Little Helper

Actually, he's not helping. He's everywhere I don't want him to be, and now being almost 1 a.m. with a meeting in the morning I am admitting defeat, and giving myself some slack on not getting as far along on the newsletter as I'd hoped due to Yom Kippur. I actually got a fair amount done in spurts between services, and the suburbs today, though for the most part I was unable to string a sentence together.

Last night during the storm around 2 or 3 a.m. I went to close a window, and gasped when I saw yet another humungous raccoon outside, and it's true, I read somewhere that they are getting bigger this year. The raccoon looked almost as big as my cat, and had a similar walk, and looked a lot how my cat looks in this photo. For a split second, as I was disorientated, I thought, "Did my cat get outside?!"

As I panicked, and realized my cat would not have such a bushy tail, I almost stepped on him. He was right by my feet. It's probably too late to rename him Shadow.

Put stones onto the dead, not lawsuits

Four out of five of a Chicago dentist's grandchildren married non Jews, and, as a result, none of the four will inherit any portion of the $250,000 set aside by their grandfather for each grandchild. The grandfather, who presumably stared into other people's mouths for who knows how long to save up such a fortune, and who worked in a field that has a high rate of suicide (well, actually The Straight Dope debunked that myth), declared in his will that his fortune will only be passed down to grandchildren that marry other Jews.

OK, a bit Archie Bunkerish, a lot narrow minded, something I'd never personally do, but at the end of the day it was his stipulation, and his money. He had every right to do whatever the f*ck he wanted with his money, just like his grandchildren had the right to marry whomever they wanted, hopefully for love, and not somebody else's money.

While it is Jewish tradition to put pebbles, and stones onto the gravestones of the deceased, I guess one area woman decided to slap a lawsuit onto her grandfather as well, and make a public case out of what should otherwise be a private family matter.

I'm surprised that Michele Feinberg Trull's case against her grandfather, well actually it was against her own father, the executor of the elder Feinberg's will, and the case's defendant, even made it to the Supreme Court, and I'm not surprised that she lost, either. Per this article, the court ruled in favor of dentist Max Feinberg's preference, which it deemed as a "beneficiary restriction clause."

I wonder if Michele Feinberg Trull will be celebrating the High Holidays with her immediate family, or if she will be munching on sour grapes somewhere. Either way, it's an interesting, and timely story on a highly debatable topic. I'm curious as to what others think about this case.

10% & rising, or a dinner table census

In response to being let go from American Apparel due to sweeping reforms adversely affecting longtime immigrant workers, and their employers (including my Pizza Hut neighbors), a now former American Apparel employee in the manufacturer's downtown Los Angeles 'sweatshop free' HQ wrote a letter, which was posted on the American Apparel site. The entire letter is heartfelt, however, the line that sticks out most, at least to me, is its last: "Our hopes and goals are gone but our faith is still very strong."

Unlike faith, goals are often dependent on other factors beyond one's control, like the economy, or job market, which some say is getting better, yet I cannot help but put a personal spin onto it, and look at the economies of the people in my immediate circle, aka family, and friends, like I did last night at a dinner in celebration of the Jewish New Year. The stories told around this dinner table were not tales of an economy getting better, but instead of a worsening one.

Despite this realization, however, there was plenty of laughter, and a good bit of faith crackling beneath the surface. Not necessarily faith in a higher power, or in the religious sense, but faith in our country, in our abilities to contribute to our communities, and to 'repackage' our skill sets, along with the faith in the value of family, and in relationships.


Five of the 12 adults gathered around the table, including myself, have officially lost full-time, salaried jobs within the past year. A sixth is on his second pay cut as a salaried worker. I am not good at math, but I am pretty sure we hover near 50% unemployment, and are well above the national average of 10%, which does not include the thousands upon thousands of recently laid off immigrant workers, and the millions of American that have fallen off the Dept. of Employment Security's radar upon exhaustion of their benefits. Are we just unlucky? Not good enough? Not smart enough? Not desirable in an employer's eyes? Or, are we just Average Americans? I'd like to think the latter.

We Are:

A CPS special education teacher with nearly 15 years of experience whom was let go after a new principal came to her north side school, and 'cleaned house' by firing, with just (but highly questionable cause) about 75% of the school's teachers. The now former teacher is embarking on a private tutoring career, and awaiting an early retirement settlement, only after which she can apply for inclusion into the growing pool of substitute teachers whom will ironically take the spots of the workers that replaced them when they go on vacation, or maternity leave.

A customer service worker with 11 year of experience whom was training a temp worker in his 20s this past spring. The 11 year worker was let go on June 1st, and the temp whom she was training, presumably to be an addition to her team, and not a replacement for her, was made a permanent employee on June 6th. Since then, the former customer service worker joined a temporary crew of 106 phone workers for a sports apparel company, and worked through the busy holiday season. Of the crew of 106, she is one of six that has been invited back as needed when the company is in a pinch, and she is on first call for this holiday season. This customer service worker's secret strength? To talk down irate customers on the phone, to listen to them, and as a result she routinely has few, if any calls requiring "escalation" to a manager.

An IT manager from a carpet company, which in response to lackluster sales let go of half of its IT workers, including him.

An administrative assistant at a travel booking company specializing in trade shows, and large scale events whom was let go along with many of her colleagues because of the sharp decline in corporate travel. She recently found a temp job through Craigslist, which begins next week.

An online advertising sales representative asked to leave shortly after her manager with 11 years of experience, an SVP, was more or less forced to resign. Her department, once autonomous, and somewhat different in function than the rest of the company, was integrated into another group, and the accounts that much of the team built up from cold calls were given to others. The person whom was reassigned the bulk of her accounts was the college roommate of one of the company's newly minted SVPs.

Of the others, the employed, you'd think there'd be sense of relief, but check out these experiences from the front lines of the Working World:

A CPA and owner of his own firm, with about three hundred clients, many of whom are in real estate. The CPA estmates that at least 25% of his clients have experienced considerable declines in their salaries over the past few years-- and he knows because he does their taxes-- with some declines as much as 200K per year down to 40K. Perhaps because these people can no longer afford therapy, they go to their trusted CPA, whom is frankly exhausted from hearing everyone's complaints, some of whom are wondering how they can pay mortgages, as well as pay him for their services. He told stories of very angry people, with valid gripes.

A preschool teacher's aide at a private school that is seeing a decline in enrollment, and potential loss of her job down the road because parents that are losing jobs are staying at home with their kids, and those that have experienced economic setbacks are leaving their children with family members, or less expensive daycare options.

A 20-something paralegal at a law firm that works very long hours, and does not have much of a life after work. She's recently been recruited to work extra projects on a team that needs a lot of help: corporate bankruptcy. She explained the difference between Chapter 11, and Chapter 7 to me, and then I suggested that she sign up for sketch writing classes. Sounds like she needs some comedy in her life!

A customer service rep for a real estate company that actually sounded happy with her job.

Ditto for another preschool teacher's aide that works in the suburbs of Milwaukee, and is about to take some time off for maternity leave.

A computer programmer that is extremely busy, but happy, which is a good thing considering there's a baby on the way.

I think I covered everyone.

As for faith, I still have it. I don't know why, but I do. And for now that's all I need, along with some sleep. Tomorrow is a new day, and I'm looking forward to it. Mostly.

Metal detector update

Back in April my uncle purchased a metal detector, and I wrote about it here. Tonight I caught up with him to see what kind of stuff he's been pulling out of the ground from area parks, and beaches on the weekends. He gave me one of the rings he found.

"This is the Mayor's Thing"

Ad spots on the radio, on the TV, on bus carrels, on building walls, and the dog, and pony "community forum" traveling shows just weren't enough, it's time to penetrate the Chicago 2016 Olympic vision into the earlobes of every single rider on the CTA #72 North Avenue bus at rush hour.

I'd heard an Olympic athlete testimonial when I attended a forum at DePaul University for residents of the 32nd Ward, hosted by Ald. Scott Waguespack. There was a tanned, hunky guy named Jeff, a kayaker from South Bend, Indiana sitting in a chair at the front of the air conditioned lecture hall. Jeff told us all that the Olympics changed his life, and he has forged lifelong friendships with people from dozens of countries.

Jeff's voice wasn't the last I'd heard from an Olympian, thanks to an undisclosed investment from Chicago 2016 which skirted the CTA's rules about businesses advertising on the CTA's intercoms, and managed to purchase A LOT of dedicated airspace. In-between the canned, automated voice announcing each bus stop, there was the trademarked "Let Friendship Shine" message, and first person testimonials from other athletes. Again, and again, and again. It was a long bus ride, or at least it felt very long.

Does Lori Healey, chair of the 2016 Committee, and a former Daley Chief of Staff whom left her post in 2008 to chair the Chicago 2016 Committee, ride the bus? I doubt it. Perhaps she is too busy helping to get an extra $20 million from the Chicago Park District that was pledged under the radar recently, for the purpose of building a canoe, and kayak slalom course intended to be a white water rafting park to promote tourism when the 17 days in the summer of 2016 are over, a rafting attraction that not even the Friends of the Park wants, or at least in healthier economic times maybe some people would want.

Call me a pessimist, but I have a hard time getting jazzed about what could be happening in our city in 2016 when the generously funded Olympic euphoria is eclipsed by the reality of what is happening right now. An increasing number of suburban, and urban poor cannot afford diapers, and to me this is the story that should be on everyone's mind. Per this Tribune story by writer Georgia Garvey, a pastor in the suburbs was holding an infant for a parishioner as they were at the food bank. The pastor, Jim Swarthout, noticed that the diaper was wet, and the woman replied that she can only afford two diapers each day, and that she wipes them, and puts them back on her infant. To compound matters, most of the people too poor to afford diapers do not have laundry machines, and most laundromats will not allow the washing of soiled cloth diapers. Daycare centers don't allow cloth diapers, either, and they can't be purchased using food stamps. Soiled diapers lead to infections, and skin rashes. Talk about a frightening entry into the world. In America? **

Under the suggestion of somebody whom saw my update on Facebook about being annoyed by the Olympics "messages" (that's how they got around it; it's a message, not an ad- as if there's a difference) I called #311, the city's nonemergency line at 9:23 a.m. this morning.

A very friendly Miss (or Ms.? ) Dabbs answered the call at 311. I introduced myself, and told Miss Dabbs that I am a rider of the CTA, and that I am one of the near 50% of Chicagoans not in support of the Olympic bid, and that I do not wish to hear the ads on the bus. Miss Dabbs told me gaily that she "likes the bus," but that she has not heard any messages. I asked her if she has any opinion on the Olympics. She gave a hearty laugh, and said, "I can't really say!"

Miss Dabbs was very helpful, though, and supplied both the telephone number of the CTA Administrative Offices (312-664-7200) as well as its address (567 West Lake Street)

When I called the CTA's Administrative Line, I spoke with Sherise, a Customer Service Rep working the phones in the CTA's office.

Sherise took down my bus number- #72, North Ave- and noted that they are taking all the complaints. She wouldn't tell me exactly how many complaints she's received, but something about her tone told me I'm definitely not the only one that has called in. There are 14 customer service reps in the office, she said when I inquired.

Like with Miss Dabbs, I asked Sherise if she has an opinion about the 2016 Olympics.

She refused to answer, and laughed it off, saying, "This is the mayor's thing. I don't know. We're taking all the complaints, though."

Do you ride the CTA? I asked Sherise.

"I do, but I have my iPod on," she replied.

(** Diaper drive, now through Dec. 31st. We're (hopefully) going to fill a local company's moving truck with diapers. More on this in next week's Pipeline eNewsletter. If you'd like to subscribe to the 1x weekly eNewsletter, sent via email only for now, with a focus on the Wicker Park Bucktown community, email streetsofwicker@hotmail.com with the message of "subscribe." Thanks)

Outside the Box

Today was a bit like Halloween. I played dress-up, and tried to be a normal person.

She showed me a slide with a bunch of boxes in it. Each box represents a different department. This box, she said, it should really be red, not white, because of X,Y,Z.

Oh, totally, yeah, red for sure.

And that box, the sales team, that's the box I'd be in.

And, what have I been doing with myself since I lost my job?

And, where do I see my career going?

And, am I familiar with CRM?

Hmmmm.... a neighborhood newsletter?

But no, it's something I can do outside of work. Yeah. I, uh, wrote the text for a photography book while working at a sales job, and planning a wedding, so I still plan on doing the newsletter if I got this amazing position that would require me to sell something for 40-plus hours each week that nobody is buying without a good degree of coaxing right now, in an industry that is suffering even more than other industries. I can do it.

No, no, no, I can't. That's what I thought later on after coming home. It's supposed to be my "unplugged day," but I logged in anyway, and there were at least 10 emails from readers of the newsletter in my inbox: corrections, stuff to mention for next week, three people that want to be subscribers, and other feedback that feels real to me.

The sterile interview room, the organizational departmental boxes, the bright elevator, the key cards hanging from pockets, the little bottled waters, the dry air... Though I've been there before, and that kind of world helped me save money, for which I'm grateful, this time around it wasn't real enough to make me want it bad enough.

Here's a few images from today. S. was parked on North Avenue, and stretching his muscles against the side of his cab when I walked up to him and asked if he was free. As I'd been running late I wasn't sure if I'd make it to the train in time, and figured better to cab it than to be late. It turns out S. has lower back problems, and just started driving a cab six weeks ago because the restaurant he'd been working at for many years abruptly closed. He has five children, wakes up at 3 a.m. to do yoga, and then goes to his cab.

Squirrel with Apple

Here is a shaky video, shot earlier today, of a squirrel, and an apple. From far away it looked like a tennis ball.

There are many facts at squirrels.org. This one was cool: An adult squirrel normally lives alone. But will, in severe cold, share its nest with other squirrels to conserve body heat. Once the temperature rises, the guests will be on their way.

Patterns

A long time ago, somebody pushed a button hard, having known exactly what my buttons are, and told me that I'm always going to be a drifter, that I'll always "bounce from job, to job, friends to friends," and that I'll "never have a career."

In some ways that is true, though if a career is code for "fulfillment," than at least I feel as if I've had that for the majority of my life, though it comes from writing, which I've been doing ever since I learned how to write, thus making assertions like "You'll never have a career" roll off me, though naturally at the time those words were spoken I wanted to jump off the nearest cliff. Because I believed them.

.... Now, I know that's not true. I am a writer that does other stuff, and I do not desire to be an SVP of sales, just to sell enough to get by, and have health insurance, and time to write. I'm going to defer to lyrics from a favorite song, sung by an endearing Japanese guy because the original version's embedding was disabled by request. Typical.


"Patterns" by Simon and Garfunkel

The night sets softly
With the hush of falling leaves,
Casting shivering shadows
On the houses through the trees,
And the light from a street lamp
Paints a pattern on my wall,
Like the pieces of a puzzle
Or a child's uneven scrawl.

Up a narrow flight of stairs
In a narrow little room,
As I lie upon my bed
In the early evening gloom.
Impaled on my wall
My eyes can dimly see
The pattern of my life
And the puzzle that is me.

From the moment of my birth
To the instant of my death,
There are patterns I must follow
Just as I must breathe each breath.
Like a rat in a maze
The path before me lies,
And the pattern never alters
Until the rat dies.

And the pattern still remains
On the wall where darkness fell,
And it's fitting that it should,
For in darkness I must dwell.
Like the color of my skin,
Or the day that I grow old,
My life is made of patterns
That can scarcely be controlled

The Creepy Bug and Even Creepier Album

My cat killed this bug, pictured. I am clueless as to what type of bug it is, and wonder if it's a centipede? A baby cockroach? Here is a shot of it in its last moments of life. Any help as to what kind of bug it is would be great. I am hoping it's harmless, and doesn't have a colony somewhere like ants.

The bug had crawled down the wall, and then behind my records, where I pushed them back a bit. Ironically it was crawling on the back of a live songs, and speeches from Nazi Germany album when Koji swiped the bug off, and batted it to death, though he did not eat it.

It's an eerie record, and while it might seem weird that I own it, as a Jew of Eastern European descent I also see it as an important piece of history, and a historical record, no pun intended. Having also forgotten that I own it until now, I am going to listen to it, as well as turn it down when I call this recruiter back. Lest she think I'm insane. If I were an HR person interviewing someone with a Nazi rally in the background I'd probably find a way to say goodbye fast.***

Mystery solved- a house centipede, harmless (http://lancaster.unl.edu/pest/images/CentipedeMillipede/housecnt.jpg)

Interview over- no Nazi music. Maybe The Swell Season.

Prolific, or Just Too Much Time on My Hands?

So, I decided to begin printing the weekly neighborhood eNewsletter, and make it available at a local cafe.

It's 11 pages.

Sadly, this was going to be a small holiday issue, with just a bit of news. I guess this is what happens when I get bored. What a testament to my lack of a real life! I think when I had a boyfriend I was averaging seven printed pages.

Max & The Fairy Godmother Card

I am not a fan of calling older people "cute," but "Max"* is one of those people that is just, well, cute.

He said I have permission to blog about him, though I'm not sure he knows what a blog is. He also told me last Wednesday at the free caffe de luca tarot night that I should go to the Oprah taping on Michigan Avenue today because "It would really be something to see." (I did not see the Oprah show, but I did work on the neighborhood eNewsletter all morning, and until just now. An editor is checking for mistakes since I usually make plenty of them.)

Also this past Wednesday "Max" updated me on some progress with a woman at the senior center. They've been rehearsing for a play together, and he informed me that he finally got her digits. He wanted to know what would happen next. I told him, like I say to everyone, that I do not know, or can predict the future, and that all I can do is interpret the literal meaning of the cards drawn. I also asked him what had happened with the other lady, the one he'd been trying to coordinate a date with for the better part of a year? Apparently there had been some frustration, miscommunication, and resentment over him taking the train all the way out to meet her, and then her not extending the common courtesy of picking him up at the station, and forcing him to walk a near mile with his cane. I concurred he should probably move on. What is it with women these days?!

Well, quite cheesily, Fred drew the Nine of Cups, which is like the Fairy godmother card, per my trusty reference book of choice, Power Tarot by Trish MacGregor, and Phyllis Vega. The nine of cups seriously means that whatever you wish for will come true. Really? Fred asked me. Really, I had replied.

So, I'm thinking if he wants things to work out, they probably will.

Speaking of trains, Max told me about his past few weeks. He had done something that I thought was pretty cool, and might even imitate. He had been to Carbondale, in southern Illinois at least 40 years ago, and figured it might be nice to get away, and visit the small town again. Recently laid off from many years of loyal service working as a security guard, he did not want to spend too much money on the vacation, either.

How much was the train ticket?, I asked him.

About $65 round trip, he told me, but added that for me it would be more.

"You're not a senior," he stated.

No, I guess I'm not.

And, it wasn't until I wrote this blog that I realized the woman that didn't pick him up at the station might be the no longer love interest in Carbondale, which is a further distance than Columbus, Ohio. Illinois is vertically a very big state, kind of like Abe Lincoln was as a person. Boo on her.

** Name, and photo altered.

Squirrels Can't Fly, Either

Dear, Smoky Salmon

You are
Thin, sliced, pink flesh**
melting beneath me,
It's love or hate,
with you, smoky salmon-
There are no 'in-between'
feelings, only
inspiration tinged
by my salt, the briny juice
I stew in, trapped inside a jar,
crammed among my people,
waiting to break free, to live
with you, atop a plate
sprinkled over your body
again, and again,
in yet another random cafe,
another dark booth,
how long we've been together,
I've lost count, we are so
perfect for each other,
oh the bat mitzvahs,
oh the weddings,
oh the shiva houses,
it's the way we go together
like salt, and pepper,
day, and night,
jews, and bagels,
that makes me know
we will always be
together, lox, and caper,
you pink, me green,
our colors as perfect
as our taste---
some call you
smoked salmon,
others roll you into sushi,
or label you "sashimi,"
yet in the dark of night
I breathe your name:
lox, lox, baby.

Love,
Your Loyal Caper(s)
** appeared on the caffe De Luca Facebook page, but I am sick of freaking out about the Olympics, and city politics here on GONE, so figured i need some lighter fare, like lox