, not sweetie, not honey. It was, is, and always will be Babe.

How did we get there? I don’t have a clue. Is it a corruption of “Barb”? Unlikely, though not impossible. Was Sonny & Cher’s “I Got You Babe” the inspiration? I don’t think so–though Barb and I do a great rendition of the song.

Was there a particular movie or TV character from whom we picked up “Babe”? Not that I can remember. Of course, “Babe” was a squealingly delightful 1995 film about Babe the Pig, but I would hardly name my wife after a pig. And our habit goes back before 1995. There is no video of our 1978 wedding, but I am quite confident I dropped a few “B-bombs” in my speech way back then.

I think I have added a few other terms of endearment to my vocabulary. Laury tends to get a “honey” now and then. The grandkids are “sweethearts.” The kitten is…well there are lots of nice things we call the kittens. But “Babe” is on reserve. I start my texts to Barb that way and may even find a way to get it written into our new wills. And could there be a better epitaph than “I Married Babe.”?

So now it is your turn. What do you call your partner? And why? The best answer gets a free subscription. Though as Babe would remind me, subscriptions are always free (see below.) Ciao for now!

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This Loud Chick give Hillary a Kick

Hey kids, I’m back again. Enough of you like me so that the Master of this Domain has invited me back for another blurb. And, as a great lady once (many times?) said, “Can we talk?”

Hillary Clinton. I supported her. I marched for her. I voted for her. I thought I knew her. And then in her most important interview in years she sabotages me. Me, and you, and all of us who are sick of this “man of his word” Donald Trump.

Hillary, you say you don’t like Bernie Sanders. You say nobody likes Bernie Sanders. Maybe you think you lost the last election because of him (doubtful.) Fine, that is your opinion. Don’t you know that now is the time to keep it to yourself?

I’m sure not a Bernie Bro, or a Bernie Sis (is there such a thing?) but would support him if he were the Democratic candidate for President. But no one cares what I say. You, on the other hand, have national recognition and a national voice. Why use it now in any way that can hurt a potential Trump slayer? Are you looking for a brokered convention where your name could suddenly reappear? Geez, I sure hope not.

I know on the debate stage, the survivors take shots at each other. But once they leave the island (Harris, O’Rourke, Castro, et al.) have been keeping their mouth’s shut. Cruz and Rubio mastered the art in 2016. Why did you blow it four years later?

I know you have back-tracked and tweeted you would support any candidate against the Trumpster. Good for you, Madame Secretary. Get with the act, and maybe this time the Democrats can beat “the basket of deplorables.” And then I won’t care what you say about Bernie or President Amy or President Elizabeth.

Regular readers: If you miss Les, I am sure he will be back soon.

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I’m Anne U Phylaxis. Did I Shock You?

Hi there!

The dude who normally writes the blogs here is a friend of mine (long story) and he said I could write/vent in his place every once in a while. He made it clear it wouldn’t be too often unless you all just LUV me. It could happen, right?

A little about moi. First of all, yes, Anne U. Phylaxis is my real name. The “U” is pronounced UH. Do you think my parents, Paul and Margaret Phylaxis, were smoking some pre-legal weed (or maybe tripping on something a little stronger) when they gave me that tag? They tried to be more sensible with my younger brother, but it didn’t save him. Pops and Margie named him Robert, but everyone calls him Pro anyway. If you can’t figure out why I can’t conceive why you would read this blog. Get it?

I’m a 37-year-old city girl. Yes, the city is Chicago, but I’m not telling what part. A woman has to have her secrets. And yes, I am all woman. I know there is a drag queen with a similar name, but I am not him, or her, or whatever. Nothing fluid about my gender, just my relationships. I don’t think I will write about those here. By the time I got around to write about any particular pairing, it would probably be over. And old news is just old news. Last week I read a Facebook entry (yeah, I still use Facebook–lame) from an old dude ripping his ex-wife from 20 years ago. Let it rest man.

For the most part, I am woke or woken or just damn awake. I’ve got no problems with most people, except those who disagree with me in a nasty way. I have ink, but you’ll never see it–at least not here. Margie took me to a department store to get my ears pierced when I was little, maybe the usual master of this blog did the deed. No other unnaturally created holes. I have an aversion to needles: piercing or injecting. However, I am not an anti-vaxer. Talk about STOOPID!

So what am I going to write about? Things that bother me. Things I want to get off of my chest. Rants about the Philander-in-Chief until he is gone. Rants about the Dumbocrats until they can figure out how to get rid of him. Rants about bad movies and stupid social memes. It’s not gonna be a lovefest–no Woodstock Nation. But I am going to do my best to save the world, one occasional post at a time.

So if you want to hear more from me, add a comment here either at ChicagoNow or on Facebook. And share this post.

Or send me a note at anne.u.phylaxis@columnist.com. I’ll be waiting. And so will the good doctor.

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Happy Anniversary To Our Home On The Pond

Three years ago today, January 17, 2017, we moved into our new home.

Our financing was going to blow up after the 17th, so that was the deadline we set for the builder. Get us in by that date OR ELSE. They hustled the last few details, got us a temporary occupancy permit from the village (it helped that the town mayor lived a few doors down) and on that crisp winter day, we made the move. We never did figure out exactly what our “or else” would have been!

As with any new house, and especially with any new construction, there were “issues” to be worked out over the first few months after we moved in. Some were construction-related (resolved), some were more financial (never resolved). But spring came, our swans Harvey and Sheila reappeared on our pond, and we began to meet more of our neighbors. It took a while, but even Barb began to feel that this was home.

For me, this has been where I wanted to be right from the start. It has met our main objectives: downsized (slightly), closer to the I-294 (greatly), and with a first-floor master bedroom (joyously). We have the kitchen that almost mirrors the perfect kitchen in the old place, enough of an open concept that we were able to get everyone onto one long table for the family Seder, and the comfy-cozy office, which to my surprise is where Barb and I spend most of our time, streaming “The Crown” and “Ozark” while Barb needle-points and solves tough Sudoku and I blog and swear over challenging crossword puzzles. Yes, we are multitaskers.

There have been lots of good times here already. We have opened our home to celebrate Passovers and Father’s Days and New Year’s Eve. We inaugurated our annual Family Christmas Eve-Christmas Day Sleepover, have played round after round of Mahjong and served lots of chili con carne.

Sadly, this is also the home where we said goodbye to our beloved Max, who never quite adjusted to the move. His paw print memorial reminds us of how big and wonderful he was. And the place may not be the best investment we have ever made, but in this market, who still thinks of their home as an investment?

Barb has made her mark on the entire community. Her diligence on the Home Owners Association Board has brought beautification, safety and a sign for the times. I have been more in the background, an observer and a commentator.

So a toast to our home, our neighbors, our neighborhood. We hope you are as happy to have us as we are to have you. OR ELSE!

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Now We’re 64!

Hi Babe,

We were in our 20’s when we first met. Barely in our 20’s. We were each 21, legal for most things, and pretty advanced in our education, but really just kids.

We were living in adjoining dorms, in a neighborhood where people just didn’t hang out for the weekend. Yet there we both were, for reasons of our own, in the TV lounge on a Friday night in the winter of 1977. A holocaust denier was on the tube, leaving many of us aghast. Someone (was it Jeri?) introduced us and we talked a bit. The conversation had more gaps than a Nixon Watergate tape, but we still must have hit it off. A few weeks later we were dating–an ancient courting ritual that no longer seems to be practiced.

Remember our first date; watching a polo match at the old Chicago Armory? “What does someone wear to a polo match?” you asked your roommate. No more polo after that, even while Ralph Lauren’s horsey emblem became a staple in my wardrobe. On the other hand, we ended the evening with pizza at Gino’s East, something we would do on every anniversary for years to come.

By 22 we were married, and you dragged me kicking and screaming to the suburbs. Our first landlord interviewed me at a table by the backyard pool, a pseudo-Mafioso who wanted to know if I had the right stuff. He felt no need to interview you; women did what they were told. We stayed there a year. We made a few moves after that, but never again to a place with a swimming pool–or a gangster wannabe.

By the time our early 30’s rolled around we were mother and father of 2, but you no longer had either of your parents. Your mom’s most memorable words to me? “Barb can do anything.” She and your dad raised you that way.

The rest of our 30’s and all of our 40’s raced by–raising the kids and sending them off to college, our careers, the Women’s Board and the School Board. You were there for me when Mom had her terrible accident and when Dad passed away. And together we witnessed the tragedy of my sister’s fight with cancer.

Our fifties and early sixties (the new 30’s, right?) began with my move to UroPartners and sped on from there. We have enjoyed incredible travel around the world, incredible weddings for our kids and their wonderful spouses, and an incredible new house (Ok, I admit that the process of building that house was less than incredible. More like a nightmare. Blogs available on request.) And then we arrived at the best of all, becoming Nana and Baba. We have enjoyed our grandchildren’s first smiles, first laughs, first steps. And best of all, we can always give them back to their parents!

As of my birthday yesterday, we are both 64. Will you still need me? Will you still feed me? I hope so, ’cause much of the best is still to come.

Loving you for all your years,

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Now We’re 64!

Hi Babe,

We were in our 20’s when we first met. Barely in our 20’s. We were each 21, legal for most things, and pretty advanced in our education, but really just kids.

As of my birthday yesterday, we are both 64. Will you still need me? Will you still feed me? I hope so, ’cause much of the best is still to come.

Loving you for all your years,

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The Lab Rolls, Just Like The Rolling Stones

Want to see what our lab looks like? That’s it on the left. “What?” you say. Where are the pictures of the equipment and the smiling faces and the heads peering down microscopes? Sure, those are all interesting ways of showing the lab. But I was looking for something new.

Inspired by the timeline charts that Wikipedia uses to show the comings and goings of the various members of my favorite rock bands (did you know there have been 14 members of the Rolling Stones?) I decided to create a timeline for our laboratory, from its beginnings in 2005 to the dawn of the new decade.

The chart has one row for each employee, contractor, or consultant–a grand total of 67 people. One column for every year–21 of them now. Different colors for the different areas of the lab: pathologists in blue, histology in red, administrative in green, etc.

Each piece, each element, means something to me. I can compare the three colors when we started to the eight colors now, and see the natural evolution of the laboratory. New disciplines such as hematology and cytology have been added-and I will be searching for a new color when we add a molecular microbiology section later this year.

All those names in the left-hand column! I know they are too small to read in this blog, but when I look at a full-size version of the timeline (we keep one in the breakroom) I can read every name and I remember (almost) every person. There are two of us from the first days, the days when there was no lab but only a dream of one, who are still around. I have been saying “good morning” to a few others for almost as long. Two or three of our techs have come, gone, and returned–there are gaps in their personal timeline. Those are people who discovered there was no lab like their UroPartners home.

In all, we list 46 people who have left the lab for good. Many used the lab as a stepping stone to their career goals; doctors and nurses and pharmacists and super-coders. Some became supervisors in other laboratories. We are proud of them all.

Although it is true that a few staff members have left under less than optimal circumstances, that is a rarity. I have been happy to write letters of recommendation for the vast majority of our “leavers.” Sadly, we lost two of our valued employees to death–and I think of each of them almost every day when I walk down our corridors checking each department.

We do have a picture wall in the lab decorated with group shots from our annual Lab Week celebration. Most people consider those photos the best way to mark the passing years. But my left-side dominant brain likes the timeline chart. After all, if it works for The Stones it works for me. Who says I can’t get no satisfaction?

Happy New Year to all!

The above is the opinion of the author and not UroPartners LLC.

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