Message, received

Are you a pastor?, I asked.

He paused, mindful no doubt of his response.

"No, I am an evangelist," he replied, a bit defensively.

Clearly, I thought. An evangelist with a boom box grade sound system that was entertaining drivers, and pedestrians, good for a smirk, or two, or an eye roll, but annoying neighbors, neighbors like me that don't have jobs to be at, or work from home, and are forced to listen to a man talking all afternoon about his savior at the top of his God giving lungs.

"Shut your window, then!" he told me, as if it was my fault that I am upset by him, as if he has a dozen satisfied parishioners up the street at the bus stop cheering him on, which he didn't, only exasperated stares, a few snickers, indie hipster kids taking pictures.

I don't know why, but being told to shut my window was the part in the conversation where I lost it. Doesn't evangelist James Brandy (his real last name, "spelled just like the stuff I don't drink anymore," he told me) know that it's finally cool enough to not have the window AC on, and that I was enjoying the breeze?

He didn't seem to have an objection to my wanting to enjoy the breeze, in fact, he seemed a bit taken aback by this detail, perhaps something small that he could relate to, and so the rest of the conversation was rather peaceful, and two way.

I discovered he is part of a street missionary ream, and covering five street corners over the summer. His home base is the Crusader Church, at 75th and Ashland. His assignment? Preach for two hours five days a week on various corners.

Do you have an email? I asked him, wondering if I could take his picture, and add him to a weekly newsletter that I work on, as technically he's been a part of the neighborhood this summer, albeit a transient one.

"I don't have email, but you can take my picture," he said. "Be sure to get my church in there."

By the time I got back upstairs, he was packing up his portable sound system.

Maybe James Brandy the Streetside Evangelist was done with his shift, or maybe he just wanted to be acknowledged by someone. Either way, the open air preaching was finally over, and I went back to the fiction book I am reading to distract from the future, full of equal parts possibility, and uncertainty, maybe a lot like Mr. Brandy's, too.

The day in pictures

Rather than shoot myself in the foot using words, I'll stick to images, as I'm less likely to delete photos than words.





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Sunday in Pictures

Maybe I should explain.. the first shot was the window of a closed nail salon.

S.O.S. from Leisureland

I've had two realizations over this past week. 1) I'm dating a Man of Leisure, and 2) It's possible I was a carny in a past life.

There is something about being at a fest, or fair, that puts me in this zone where anything is possible. Six dollars on three swings to see if you'll clear that massive pond using a golf ball as light as a whiffleball, and win us a shiny new Suburu? Sure, honey, get in line!! Be sure to stretch your arms first! $3 for a computerized analysis of my handwriting? The man manning the booth didn't care if I was offering to analyze his handwriting. His bored glaze just said to fork over the cash. He fed the sheet into his machine, punched some buttons, and a stream of cliches came out. MoL even snapped the moment on his iPhone, probably because I seemed so happy.

We are back from Summerfest, where I mostly came through on my promise of not blogging, or taking pictures, or checking email, or working on a neighborhood newsletter, or following the lives of friends, and peripherals on Facebook, or reading tarot cards as I do on most Wednesday nights.

MoL whom has the entire week off from work, and insists that, "Nobody in Chicago works during the summer," is annoyed with NBC for not airing Wimbledon this morning, forcing him to watch the tennis matches taped vs. live. This, outside of defrosting pork chops, is possibly all that's on MoL's mind at this very moment.

Am I envious of MoL's carefree, Judd Apatow-esque attitude toward life? Am I hoping that some of what he has will rub off on me? I am as neurotic as ever, on the floor next to the sectional couch, my laundry turning in his machine, typing away on his laptop, wondering why I am experiencing stress. Given my state of underemployment, this should be one of the best summers of my adult life. And, outside of the existential what-am-I--doing-with-my-life cloud, it is.

So, I guess I'll get back to Leisureland, and hanging with MoL, whom doesn't mess around when it comes to having a good time, a quality that I admire in him, and in others. There will be food, and fireworks tonight, maybe some board games, and a celebration of what makes our country great, which is its people, and our freedom. I'm also beginning to wonder if it's an 'Anything Goes/Whatever Works' attitude that makes us Americans stand out from the rest of the world, too. If that's the case, I need to get with the program. And, I'm trying... really.... Next week I'll check out job listings for carny workers, and maybe put my foot on the gas pedal, as soon as I figure out where I'm going. For now, I'm just saying - and feeling- a Happy Fourth.