"The blog has made Glab into a hip town crier, commenting on everything from local politics and cultural happenings to national and international events, all rendered in a colorful, intelligent, working-class vernacular that owes some of its style to Glab’s Chicago-hometown heroes Studs Terkel and Mike Royko." — David Brent Johnson in Bloom Magazine
I got my first cell phone in the summer of 1997. At the time, I was one of the few who had one. Everybody, back then, had land lines. In fact, you weren’t even allowed to list a cell number as a contact on official documents or applications. The thinking went, if you didn’t have a land line you were either homeless or somehow deranged.
So, I’m not being Luddite here. Truth is, as far back as the mid-1980s, when I was starting out in the freelance writing racket I had the idea that there should be a teensy, battery-powered telephone that one could carry around at all times. See, I couldn’t stand the idea of sitting home all day long waiting for sources or editors to call me back. I wanted to be out and about and still able to catch important calls. I imagined that teensy phone to be something I could fit in my shirt pocket as I strolled down North Michigan Avenue, outside the Wrigley Building, on a sunny spring day.
I don’t need to tell you that my mid-’80s musing has become an early ’20s reality. Today, I know few people who still have land lines, mainly those who, shall we say, are d’un certain âge. Again, I’m not Ludd-y. Rather, I’ve been a seer, at least as far as mobile phone tech goes.
All this is preamble to an anecdote. I was bartending at Club Lago, working the lunch shift, in…, oh, I’d say the spring of 2002. The joint was packed, as always. I, of course, was behind the bar and Giancarlo, who with his brother Guido ran the place, was greeting customers at the door and seating them.
Giancarlo was always the most voluble character in any room, especially when the room was his own, literally. He had a wisecrack, a compliment, a philosophical observation for everyone who’d come in the door of his restaurant. This day, three guys, businessmen, judging by their dark suits and purposeful strides, entered Club Lago in a single file. Giancarlo asked, “How many?”
The first held up three fingers. He couldn’t talk, as he had a cell phone pressed to his ear. So did the guy behind him as well as the one behind him. Giancarlo planted his feet and put his hands on his hips. “Why,” he asked, almost dumbfounded, “are you guys together?”
The Apex of Mobile Technology, c. 2002.
Two of the three laughed. The two put their phones in their pockets. The third guy kept rambling into his device, his business clearly either that of a world renowned neurosurgeon advising another such practitioner, wrist deep in gray matter, in the nuances of microsurgery. Either that or he was a member of the US Air Force’s emergency response team and he was giving orders to a B-52 wing to cool its heels at its fail-safe point before turning it loose to incinerate a half dozen Russian cities. He hadn’t the time nor the inclination for laughter.
Anyway, I tell this story because I laughed deeply at the time and it endeared Giancarlo to me more than ever. Why, indeed were the three guys together, going out to lunch, if all they were going to be doing was yapping on the phone to three different people? It was ridiculous, right?
Only it’s de rigueur in the year 2022.
And, yeah, I’m old. But I swear to you, I’m not a Luddite. Not much, anyway.
“Touch a scientist and you touch a child.” — Ray Bradbury
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SAINT RONALD SPENT LIKE A DRUNKEN SAILOR
I love bits of info like this. Deep thinkers like Ted Nugent, Rush Limbaugh, and John Boehner all would have us believe Barack Obama’s the most profligate president when it comes to spending our hard-earned tax dollars.
Hah!
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It really was He Who Has Been Assumed Into Heaven. And our “socialist” Commander in Chief? He’s been the tightest with a buck over the last five decades.
Of course, these are mere facts. Facts, as we know, are meaningless to the electorate of this holy land.
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NAILS, 90
A contingent of Bleeding Heartland Rollergirls is gliding down to Bedford this AM to pay respects to Nails Parton.
“Nails” Parton
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Early roller derby tough gal Esther Eileen Parton, nee Nail (she incorporated her maiden name into her rink moniker), died Tuesday. She pitched the elbows up and down the eastern seaboard in the late ’30s and early 40s, back when women’s roller derby resembled more a marathon race than a series of short-burst, two-minute jams.
She became the BHRGs’ elder stateswomen superfan when this town’s girl gang was just getting started. For home bouts, the Rollergirls set Nails up with her own special easy chair behind suicide seating.
Bloomington’s skaters have sent a special flower arrangement for the funeral. It’s heavy on BHRG colors, and the vase has been implanted in a vintage roller skate. BTW: Nails and her fellow derby-ists wore wooden-wheel skates.
Delicate Flowers
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Speaking of wheels, dig those gams on Eileen. I bet that dame could move.
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BOOM-SHOCKALOCKA
Old Sol blew off a monster flare Thursday. Goddard Space Weather Lab geeks predict the gargantuan tongue of energy will hit the Earth today at 5:14pm, our time.
Burn, Baby, Burn
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If we’re awfully lucky and the skies clear, we may be able to see an aurora display late tonight and early tomorrow morning, thanks to the flare.
Astro-nuts say the flare — AKA, a Coronal Mass Ejection (CME) — erupted from a sunspot that directly faced the Earth at blast time, meaning our rock will get the full dose of solar wind, magnetic field, and an extreme ultraviolet radiation pulse when the plume hits.
Solar flare events can interfere with our planet’s electrical grid, GPS signals, and high-frequency radio communication. This CME isn’t expected to do appreciable damage.
BTW: Don’t pay any attention to New Agers and woo-woo enthusiasts who might claim the event will affect anything other than the electromagnetic spectrum here. But you’re too smart for that anyway, aren’t you?
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SUNSHINE SUPERMAN
By Donovan. It charted in late 1966 and early 1967. This vid features the album version of the song, complete with guitar solo.
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Electron Pencil event listings: Music, art, movies, lectures, parties, receptions, games, benefits, plays, meetings, fairs, conspiracies, rituals, etc.
◗ Hoosier National Forest — Archeological Dig open house, see excavated farmsteads of the German Ridge community; noon-4pm
◗ Stable Studios, Spencer — Bluegrass festival 2012: The Travelin’ McCoury’s, The White Lightning Boys, Rumpke Mountain Boys, Flatland Harmony Experiment, New Old Cavalry, the Stuttering Ducks, The Seratones; 1pm-midnight
The Rumpke Mountain Boys
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◗ Ivy Tech Waldron Center — Bloomington Storytelling Project, “The Shocks & Surprises,” true stories; 7pm
All this is preamble to an anecdote. I was bartending at Club Lago, working the lunch shift, in…, oh, I’d say the spring of 2002. The joint was packed, as always. I, of course, was behind the bar and Giancarlo, who with his brother Guido ran the place, was greeting customers at the door and seating them.
