I Collect Tees. How About You?

shirtsAre you a collector? Some people collect valuable things like stamps and coins. Some people collect trinkets from around the world, things like beer mugs or thimbles. Not me. I want things I can use, things with no value but the sentimental kind. I collect tee shirts and running shirts from wherever I can get my hands on them.

My closet has shelves and shelves of the colorful tops that make up my collection. A green tee from the Hawaiian islands shares space with a blue one from the Florida Keys on my “to be worn to the pool” shelf. An aqua tee from a fine Mexcian resort rests comfortably waiting for our next visit to Cabo. For sports-themed days at the lab I can pull out a Paulie Konerko or José Abreau White Sox tee, while psychedelic days have a couple of tie-dyed options.

But my running/work-out shirts are the heart of my collection. Short-sleeved tees, in cotton or some of the slicker sweat-wicking type of fabrics, dominate one wall. At least half of them are blue–a combination of UroPartners tops, spanning most of the 15 years here at the lab, and SeaBlue shirts from the annual UsToo Lincoln Park Run for prostate cancer support, education, and advocacy. (Yes, in a few months I will be asking you for a donation before this September’s run. Have your credit cards and checkbooks ready.)

Beyond all the blue, the variety starts. Shirts from multiple 4th of July 5K races in Lincolnshire, including a hideous neon green number. There’s a recent addition, a gray shirt from last year’s Labor Day Stampede in Buffalo Grove, where I powered down the homestretch like a buffalo myself, intent on maintaining my short lead on my daughter-in-law. A late kick I didn’t know I had.

A kick that also came in handy in some Northwestern University 4.1 mile “Runs for Walk” honoring their late football coach Randy Walker. Those are the source of my princely purple tees. Two other favorites are shirts picked up on our annual guys’ baseball trips: a blue Milwaukee Brewers shirt that made up for the massive traffic jam getting into the parking lot at Miller Park, and a gray and yellow Andrew McCutchen tee from Pittsburgh’s PNC Park, a beautiful stadium nestled along the  Allegheny River. Andrew doesn’t play there anymore, but I still like the shirt.

Various fitness centers are well represented. A pair from the Buffalo Grove Rec Center are joined by a gray Charter One shirt, and a marvelously soft bright orange tee from Lifestart Fitness, my current favorite Westchester spot for cardio after work. To round out the collection, there are a few shirts that I have gotten as gifts, a Nike “Just Do It” one always reminding me to give it my all.

For running in the cool of the evening, I have a few long-sleeved tees, memories of long ago 10K races in Highland Park. The last of those, the 2002 trot, ended with bananas and Carol’s Cookies at the finish line, and, oh yeah, two stress fractures in my right leg. No, I haven’t run a 10K since.

Over time and many workouts and washings, some of my favorites have just withered away. But as long as I keep on going, the shirts will keep on coming. They mean more to me than a thimble ever could.

So what do you collect? What means something to YOU?

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A Loud Lady Tells The World How To Beat Trump

anne-beat-trump

 

Hi, it’s Anne. Remember me?

I couldn’t watch either of the big events. No, I couldn’t watch him preen at his State of the Union address, though I did see the SloMo replay of Nancy shredding paper a few dozen times. And I couldn’t watch the impeachment farce vote. All that hypocrisy.

But what comes next? Along with the Iowa Caucus fiasco, the whole march to a never-going-to-convict impeachment reminded me of how clueless the Democratic party can be. Need more examples? Remember the Affordable Care Act rollout? Remember Hillary’s campaign?

My problem is that I agree with most of the ideals that the various parts of the Democratic Party support. Things like religious and sexual freedom from government interference. Things like available, affordable, health care. Things like a patched-up safety net, preferably one with some “bounce-back ” springs built in. Things like a belief in science. But how do we get there?

Here are this crazy lady’s suggestions to get Trump out of the White House before it is too late and we solidify the Age of Trump and his minions. You know who they are-President Ivanka, President Don Jr., President Barron.

 HOW TO BEAT TRUMP

  • Screw the long, drawn-out primary system this year. Iowa has already shown us what can go wrong. Get all the potential candidates in a back room and come up with ONE candidate who can win the key swing states. To me, it’s someone from the center, because this is the year to WIN, not the year to push a particular agenda.
  • Let everyone else withdraw from the primaries. Think of the money you can all save.
  • Inspire those looking toward a more revolutionary approach with a Vice-Presidential candidate that will be ready to lead in 4 or 8 years. Surely any drastic overhaul in our way of life can wait that long if it accomplishes deTrumpification in November.
  • Every Democratic leader, from the most northern Aleutian Island to the southern-most Florida Key, needs to offer strong support to the chosen candidate. No back-biting. No “It should have been me’s.” UNITE, UNITE, UNITE.
  • Mike Bloomberg, keep spending your millions. But spend them in support of the candidate of a united Democratic party, not yourself.
  • Mitt Romney, your “profile in courage” impeachment vote was a nice start, but you have so much more to do. Run for President on a third party. Any third party! It was rumored that you would do it in 2016. Now is the time. You have no chance to win, but you can be a spoiler, siphoning off the votes of any Republicans who haven’t lost their mind to Trump Nation. Be the Ralph Nader we need.
  • Get out the vote!

This may be my fantasy. But we can do this! Share the word!

Anne U Phylaxis borrows this blog from Les every once in a while. Write to her at anne.u.phylaxis@columnist.com

photo credit: cszar Say Aah via photopin (license)_

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Do You Know This Man?

who-is-this-manSometimes, when I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t fall back asleep, I run lists or floor plans through my semi-sedated brain. What was the address of every home I have ever lived in? What was the layout of the apartment my family moved to in 1963? What was the name of every First Lady in my lifetime?

Usually, I know the answer. It may be a hard-wired, obvious answer (Jackie Kennedy) and sometimes I have to ponder a bit (you could get to the front balcony  from either the door in my bedroom or climbing out the left living room window.) But I usually don’t stump myself.

That is, I didn’t stump myself until last night. My 2 a.m. puzzle was to remember every vice-presidential major party candidate from 1960-2016 (yes, my night time mind-rambles are very specific.) I was doing quite well, zooming through Miller and Humphrey and Edward. Gore was a no-brainer and so was Bush (H.W, who was Reagan’s VP; not W. who was no one’s VP.) The ladies, Ferraro and Palin, lit up my temporal lobe, although I had to kick out Tina Fey and Julia-Louis Dreyfuss as neither was ever really a candidate. A pity.

So what was it that finally tied my mind up in political knots? It turned out I had no idea, not a clue, as to who ran for vice-president in 2016 alongside Democratic presidential candidate Hillary Clinton. Yes, there was someone running for vice-president less than 4 years ago even less memorable than Mike Pence, the cipher from Indiana (or Dan Quayle, the other cipher from Indiana.)

Ladies and gentlemen, in case you have forgotten, the man who won the popular vote for VP in 2016 was (drum roll) Tim Kaine, Senator from Virginia. Admit it, you didn’t remember that either. Mr. Kaine has remained in the Senate, even winning re-election in his home state in 2018. But if he was on “I’ve Got a Secret” I bet he could stump the panel with his skeleton in the closet. “I was a vice-presidential candidate in 2016.”

It seems that in this, the Age of Trump, everything else fades into oblivion. One can only hope this age will fade soon, too.

A shout out to Andrea Eisen, who correctly answered last week’s trivia question. She correctly identified John Sebastian as the only artist to have a #1 Billboard hit in the 1970s with a TV theme song (Welcome Back from Welcome Back, Kotter.)

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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.

HFF

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?

babeIt 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

Two chicks with something to say.
Two chicks with something to say.

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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photo credit: cszar Say Aah via photopin (license)

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I’m Anne U Phylaxis. Did I Shock You?

Me after a rough night out!
Me after a rough night out!

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

Early morning in the kitchen.
Early morning in the kitchen.

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!

early-couple-largeHi 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,

Me

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