This Dining Dilemma Points To You. What would you do?

Wildfire, Lincolnshire. The place where it happened!

You have helped me negotiate modern ethics before. You all gave me permission to accept a prize for being a top fundraiser for the annual SEABlue Prostate Awareness run*. Barb appreciates the very high-powered cordless electric broom. So I am hoping you all can help me out one more time.

As COVID and its aftermath have collapsed everyone’s world our dining-out choices have become more limited. A quick perusal of my credit card charges confirms that about 90% of our dining-out dollars are spent at one or another of Lettuce Entertain You Enterprises’ many restaurants.

And that is OK with us. Wildfire has been one of our favorite restaurants for years. Di Pescara and Saranello’s are just minutes away for tempting fish and Italian fare. I even chose to celebrate my last birthday at L Woods, the Lettuce restaurant a short hop down the Eden’s Expressway. I considered it a tribute to my late parents, who loved Sunday family dinners at Bones, the LEYE restaurant that preceded L Woods in that Lincolnwood location.

And…drumroll…Lettuce Entertain You restaurants give points. Their Frequent Diner Club awards bonus points for every dollar spent. Sometimes special deals award double points or more. Points add up to dollars off future visits. I usually accumulate enough points for a few macadamia nut-crusted halibut and horseradish-crusted filet dinners a year. Yum.

Which leads to my social dilemma. Some dear Florida friends of ours are spending the summer in Chicago and invited us out for dinner. The little celebration was a thank-you for Barb’s assistance in setting up our friend’s Chicago residence. A second helpful couple was also invited.

Our host’s restaurant choice for the evening? Wildfire.

It was a lovely evening. And as our hosts paid the substantial bill, I realized that being out-of-towners, they were not Frequent Diner members. All I could think about was those potential points floating away into the kitchen miasma!

I knew Lettuce is usually very lenient about letting anyone in the dining party claim the points. I knew all I would have had to do to get those award dollars would have been to ask our hosts if they minded my putting in a claim. But… I froze–I couldn’t do it.

So my question to you, my knowledgable readers–if I had asked for the Frequent Diner points to be credited to my account, even though I did not pay for the meal, would have I been committing a major social faux-pas? Or would it have been absolutely fine after a relaxed dinner with great friends? Yes, I know it is a typical “first world problem.” But I want the answer!

Let me know your thoughts–leave a comment here, or email me at les.raff@post.com.

Your voices have spoken! Follow up here.

——————-

*more on this year’s run here.

Like what you read here? Add your name to our subscription list below. No spam, I promise! ___

#mc_embed_signup{background:#fff; clear:left; font:14px Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; }
/* Add your own MailChimp form style overrides in your site stylesheet or in this style block.
We recommend moving this block and the preceding CSS link to the HEAD of your HTML file. */

Subscribe to our mailing list

* indicates required

Email Address *

First Name

Last Name

//s3.amazonaws.com/downloads.mailchimp.com/js/mc-validate.js(function($) {window.fnames = new Array(); window.ftypes = new Array();fnames[0]=’EMAIL’;ftypes[0]=’email’;fnames[1]=’FNAME’;ftypes[1]=’text’;fnames[2]=’LNAME’;ftypes[2]=’text’;}(jQuery));var $mcj = jQuery.noConflict(true); ———————————–

Branson, Bezos, and I are Flying High

Fly me to the moon,
I want to join that great space race,
And since I’m not a billionaire
I’ll do it all with grace.
In other words, shoot me high.
In other words, let me fly.

Branson has the early lead
Jeff Bezos comes on strong
Where are Cook and Zuckerberg?
I guess it won’t be long.
In other words, it’s July.
In other words, earth good-bye.

Who cares what it costs
It’s only money after all,
Those guys have a ton of it.
Enough for the long haul.
In other words, satisfy.
In other words, don’t justify.

Soaring through the air
It really seems like so much fun.
Who cares what we leave behind
We’re heading for the sun.
In other words, I’m the guy.
In other words, let me try.

Fly me to the moon,
I think there’s just one hitch
I get really motion sick.
And altitudes a bitch.
In other words, with a sigh.
In other words, I won’t try.

Like what you read here? Add your name to our subscription list below. No spam, I promise! ___

Subscribe to our mailing list

* indicates required

Email Address *

First Name

Last Name

FACT: I DO Like the Beatles!

The most famous album cover of all time?

OK, boomers. I admit it. I blew it. I didn’t exactly diss the Beatles, I just said I couldn’t name a favorite song. Boy, did that piss some of you off!

I heard it from old friends, new friends, unaffiliated blog readers, and even my wife Barb, whom I thought only musically cared about Neil Diamond. “What do you mean you don’t like the Beatles????”

I do like the Beatles.

Fact: I have always preferred the Beatles to the Rolling Stones. Although I do love the Stones jam at the end of Can’t You Hear Me Knocking.

Fact: A Hard Day’s Night is right next to Goldfinger as my favorite movie of 1964.

Fact: I am not a CD collector but I do own one Beatles CD. In fact, the name of the CD is One. That’s only three less than the four U2 CDs I treasure.

Fact: Instead of watching Paul Konerko hit a grand slam in Game 2 of the White Sox sweep of the Astros in the 2005 World Series, I was sitting at a Paul McCartney concert in Milwaukee.

Fact: I saw Paul McCartney a second time, on a rainy evening at Wrigley Field. Believe me, it takes something special to get this Sox fan into the North Side’s Friendly Confines.

So I apologize to all of you Beatles ~~snowflakes~~ fans whom I might have offended. I promise to listen to Hey Jude, Yesterday, Eleanor Rigby, I Saw Her Standing There, and all the other songs you guys and gals recommended as the greatest Beatle song of all time. I am sure I will love each and every one of them.

As someone (I can’t remember who) once said, “in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.”

Like what you read here? Add your name to our subscription list below. No spam, I promise! ___

Subscribe to our mailing list

* indicates required

Email Address *

First Name

Last Name

I Have A Beatles Dilemma. How About You?

The Beatles in the early days. Photo courtesy Chicago Tribune.

Ask me what I think about the Beatles and I will give the standard answer of my generation. They are the greatest band that ever lived, they revolutionized music, they mean the world to me. OK boomer, now ask me which of their songs I would put on my all-time, continuos loop, soundtrack of my life music stream.

And that’s where the dilemma lies. From the harmonies of I Want to Hold Your Hand, through the opening chord of A Hard Days Night to the final yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah of The Long and Winding Road, I like a lot of Beatle songs, but I don’t love any of them. Sort of like my relationship to Superdawg french fries. I like them but I don’t love them.

It’s not the same with the other artists that are constantly playing on my radio in the lab or the Pandora station in my headphones at the fitness center. If I’ve got favorite bands, I’ve got favorite songs to go with them.

U2? The bang-bang-bang opening of the Joshua Tree album–Where the Streets Have No Name, I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For, and With or Without You introduced me to the band more than 30 years ago and have been my favorites ever since.

With Steely Dan, my favorite songs come from the end of their career, or at least the end of their career’s first chapter (I ignored the second chapter.) Aja, the title track of their 6th album, is sublimely mellow and mind-expanding and the same album’s Deacon Blue makes a wistful cry out to mid-life crises.

When Fleetwood Mac changed their personnel and music style in the mid-70’s they probably lost a few thousand fans but gained a few million more. It was that flip that led to Go Your Own Way, the best power-pop song of all time. And I love the more pensive Over My Head just as much. Easy to add to my jukebox of greats.

What Eagles songs are on that Love Those Songs jukebox? Give me the original Hotel California and then follow it up with the Hell Freezes Over version of…Hotel California. Sometimes you feel like acoustic, sometimes you don’t.

The longings of youth. Has anyone made them seem more desperate than Bruce Springsteen in Thunder Road or made them sound more fun than in the Boss’s Rosalita?

While Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon is my top-ranked album, I prefer not to think about individual songs from it — everything blends so seamlessly together. On the other hand, Wish You Were Here, the title cut and final track from the Floyd’s 1975 album stands alone as the perfect paean to loss of love, loss of a bandmate, loss of sanity. And the guitar solos in Comfortably Numb make me feel…comfortable.

But back to the Beatles. I am ok with the silly love songs, I enjoy the goofiness of Yellow Submarine and Octopuses Garden, and I can play air guitar to The End. But where is the song I could listen to over and over and over again? Where is their Hotel California? If Rocky Racoon put a gun to my head and made me choose one song, today it would be While My Guitar Gently Weeps. Tomorrow it would probably be something else. Like but never love.

And that is my dilemma with the Beatles.

Like (or love) what you read here? Add your name to our subscription list below. No spam, I promise! ___

Subscribe to our mailing list

* indicates required

Email Address *

First Name

Last Name

Tribune, Won’t You Make Me, Your New Columnist (with apologies to Janis Joplin)

“Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz”

Tribune, won’t you make me
Your new columnist.
The old ones are quitting
Or getting dismissed.
I’ll write for a dollar
You’ve got a tight fist.
Tribune, won’t you make me
Your new columnist.

Tribune, won’t you put me
Up on Page Two
John Kass used to get it
Until his miscue.
I’ll write real good headlines
I won’t stir the stew.
Tribune, won’t you put me
Up on Page Two.

Tribune, I can be your
New Schmich and your Zorn.
I’ll send a swell headshot
My page to adorn.
I’ll do lots of tweeting,
I won’t be a bore.
Tribune, I can be your
New Schmich and your Zorn.

Tribune, I don’t need my
Own office space.
I’ll write from my kitchen
It’s my favorite place.
I’ll write about music,
‘Bout health and ‘bout waste.
Tribune, I don’t need my
Own office space.

Tribune, I remember
When Royko was king.
He wrote about Daley,
It was his Boss thing.
I’ll write about Lightfoot
And go Pritzkering.
Tribune, I remember
When Royko was king.

Tribune, if you like me,
Just drop me a line.
I’ve done lots of blogging,
It’s finally my time.
You won’t last forever,
On Alden’s thin dime.
Tribune, if you like me,
Just drop me a line.

Like what you read here? Add your name to our subscription list below. No spam, I promise! ___

Subscribe to our mailing list

* indicates required

Email Address *

First Name

Last Name

Do You Remember These Chicago Name Changes?DuSable Drive will be just one more.

Chicago Name Changes. Photos Courtesy of Chicago Tribune

My family always called it the Outer Drive. As a five-year-old, I remember the traffic jam around the S-curve as my uncle swore his way to Hyde Park for a Passover Seder as the Palmolive Building beacon glowed on us.

Aliotta, Haynes, Jeremiah romanticized it and immortalized it–there ain’t no road just like it…slippin’ by on LSD.

And if it changes–if it becomes DuSable Drive, c’est la vie. I will learn to live with it. After all, it is not the first landmark in Chicagoland to endure a name change, and it will not be the last.

Here, in no particular order, are 10 more-or-less successful name changes in our history.

First, the boomerang: The above mentioned Palmolive Building was renamed Playboy Tower in 1965, but is back as Palmolive since about 2001.
The AON Building, that drab white tower downtown? It started life as the Standard Oil Building, and was AMOCO for awhile, too!
Guaranteed Rate Field, quite a mouthful, was originally New Comiskey Park, but is most fondly remembered as The Cell (U.S. Cellular Field,) home to the World Champion White Sox of 2005.
One exception to c’est la vie. Willis Tower will be Sears Tower FOREVER. ‘Nuf said.
Wonder why O’Hare International Airport’s designation is ORD? Goes back to humble origins as Orchard Field. Though shouldn’t that have made it ORC?
What exactly did Mayor Jane Byrne do to justify renaming the Circle Interchange as the Jane Byrne Interchange. Perhaps she could look down on the jammed junction during the month she “lived” in Cabrini-Green.
Northwestern University’s Dyche Stadium, named in perpetuity for the Dyche family, is now Ryan Field. Go ‘Cats!
Will Boystown really become Northalsted? I’m not betting on it.
Been to 875 N. Michigan Ave lately? What a naming comedown for the late John Hancock Building. Why not talk to Lin-Manuel Miranda and sell him the naming rights to Hamilton Tower?
Drive down Pulaski Avenue much. That was once Crawford, a name it retains as it goes through the northern suburbs.

Names come and go. I won’t fret about another name change in the City of Big Shoulders, Windy City, Second City. It’s how you live it, not what you call it.

Like what you read here? Add your name to our subscription list below. No spam, I promise! ___

Subscribe to our mailing list

* indicates required

Email Address *

First Name

Last Name

Every Bike Has a Story. What is Yours?

My first bicycle had two bald tires and one training wheel. Carlotta, our socialite neighbor, discovered it abandoned on Columbia Beach in Rogers Park and presented it to me as a special treat. I was a four-year-old tow-headed kid and it made my summer.

I’ve had about half a dozen bikes since that very first found-me-down. For the most part, I am just a casual rider. No long trips, no biking vacations, no daily use. I know I must have taken occasional bike rides with the kids, but have no memories of them.

The one exception to my limited riding was the spring of 1981 when I bike-commuted to my pathology residency — a ten-mile excursion from our townhouse in Niles to Evanston Hospital. But several flat tires and a low-speed bike-car collision that ended with me in the Skokie Valley Hospital Emergency Room of Skokie Valley Hospital put an end to that experiment after only a few months.

We were bike-free when we moved to our current Home on the Pond. When my 65th birthday “rolled” around Barb suggested I buy one. As many of you know, this was not the easiest task during the pandemic, with most bike stores vastly understocked and understaffed.

On a day off from work that we had designated as “Buy a Bike Day” Barb and I visited four local bike stores. None of the first three shops had a bicycle to try, buy, or be available before the end of the summer. But at the final store, a store closely affiliated with a bicycle manufacturer, we were told we could get a bike within about six weeks. Success!

The kid working the counter asked me how I planned on using the bike, took a few measurements, and using a formula based on the Pythagorean Theorem determined the appropriate model and size to order. We were set! And driving home that day I got the good news that the bike would be ready in three weeks instead of six. Even better!

The bike was available when we came back from our California vacation. We stopped in the shop to pay the final balance, buy a helmet, and arrange for delivery. I asked the sales clerk, another kid, for any bike maintenance tips but was told to just go and ride and have fun.

Since then, I have ridden the bike as expected — lots of trips around our Riverwoods neighborhood and a few careful rides through Deerfield. Some short jaunts with neighbors who share my riding patterns.

I have learned how to work the front wheel quick release and stuff the bike into the trunk of my sedan. Lots of friends have offered to go for slightly loner rides, and I supposed I would get to that too. In other words, I thought I was doing great. Until…

Last week I received an email from the shop telling me it was time to bring in the bike for a free check-up. I loaded the bike into the car and brought her in. I was sent by the kid at the counter to a severe-looking man with closely cropped hair and a Teutonic accent. This is how I recall our interaction.

“Why are you here?”
“I got an email saying to come in for a bike check.”
“How much have you ridden? Have you ridden hundreds of miles?”
“I-I-I don’t know. I haven’t been keeping track–but not that many. And the bike shudders when I shift gears.”
“Less than 50 miles? Then why are you here? Why did you buy a bicycle? It must be ridden. You should get up before the sun rises to ride. You should leave work an hour early every day so you have time to ride. You must do these things. You will be less tense. Now go out into the parking lot so I can watch how you ride.”

I took the bike out of his caress, put on my helmet, and rode a few laps around the edges of the tarmac. On my return to the shop entrance, I received the review.

“You don’t peddle hard enough, you are too lazy. And your tires are not inflated enough. Do you know anything? Come back when you have driven hundreds of miles. Now go!”

Does anyone want to buy a barely used bike? I will even throw in one training wheel.

Like what you read here? Add your name to our subscription list below. No spam, I promise! ___

Subscribe to our mailing list

* indicates required

Email Address *

First Name

Last Name

Write Something Nice Day — Here’s to you, Barb.

No, it isn’t Barb’s birthday or our anniversary. No special day in our relationship of 44 years. It just felt like a “Write Something Nice About Somebody Day,” and who better for me to write about than the person I know the best?

So here are 10 great things about Barb, in no particular order:

Barb has become a self-taught horticulturist of the first order. Her green thumbs (and most likely index fingers too!) have created a multitude of gorgeous flower explosions. Every view of our home — front, back, and side — pampers the eye with beauty. I think Barb recently joined the Chicago Botanic Garden just so she can teach them a thing or two.
No one is as thoughtful and successful in choosing presents as Barb. No detail of a gift recipient’s personality is ignored when choosing something that will perfectly compliment them. And the deed is not complete until the box is beautifully wrapped and a card that says just the right thing is selected.
Barb embroidered a special needlepoint canvas for me in 1978. It still hangs in my office. That talent lay dormant for many years, but more recently, Barb has created beautiful pieces that are framed on our walls, form pillows on our sofas, and adorn the homes of family and friends. Nothing pleases her as much as completing a piece that has taken her months to do –and shines in every detail.
If you are a critter, you want to live in Barb’s home. Her love of all creatures (stink bugs excepted) has helped provide a sanctuary for pooches from Murphy to Cooper, and cats from Jessie to Phoebe (aka Princess.) How many animal shelters have we visited around the country? And no vacation will ever replicate the thrill of our African Safari. Unless of course, we fulfill Barb’s dream of a gorilla expedition.
Perle Mesta was the original Hostess with the Mostest. Barb is her undeniable successor. Big event, small event, or no event, Barb knows how to throw a party. Great people, great food, perfect accessories. The pandemic gave us even more opportunities to share our home (at least the outside of it) with friends, and with the addition of a few heat lamps, she took advantage of it. And in Barb’s opinion, the party starts with the invitation. It has to be perfect, it needs to set the tone.
Talk about great food– Barb knows how to bring it. She has her classics but is always looking for something new — and rarely fails. Her Japanese Cole Slaw is a unique crowd-pleaser. It was a special mitzvah for Barb to recreate the recipe for my mother’s chocolate-covered pound cake at the request of our nephew. And I hear she mixes a good Cosmo, too!
Barb doesn’t shy away from a challenge. As part of the hardy group of souls who serve on our subdivision’s Home Owners Association, she works tirelessly to maintain a beautiful community while recognizing all points of view. Though Barb, I gotta tell ya, “it’s only a f**king sign!”
Although now officially retired, Barb is still the best hand therapist I know. The retinue of “Barbettes” she has trained through the years still serves in the community. And if you are a cashier, or a sales clerk, or just a woman on the street and you are wearing a hand splint, rest assured Barb will stop you, ask what the problem is, and offer some valuable advice.
Talk about loyal! Neil Diamond, meet fan #1. And Barb doesn’t care what show is on HGTV, she will watch it. Home Town, Love It or List It, My Lottery Dream Home, all have been on an endless loop on at least one of our TVs. not to mention those dreamy Property Brothers.
And of course, Barb puts up with me. My impending retirement, now visible in the Futuroscope, doesn’t seem to frighten her nearly as much as it frightens me. But I am confident that the best part of retirement will be getting to see even more of all the great qualities of my wife.

It’s good to have you, Babe.

Like what you read here? Add your name to our subscription list below. No spam, I promise!

Like what you read here? Add your name to our subscription list below. No spam, I promise! ___

Subscribe to our mailing list

* indicates required

Email Address *

First Name

Last Name

“Friends” Don’t Let Friends Skip Their Prostate-Specific Antigen (PSA) Test

There has been plenty of talk about the reunion of the Friends cast earlier this month. Maybe you were a fan of the show during its original run and wanted to see how the actors had aged, or maybe you discovered it online and wanted to see something new. In any case, it was good to see your friends hale and hearty.

But then news broke this week that James Michael Tyler has advanced (Stage 4) prostate cancer. You may remember that Mr. Tyler played Gunther, the Central Perk manager who appeared in more episodes of Friends than anyone other than the Big Six. Call him The Magnificent Seventh.

So as I do anytime the chance arises, I remind you, or your partner, or your father, brother, uncle, our second-cousin-twice-removed to please get screened for prostate cancer (PCa). PCa is by far the most common cancer diagnosed in men in the USA, and the second leading cause of male cancer death.

The Prostate Specific Antigen blood test is still the most common test used in prostate cancer screening. It isn’t perfect, there are false positives and false negatives, but it is inexpensive, readily available, and when used intelligently to guide the patient-physician relationship it is useful in alerting to the possibility of prostate cancer. And there are lots of other associated lab tests such as Free PSA and Prostate Health Index (PHI) that can help make blood testing more specific.

Suppose you and your doctor decide a diagnostic biopsy is needed. There are techniques now that greatly reduce post-biopsy infection, once the biggest risk of the biopsy procedure. MRI studies can increase accuracy by pointing out suspicious areas to sample. And pathologists are great at making the correct diagnosis.

And if you wind up told you have prostate cancer? Treatment options abound – including no treatment in certain situations. And as in other cancers, the ability to test your DNA for abnormalities in both your cancer cells and in your non-cancer cells have lead to new treatment paradigms as well as assessment of the risk of prostate cancer in other family members.

If you are Black, your risk for prostate cancer death is even higher. US Too, the Chicago-based organization fighting prostate cancer (I am on the Board of Directors) has launched The Black Men’s Prostate Cancer Initiative. Check it out.

To all my friends with prostate cancer (and there are many) keep fighting the good fight. To the rest of you, black, white, or brown, with a family history of prostate cancer or without one, get screened.

Mr. Tyler, thank you for this opportunity for me to speak out once again. I wish you the best, and know that you have lots and lots of Friends!

The above is the opinion of the author and not necessarily UroPartners LLC or US Too.

Like what you read here? Add your name to our subscription list below. No spam, I promise!

Subscribe to our mailing list

* indicates required Email Address * First Name Last Name

Two Mind-Bending Treats. No Drugs Involved

Anthony Hopkins in “The Father” and Vincent Van Gogh Self Portrait

Hallways expanding and contracting. Time looping back on itself, forward then back, the forward again. Faces changing, personalities slipping in the blink of an eye. Cicadas chirping as they cover a screen.

Barb and I weren’t chewing on gummies or ingesting magic mushrooms this weekend when our minds were warped out of shape, not once but twice. First, Friday evening we sat home and watched Anthony Hopkins Academy Award Winning performance in “The Father.” Then on Sunday morning we drove down the Tri-State Tollway and Kennedy Expressway to the Sandburg Village area where we experienced the twisty “Immersive Van Gogh” exhibit at the Germania Club/Lighthouse ArtSpace Chicago. Between the two, our heads will never be wired quite the same way.

In “The Father” Mr. Hopkins plays Anthony, an engineer, who along with his daughter (Olivia Colman) is dealing with (or not dealing with) his increasing dementia. It is the more thought-provoking of the two experiences.

Do you think Mr. Hopkins playing a similar role in the 2005 movie “Proof” where his mental illness is the source of friction between his renowned professor character and his equally brilliant daughter (Gwyneth Paltrow)?

Think again. In “The Father,” by scene two, everything you thought you knew or expected has changed. Is Olivia Coleman the daughter? Who are these other people? Why does the furniture keeping changing in the hallway? Will someone be going to Paris? And for what reason do some scenes keep repeating, the same, but not the same.

Slowly we realize our point of view is that of angry, frightened, and demented Anthony. And we are left to ask ourselves–is this what it feels like to suffer from dementia. I fear that it is.

****

We know Vincent Van Gogh suffered from an unclassifiable mental condition. But that is not what made the immersive Van Gogh exhibit so twisty. The filmmakers have created a 45-minute video, screened on the walls of 3 large exhibit halls. We sit on the floor, our heads swiveling to catch the entire experience.

In the first few minutes, black cicadas cover the screens. Then selected elements from Van Gogh’s paintings–here a face, there a sunflower, a chugging train–appear, vibrate, explode. Music, mostly classical, pours from surround sound speakers. The artist’s self-portraits stare at us. This is true immersion.

As our brains reach full pickling, the finale fills the screen — swirls from “A Starry Night” splashing like fireworks against the sky. The music crescendos, and then dazed, the crowd staggers for the exits. It is only as we all pour into the inevitable gift shop that normalcy returns.

Hopkins and Van Gogh gave us mind-blowing weekend–no hallucinogenics needed.

Like what you read here? Add your name to our subscription list below. No spam, I promise! ___

Subscribe to our mailing list

* indicates required

Email Address *

First Name

Last Name