Heading into the Weekend

Labor Day Weekend, the unofficial End of Summer. So soon?

It's been a really quick one, hasn't it? I've been busy enough not to have gotten to many of the things I would have liked to do: a trip to Boston or Seattle, biking every day, yoga, lots of cookouts on the deck, etc., etc. Oh well, I did launch a successful new website, and I did get to hang out with lots of cool people.

I'm hoping this Fall sees a bit of a slowdown in my obligations; it'd be nice to relax a bit, not have ten things to do every night.

So, what are you doing this weekend? Me, I'm cleaning the apartment, going to a wedding reception and a going-away party (separate events, those).

Bee Diversity

I've found myself interested in species dieversity lately. It started over the winter and spring, when I noticed the surprising variety of birds visible on my drive to and from work. There aren't many people out on the suburban streets during the day -- they're all at work, of course -- so birds are my "people-watching" opportunity. I see everything from hawks to swifts to herons and some sort of black egret-looking thing (gotta get a picture of those at some point).

Today after lunch, I noticed a patch of flowering plants. The plants were in the midst of an aggressive blossom, exploding with tight clusters of small fuschia flowers. The reason they got my attention was because, out of the corner of my eye, they seemed to be moving. On closer examination they were teaming with bees. I counted at least four distinct species, including honeybees, a bumble bee and a green-metallic sweat bee. There was also a tiny -- 5-10mm -- species flitting from blossom to blossom. I plan to take pictures tomorrow.

Doing a little research, I found a survey in Carlinville, Illinois, that revisits a turn-of-the-century bee survey. The more recent study found 140 species; the original survey documented 296.

Held Close

I was complaining about the phrase closely held, as in "closely held company," earlier today. It gets used often in financial media, such as the Wall Street Journal, seemingly as the opposite of publicly held.

I was complaining about this because it doesn't make logical sense -- "public" and "close" aren't opposites. If something is publicly held, wouldn't the opposite be privately held? If something is closely held, the opposite would be widely held, wouldn't it? There are plenty of examples of publicly traded companies that are owned by just a handful of shareholders. If I slept with my GE stock under my pillow every night, and kept it in my breast pocket every day, would it qualify as closely held?

Turns out closely held means "A corporation for which most of the voting stock is held by a small number of shareholders, but which is still publicly traded. These shares are generally not available to the public, and given the fact that there are few shareholders, the shares are usually very thinly traded." So closely held isn't a synonym for privately held, it means something else entirely. (Privately held, for the record, means that the company is not traded on the open market. It's the opposite of a public company.)

However, it's clear I'm not the only one for whom this distinction is not clear. Privately held companies are called closely held all the time, a prime example being Google; everyone from CNN to WSJ to TheStreet.com has referred to the search engine company as "closely held Google," while the company itself claims to be privately held. Can't be both, and I'm guessing the company is right. Which means some poor copy editing has been going on.

Auto Inflation

When Pete and I were kids, we played a game with our friends the Goodmans whenever we were in the car. We'd keep our eyes peeled for certain cars, and if we were the first to spot one we'd get points -- the value of each make/model depended on its rarity. The breakdown was something like this:

We'd play until we got to wherever we were going, and the kid with the highest score won that round (although sometimes we kept a running tally all day.)

I was thinking about this as I drove home recently, realizing that if I tried to play now I'd be well into the hundreds by the time I got home. If Lexus and Infiniti were included in the game (I don't remember if they were) I might hit a thousand.

Maybe it's just because of the towns I'm driving through, upscale berg after upscale berg, but there seems to be a proliferation of high-end automobiles. I pass dozens of Mercedes, scads of BMWs, armies of Lexi. I even see a Rolls Royce on a regular basis (same one, lives somewhere along Sheridan Road.) Does everyone just spend more on cars these days, or are the cars less expensive? I'm thinking it's a combination of both.

But boy, how boring for today's kids. I'd imagine the point scale has changed, with BMWs and Mercedes valued at only 5 points while Corvettes are up to 10 and Beetles are now worth what Porsches once were. After all, how often do you see a Punch Bug driving around these days?

Radio Again

OK, one last thing about radio and this will cease to be a blog about the airwaves. (Although you have to admit, it's been a little while since I last posted about the FM dial -- I've been holding it in.)

Did anyone catch Radiohead deejaying on Q101 Friday afternoon? It was incredible! The whole thing reminded me of the good old days of XRT, when their motto was "Everything, In No Particular Order," only mostly modern music. Bjork segued into classic reggae, which transitioned to The Roots, and then on to something else entirely. Charles Mingus and Lisa Germano shared the playlist with The Streets and Outkast and obscure electronica. One of the boys even threw on a downer of a poem (a eulogy for someone, spoken by an old British bloke over a chamber quartet) then apologized for such depressing "drive time" fare. And it was commercial free for over an hour!

I tell you, if there was a station that played such randomness all the time, I'd be a devoted listener, even through the commercials, just so it'd stay on the air. Sure, there are shows on a few radio stations nationwide that are like that, but they're mostly on college stations or tiny indies, and when the DJ's time is up it's back to the standard playlist. How great would it be if you never knew what would be on next? Wouldn't you tune in to find out? I'd be captivated.

Predictably, Q101 went right back to their usual formula of hard rock after they made up for the commerciallessness with five minutes of ads. If only they'd learn from the experiment! Hell, maybe they (or some other station) will just start giving bands blocks of airtime to play whatever they feel like. Or listeners, even. That'd be cool -- I'd sign up for my 15 minutes of DJ fame.

Date Night

Last night we went over to Brian's for a cookout, then on to The Mutiny to see Naz perform. Considering his normal calm, quiet demeanor, you'd never expect him to be the one in the band bouncing around, kicking over cymbols during the finale, ending up on the floor with his bass under his head. And yet there he was. Maybe it was the heat: 91° at 10pm is a bit much.

Tonight is date night. Cinnamon and I have had such a hectic schedule lately that we haven't really gotten out and had a date -- you know, going out (or staying in) alone, with no other group involved? It's been a couple weeks, at least.

The plan is to make dinner at home (which will necessitate going to the grocery store for a serious stocking-up) and then possibly going out somewhere. Maybe a movie, maybe something else, it kind of depends on what we feel like and what time it is.

Yawn

I haven't been sleeping well lately. Actually, it's not that -- I haven't been waking up well lately. My body would really like to be getting up at 9, 10, 10:30, rather than the much earlier hour it's being forced to rise. And of course I've been finding it difficult to fall asleep before 1am lately, even though I'm sleepy by 11:30.

It's messing with my moods. I've been ranging from flatly serious to quiet and zoney to testy, which I was this morning for no good reason. I almost wish I could go back to caffeine, but I don't want to become reliant on it again.

All I want to do at the moment is take a nap.

. . .

I'm picking up way late (in the blogosphere, anyway) on the 100 worst journalism "groaners." The list is basically a somewhat inflammatory way of saying "steer clear of cliches and jargon," but it has some merit. Unfortunately, if journalists were to avoid absolutely everything on the list, the news would be far more dry and literarily boring. Some of the entries -- "white stuff" for instance -- are used so as to not have to repeat the same word or phrase ("snow" in my example, or cocaine) over and over again. That's not to say the list isn't valid -- it would be a much more pleasant world if cliches and hyperbole were vanquished from the news. (It should be noted that the list is more aimed at broadcast reporting than print, although there are some examples of "reporter's shorthand" phrases in there.)

One thing I was surprised not to see on the list: "...sounded a ________ note." Usually the blank is filled with "more positive" or something similar. What, are they playing trumpet? It's much easier and no less interesting to say "...sounded more positive," or even "... was more optimistic." Simple and easy, everyone knows what you're talking about without the unnecessary metaphor.

(I feel the need to

(I feel the need to address the hordes of people who have come here from bluishorange. Obviously, me3dia is a bit different from Alison's site -- at the least, it's more scattered in terms of entry topics. Hopefully you'll enjoy it anyway. And by the way, regarding the books? Feel free to do this thing yourselves, amongst your friends. It's a really good way to learn more about people.)

More on PR

Ideally, a news release should be all a journalist needs to write a story. In fact, it should be able to be the story: the 100 percent "hit" is getting the news release in print as-is in a high-profile publication. Yes, it can be done. Not often, but it does happen. Read some of the articles about the Bush administration's War On Terror from the days just post 9/11 and compare them to the official announcements and you'll see what I mean

Of course, there aren't a whole lot of ideal situations in the world. Try as you might, your news release will most likely have some unanswered questions or unjournalistic elements. But in principle, the more information you include, the less a reporter has to dig for that information and therefore the more likely he or she is to use your release. This can work to your advantage in a couple of ways.

Good reporting contains more than one source, or so they teach in journalism school. If you include more than one source in your news release, you increase the likelihood that those will be the only sources quoted -- which means less chance for a dissenting voice to appear in the article.

Overall, you want to play upon the strongest of human states: apathy. Give them everything they need, within reason. Less is not more. Or rather, less is more: less work for the journalist is more coverage for your client. The less work the journalist has to do to report the story, the better, and that means a fully fleshed-out news release. What are they going to do with a one-quote release that only gives them a story idea, but not the story? File it if you're lucky, more likely toss it.

Furthermore, your media relations person must be briefed on the issues may come up regarding your company -- including and especially sensitive spots -- so he or she will know how to handle inquiries. Don't keep secrets from the person on the front line, or you're leaving him or her in a vulnerable position that could jeopardize his or her relationship with the media.

The Big Issues of My Workday:

We distributed a news release over Business Wire, and are preparing to send it out via mail to a few hundred industry reporters and editors. In the release, there is an obscure acronym, CRADA, which stands for cooperative research and development agreement. Unless you work with the DoD (Department of Defense, which is fond of obscure acronyms) you will not likely have heard of a CRADA, so in accordance with AP style we spelled it out then put the acronym in parentheses afterward on first reference.

Now here's the tricky part. When the release is single-spaced, the second reference (in which the acronym CRADA stands alone) comes on page 2 of the release; when formatted for mailing the release is double-spaced, putting the second reference on page 4. That's a really long interval to remember an obscure acronym, especially in a release with several other acronyms and abbreviations to keep track of. So, what to do?

Person A suggested we keep the acronym on second reference. Person B recommended spelling it out. I was on the fence about it, so I took it to the boss. His decision? Spell it out and restate the acronym in parentheses. Not very elegant, not AP style, but it's a preferable solution for clarity's sake.

Yep, we deal with the tough stuff like this, every day, so you don't have to. All part of the job.

Sex Machine? Not so much.

So, the show. The James Brown show. Wooh.

It was good. It wasn't great, but it was good. BET comedian Leon Rogers opened for the Godfather of Soul, and he knew his audience. The 80 percent white crowd laughed their heads off as he described enjoying karaoke because it meant he could sing his favorite songs -- '80s pop hits -- without getting thrown out of the 'hood. He wasn't good enough to distract us from the fact that the Godfather still wasn't on, but he did all right.

When James Brown finally walked onstage, after a solo instrumental from his backing band (at about 10:15), things finally got going. He jumped into his frenetic routine with expected fervor, screaming out to the crowd "Do you feeeel good?!" The band was excellent, and you could tell these were all consumate professionals. Every moment seemed choreographed.

He kept up a strong pace for about 20 minutes, at which point he seemed to run out of energy a little. He appeared to forget a song, opting instead to go jam on one of the three drumsets onstage. Very odd instrumentation: three drummers, three guitarists, a bassist, two saxes and a trumpet, plus a keyboard for James to doodle on occasionally. Shortly thereafter James introduced "Tanya Rae" (I think that was her name, it was a little hard to hear), whom he apparently met in Vegas. She sang a medley of crappy love songs, which were sort of duets without much actual dueting on Brown's part, and generally failed to impress. She finally got off stage and the Godfather sang a series of truncated versions of his bigger hits before launching into "Please, Please, Please" He lumbered to his knees twice during "Please" and the announcer came out and draped him with a green and then a red sequined cape, and of course he came launching back to the microphone, but it was a perfunctory act, done with precision and not a bit of feeling. A sprawling version of "Sex Machine," which lacked the spark of the original but had the crowd up and running nonetheless, served as the finale, and the Godfather left some of the lyrics to one of his underlings for a time.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the show. It was about how I expected, and I was satisfied. Overall, though, I feel my prediction is accurate: James Brown has the energy to do one, maybe two more tours, and that's it. There's a good chance he'll do more than that, but I don't think you'll want to see it. By then he'll have delegated all his singing duties to others and will just stand around, yelping "Hit meh!" and "D'you feel good?!" It'll be sad.

Like a Sex Machine

Tonight, with my good friend Mike, I will be seeing The Godfather of Soul, Mister James Brown, at the House of Blues. I do this knowing that it will surely be one of the last opportunities to see this man live in concert.

See, the Sex Machine is pushing 70, and you know life has not been kind to that body. Sure he can still get up offa that thang, but who knows when that fateful day comes that when he collapses on stage and his aides come out and wrap his cape around him and start to lead him offstage, it won't be just an act. It's coming, you know it is, and I want to see James Brown before that day happens.

If only so I can tell my kids, when we're watching The Blues Brothers, "See that man pretending to be a minister? I saw him live in concert. Yep. And you know what? His hair looked exactly like that, thirty years later."

G&T on the Membrane...

It's been a long time since I was at a party where the police came to quiet us down.

Over at Shylo and Phineas's place last night, a whole lotta bloggers (plus a few token non-bloggers) got together for some gin and tonics. Multitudes of interesting conversations on the porch and in the kitchen, which of course grew louder as the night wore on. I noticed flashlights near the gate below -- and sure enough two men in blue asked us to keep it down. It was 11:30, after all.

Among things discussed:
- The Warriors is ripe for a remake. (Turns out one is possibly on the way.)
- In Woodlawn Cemetary in Forest Park, there's a graveyard for victims of a circus train accident. Contrary to rumor, no elephants are buried there.
- Dolorous Canter is playing next Thursday at The Mutiny. You should go.
- Rainbow Bright cartoons are wrong, wrong, wrong!
- Jeff's hair was described as very "Hart to Hart."

It wasn't fun getting out of bed this morning, but I managed.

Onion Skins

(Bare with me, this is a fledgling idea:)

The Onion is killing satire, just as Saturday Night Live is killing/has killed improvisational comedy.

The Onion's formulaic "wacky" news has spawned all sorts of immitators. Everyone thinks they can write fake news articles -- even I've done them. The problem is this: they're usually not funny. Even The Onion isn't funny most of the time. The fake articles rely on hackneyed jokes, or one somewhat humorous premise pounded into submission through regular beatings like a dead horse. I don't usually read beyond the infographics and the page 2 briefs anymore, because I can predict what I'll find.

Once upon a time, when The Onion was a bright-eyed, bushy tailed young paper in Madison, Wisconsin, they dared to do some truly biting and/or bizarre satire of news reporting. "Man bites dog" stories with a twist, war reporting, celebrity-watch columns were skewered with special wit. Even the briefs were better back then.

There are, of course, exceptions. Their post-9/11 coverage, for instance. But you know I'm right. The Onion isn't very funny anymore. And neither are most of its copycats, because when you're copying something that's already a faded version of its former self, it gets really hard to read.

Cars.

I was into cars, once upon a time. I'm not talking Matchbox and Hot Wheels, here, although I liked those, too. My friends and I played with them for hours, and we'd take the beat-up ones out in the middle of the street from time to time and run them over with our bikes.

No, I'm talking full-size automobiles, the kind found in the pages of Car and Driver and Road & Track. I was a particular fan of European sports cars, and would eagerly discuss these fine, superexpensive cars with anyone willing to listen.

My overall favorites were, of course, the very limited production models. The Aston Martin DB series were an early fav, as well as the Porsche 916 (which differed from the sputtering 914 only in engine type and flared fenders, but I didn't care), the Lamborghini Countach and many other rare drives.

My friend Tim was also an avid enthusiast, but whereas he was interested in all aspects of a car, I was much more into styling than anything else. I wanted to design cars, not build and race them. So many of the cars I was into, Tim scoffed at. He could tell what was coming down the street by the rumble of its engine -- I only cared what it looked like. Oh well.

Those feelings have faded a bit. I'm still interested in car design, but I'm less impressed by the supercars and more impressed by little touches, like the curve of the rear door on the current VW Golf, the way it mirrors the curve of the rear wheel and hatch. And I'm willing to make concessions to usability and comfort, which of course take the Countach off my list of cool cars. I loved the New Beetle until I sat in it and realized it was built to look good but not necessarily feel good. I love the Mini and am this close to buying one, but the gas mileage isn't impressive, so I'm looking elsewhere -- when you drive more than 300 miles a week on average, 20mpg city tugs on the wallet a little more often than you'd like.

It pains me a bit that I'm probably not going to get the Mini. It's such a nice car, and I could actually park in all those half spaces lousy parkers leave all over my neighborhood ('cause they really need an extra two feet behind their car, and are willing to deprive someone else of a space to get it.)

But no, I'm going the economical, environmentally friendly route: once I sell the little black Golf, I'm getting a Civic Hybrid. Sigh. Maybe I can put some silly trim and a whale tail on it or something.

(The following was going to be a MetaFilter post, but someone beat me to it.)
WreckedExotics.com is the collision of two interests: exotic cars and accident voyeurism. The site showcases really expensive cars -- as well as trucks and police cars -- in varying levels of destruction. There's also a selection of crash art. "All in all, you'll find almost a quarter of a Billion Dollars worth of damage within this car crash collection."

Soda Sweet

Twenty years ago, the Coca-Cola Company began making Diet Coke with NutraSweet.

There were Coke machines in my high school. They were in the cafeteria and over by the gym, 60 cents a can. At one point, I realized that I was drinking a six-pack of Coke Classic a day while at school, then going home and having at least another glass sometime in the evening. Not to mention going to Yvette's and having a mocha or two. It's no wonder I stayed up late. I switched to Sprite my senior year, often refilling the can with water -- even in my overcaffeinated teenage state I recognized that all that soda couldn't be good for me.

At around that time, NutraSweet (a brand name for aspartame) was getting some negative coverage for causing cancer in lab rats. Since everyone was hysterical about the NutraSweet in diet soda, and with the added benefit of having a father who did a considerable amount of PR on the product, I did a report for English class (fulfilling a research paper assignment -- it's not like I did it for fun) reviewing the medical research that had been done on the topic.

It turns out that the research favored NutraSweet's claims of complete safety. The rats in the cancer study were fed nothing but aspartame; in order to proportionally match the amount of aspartame that was fed to the rats in order for them to develop cancer, an average human would have to consume 80 cans of diet soda a day for his or her entire life. Further studies have been unable to substantiate claims that NutraSweet causes headaches, seizures or any other health hazard (other than obesity in people who think "diet" sodas won't make them fat.)

The many anti-aspartame organizations out there point to a 1995 report from the FDA on complaints filed against aspartame claiming 92 symptoms attributed to the sweetener, often citing these complaints as evidence that the it's bad for you. One goes so far as to say "a car would be recalled for less." Well, that depends -- would a car be recalled because of unsubstantiated complaints that it made the driver "feel unreal"? That's one of the "symptoms" claimed on the list. The existance of a complaint is not the same as a confirmed symptom -- an FDA report on a sugar pill (as in placebo, not actual sugar) would likely contain a similar listing of symptoms such as headache and dizziness. The activists make a big deal out of the fact that nearly 10,000 people submitted complaints -- out of a nation of 280 million. That's less than a tenth of a percent of the population.

I'm not saying that some people may be affected by aspartame. Hell, there really are people who are allergic to dry paint. But to declare a product is unsafe based on the claims of that handful of people is to ignore the absolute safe use by millions -- billions at this point, in the case of aspartame.

Coffeeshop musings

(A nice unfocused, rambling post in the good olde style.)

So, I'm sitting here in Pause Café, taking advantage of their free wifi access. I look up, and over the door to the restroom is a nice painting -- of the Caribou Coffee at Broadway and Aldine. What's up with that? Why would a coffeeshop hang a painting of another coffeeshop? It's a nice painting, but still.

It's been awhile since I had the opportunity to hang out a café -- I only get to do it today because I had a client meeting downtown and decided to spend the rest of the day working on invoices, which I can do anywhere. It's like a working vacation!

It's kind of difficult to spend much time in a coffeeshop even now, since I don't really drink coffee anymore. Tea is my beverage of choice, herbal. Unfortunately, they're playing some annoying music -- Madonna's "Ray of Light," Sting's most recent one, on repeat. I may have to leave.

Radio, radio

My car's CD player is still dead, so I've been forced to listen to the radio. Much of my time is spent listening to NPR, but as previously noted, I'm getting a little sick of the same news over and over. So I've been switching stations quite a bit.

For the last year or so, my six preset buttons are programmed thusly:
1 = WBEZ (Chicago Public Radio)
2 = WNUR (Northwestern's college station)
3 = WLUW (Loyola's independent station)
4 = WXRT (XRT, a "AAA" format station)
5 = WJMK (Magic 104, oldies format)
6 = WZZN (The Zone, alternative/hard rock format)

I haven't listened to WNUR very much during that time, because they play free jazz in the morning -- atonal trumpet bleats and lopsided drum rhythms make me crabby -- and "aggressively indie" rock (you know, the type of music some people play in order to alienate other people?) in the afternoons. I'd listen to WLUW a lot more if their signal was stronger, but at around Lake-Cook Rd. the Milwaukee public radio station interferes. And just when I start to get a solid signal in the evening, their news program begins. So I've mainly been bouncing between XRT and The Zone. Neither of which I'm all that fond of anymore, but Zone plays "Nineties at Nine" in the mornings, which is nice. Magic 104 pretty much just got the shaft.

Then Cinnamon sent me a link to radio station playlists yesterday, and I decided to do a little research. I printed up the sample playlists from XRT and The Zone as well as two competitors, The Mix (WTMX) and Q101 (WKQX), and marked any songs that were played on more than one station. The results were, sadly, not all that surprising.

Out of the top 40 most played songs, The Zone and Q101 overlapped on half the playlist. In each station's top ten, six songs were played on the other -- though not the same six songs. The overlap between The Mix and XRT was less severe, with only five songs appearing on both playlists. Only one song appeared on more than two lists: Q101, The Mix and The Zone all played "Bring Me To Life" by Evanescence.

What did all this tell me? Well, first of all, they all suck, especially Q101 and The Zone. Way to differentiate yourselves, boys. Actually, based on the songs that didn't overlap between the two, I liked what Q101 was playing better. The downside is Mancow. So I kept The Zone on a button and replaced WNUR with Q101 for the drive home. And The Mix actually had a decent, er, mix of stuff, including some stuff I really like, so it replaced Magic 104 on button number five.

Just out of curiousity, I checked out the playlist for CD101 (WWCD), the Columbus station we reviled when I was at OSU. They played 15 songs that overlapped with one or more of the four Chicago stations, with the most (11) being played on Q101. And the majority of the songs that didn't overlap are from independent labels or smaller imprints of the majors, bands like Flaming Lips, Goldfrappe, The Roots and Fountains of Wayne. The most played song on CD101 is "Bandages" by Hot Hot Heat, which comes in at #15 on Q101's playlist and doesn't register on the other three.

Almost makes me wish I still lived in Columbus. Almost.

(Incidentally, all five of these stations are owned by different companies: XRT is owned by Infinity Broadcasting, The Mix is owned by Bonneville, Q101 is an Emmis Communications station, The Zone is owned by ABC Radio, and CD101 is owned by Ingleside Radio.)

The book I'll never write.

In chapter one, a grisly murder is described, in cleverly obfuscated detail, and the suspects are revealed. The narrative leads readers to suspect one suspect in particular despite the convenient alibi.

In chapter two, a crack private detective with a past and a drinking problem is assigned to the case. His assistant is a beautiful redhead with a smart mouth who's fond of balding rich men. The case had dragged her away from a date, and she's in no mood for the detective's half-hearted advances.

Chapter three contains recipes for casseroles: tuna, noodle and chicken.

Having left the snitch's apartment, chapter four finds our protagonists in a warehouse in Chinatown, digging through files for a clue that might unlock the mystery. Suddenly, a loud pop is heard, and the lights go out. Muffled screams, a tussle, and the lights come back on: the files are gone!

The detective gets an anonymous tip in the form of a matchbook slid under his office door in chapter five. The matches lead him to Fat Tony's Pastaria, where an infamous crime boss tells the detective that murder wasn't the only crime committed: several paintings were stolen, valued at millions of simollions. The victim was to sell them to him, and he wants them back. He offers the detective a handsome sum for their safe return; the P.I. accepts. And his assistant lands a date with the mobster.

Chapter eight is a lovely account of the 47th Annual Firefighters Ball of Fort Worth, Texas, submitted by Ms. Abigail Sinclaire, of the Dallas Sinclaires.

In chapter nine, the paintings are up for auction at Sotheby's, but the prime suspect is nowhere to be found. Though the paintings are offered anonymously, the detective scans the eyes of the crowd and spots a cousin of the victim, sweating mildly but with a gleam in his eye. The detective sends his assistant to flirt with him while he calls the mob boss.

Chapter ten: the cousing escapes, taking the redhead with him, but the detective is hot on his trail. The dragnet closes in.

Chapter 11 offers the gripping conclusion of the story, but not before extolling readers to pick up new Peptamint Cream, a minty alternative to all those other tooth powders. Try it today and smile like sunshine tomorrow! New Peptamint Cream! Available wherever dental products are sold.

Vacation Day

I'm running errands all day today, so go ahead without me. Check out the BlogStop post over on the right: it's going pretty well!

An experiment:

Acrimony!
Before breakfast!
Cats cannot cooperate.
Duo defy deep dreaming.
Each earnestly evokes egregious exasperation:
Furry fists flail furiously.
Good god, gato!
Halt harrassment!
I'mup.

Jesus.
Kick kitty,
look lively, lass.
Mountains made molehills --
Need normal, nocturnal Nermals.
Opinion of ordinary old owner of
Perplexing pipsqueak pied pirates:
quit quickly, quadrupeds!
Rest, relaxation,
Silence.

Two
Unrelentingly underfoot.
Vow: vex vixen.
What will work well?
X-communicate, x-pell, x-clude
Young yokels.
Zounds!

Chicagoland, America's funpark!

The Tribune published today its last section of its three-part "Unauthorized Suburbia," a biographical-ish look at what makes the suburbs so special. This one focuses on "do's and don't's; previous installments looked at suburban history and quirks. Read also the prequel/companion piece, "Unauthorized Chicago," a primer on this great city. Good reading all, full of interesting history and trivia about this place we call Chicagoland.

One of the articles from yesterday focused on Barrington, my home town, in all its incarnations. I often say Barrington is the only suburb I know that has suburbs of its own.

There are seven villages that make up Barrington, plus one "township" that acts as a catch-all for the bits of land in between and one pretender to the name. In addition to Barrington proper, there's North B. South B., Lake B., B. Hills, Deer Park and Tower Lakes. Cuba Township mops up the edges, and Port Barrington shares the zip code but isn't an official member of the club; it was only a couple years ago that it changed its name from Fox River Valley Gardens, after all.

Barrington High School draws kids from all these places (well, not Port Barrington -- they go to Wauconda) as well as parts of Carpentersville, Fox River Grove, Hoffman Estates and Inverness -- which used to be a stepchild of B'ton, which oversaw much of its municipal duties (police, fire, etc.) in cooperation with Palatine. (Interesting story about Inverness: its village hall is housed in what used to be one of Al Capone's .) So despite B'ton's reputation as a rich town, we had a wide range of incomes represented, from lower-middle class all the way up to filthy rich.

It was pretty odd growing up there. I moved there from Lake Zurich when I was 10, into an unincorporated neighborhood in Lake Barrington -- which meant I was officially in Cuba Township, according to the small red-and-white sign that said "Cuba Township Highway District" just inside the neighborhood entrance. There was a surprising amount of clashing between kids from different villages, but all that melted away in favor of solidarity as soon as we came up against kids from a neighboring town.

You see, the money gave Barrington a black eye when it came to sports, etc. -- we had a reputation for being "rich snobs" as far away as Fon du Lac, Wisconsin. Even the North Shore hates us, viewing us as "new money" or something thanks to the rivalry between BHS and New Trier. A friend of mine came back from her first semester at U of I with a story of someone asking why there weren't silver dollars in her penny loafers when it came out that she was a Barringtonite. I still catch evil eyes sometimes from people who don't like the town for some reason. It's silly, of course -- I live in Rogers Park now, so clearly I'm not pulling down the crazy cash that some of my hometown compatriots are, but the taint has followed me anyway.