Airports are fascinating places. Who are these people?. Where are they going and why? Men with suit bags paraded by. It being a Friday it was not unreasonable to assume that they are bound for weekend weddings, rental tuxedos in tow. Perhaps some were even the grooms themselves, heading home for the big day where friends and family are more prevalent. A young girl walks through the food court. A red bandana covers her hair. Her ensemble is completed by brightly colored striped knee socks and a long white lab coat. An attractive, heavily tattooed young man with close cropped bleach blond hair waits at the gate next to mine wearing bright red headphones. He is what is sometimes referred to by gym rats as a chicken. He possesses a thick, muscular upper body, his sleeveless tee shirt revealing powerful looking arms, supported by thin, undersized legs. A more evenly proportioned specimen strode past him, his strong arms also bared. Summer travel does have it's advantages for the voyueristically inclined among us.
I suppose these days one expect air travel to be a horrific experience. Not so this flight. Public transportation was reliable and efficient. Security lines moved quickly and boarding was uneventful. The wait for this last made more enjoyable due to the close proximity of the aforementioned males. There was a short delay taking off due to air traffic backing up over Minneapolis but if this was the worst that happened I considered the hand I had been dealt that morning more than fair.
As we taxied down the runway the glow of the rising sun created a beautiful backdrop to the silhouette of city skyline of the place where I have made my home. The metropolis I have grown to admire, love and respect.
As we neared Minneapolis the clouds resembled drifts of snow as we began our descent.
Friday, September 16, 2016
Minneapolis 2016 - Preamble
It was early. I mean really early. I mean the time I used to stagger home during my club kid days early. I was waiting outside an el station in the comfortable early morning late summer air for the first run of the day of the bus that would carry me on the next leg of my trip to the airport. I was Minneapolis bound to visit my nephew, his wife, I suppose she is my niece in law if such a designation exists, and grandniece. They are family, fortunately family so cool and fun I would hang out with them even if we didn't share a bloodline.
As I left that morning a small hare greeted me in the parking lot behind my apartment building. As I waited at the bus stop there was an odd bird call from a tree and a sizable rat dashed across the street. Chicago welcomes and harbors a large variety of wildlife.
As I left that morning a small hare greeted me in the parking lot behind my apartment building. As I waited at the bus stop there was an odd bird call from a tree and a sizable rat dashed across the street. Chicago welcomes and harbors a large variety of wildlife.
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
Taxicab Confessions Parts 3 and 4
Part #3
Chicago's winter cold is legendary. That does not however keep the weather hardened population indoors. So it happens that one evening on the way to a night of clubbing years ago I stood in freezing temperatures waiting for a bus. A cab drove up and the driver leaned across the passenger seat lowered the window and said, "It's too cold to be outside, hop in and I'll at least get you close to a bus. The ride's on me." Grateful for his generosity I got in.
As we rode along he asked me what I did. I explained that I, at that time, managed the men's underwear department at an internationally known upscale department store. He gave me a quick once over through the rear view mirror and asked "You gay?" I said yes, it being past the days when I would lie about such a thing. He grinned and said "You must love that job." I admitted that it did indeed have it's moments.
We came to a strip of bars and restaurants. I offered to get out so he could pick up a paying fare. Looking around he stated "None of these people need a cab" and continued to head forward. Eventually we caught up with a bus which would take me to my destination. I thanked the driver got out and hopped on the bus.
Thank you my anonymous cab driver for that warm ride on that cold night.
Part #4
Two of the numerous things I have learned during my lifetime are, If you want to make friends with a tattooed guy ask him about his ink. If you want to make friends with a buff guy talk to him about his workout routine.
I walked out of the hotel and eased into the back seat of the first cab in line, as hotel etiquette demands. The driver was cute and handsome at the same time, a rare combination. As I discovered shortly he was Romanian. His tee shirt was stretched tightly over an impressive torso. We began to talk and as is often the case with gym rats our conversation turned to our various fitness endeavors. He claimed, as his biceps bulged while turning the steering wheel. that he did not concentrate on weights focusing instead on cardio.
I came to the conclusion that he was either remarkably genetically gifted, or a really good fibber.
Cab rides are brief chance encounters. You never quite know what you're in for until you open the door. Sometimes it's just a ride, devoid of any interaction other than stating your destination and paying your fare. But every once in a while the ride becomes a story.
Chicago's winter cold is legendary. That does not however keep the weather hardened population indoors. So it happens that one evening on the way to a night of clubbing years ago I stood in freezing temperatures waiting for a bus. A cab drove up and the driver leaned across the passenger seat lowered the window and said, "It's too cold to be outside, hop in and I'll at least get you close to a bus. The ride's on me." Grateful for his generosity I got in.
As we rode along he asked me what I did. I explained that I, at that time, managed the men's underwear department at an internationally known upscale department store. He gave me a quick once over through the rear view mirror and asked "You gay?" I said yes, it being past the days when I would lie about such a thing. He grinned and said "You must love that job." I admitted that it did indeed have it's moments.
We came to a strip of bars and restaurants. I offered to get out so he could pick up a paying fare. Looking around he stated "None of these people need a cab" and continued to head forward. Eventually we caught up with a bus which would take me to my destination. I thanked the driver got out and hopped on the bus.
Thank you my anonymous cab driver for that warm ride on that cold night.
Part #4
Two of the numerous things I have learned during my lifetime are, If you want to make friends with a tattooed guy ask him about his ink. If you want to make friends with a buff guy talk to him about his workout routine.
I walked out of the hotel and eased into the back seat of the first cab in line, as hotel etiquette demands. The driver was cute and handsome at the same time, a rare combination. As I discovered shortly he was Romanian. His tee shirt was stretched tightly over an impressive torso. We began to talk and as is often the case with gym rats our conversation turned to our various fitness endeavors. He claimed, as his biceps bulged while turning the steering wheel. that he did not concentrate on weights focusing instead on cardio.
I came to the conclusion that he was either remarkably genetically gifted, or a really good fibber.
Cab rides are brief chance encounters. You never quite know what you're in for until you open the door. Sometimes it's just a ride, devoid of any interaction other than stating your destination and paying your fare. But every once in a while the ride becomes a story.
Taxicab Confessions Parts 1 and 2
Chicago is one of the few U.S. cities where cabs can be summoned by standing on the edge of the sidewalk and holding one's finger in the air. They pull up, you get in and are driven to your destination. A plain and simple act of vehicular commerce on which occasionally hangs a tale.
Part #1
I strode out of the club. A cab set waiting at the curb making it unnecessary for me to make the effort of sticking my finger in the air. As I climbed into the back seat the driver turned around slightly and inquired, "Is the music too loud?" Recognizing the soulful yelps and funky rhythms I replied "James Brown can't be too loud." The driver smiled and I began my journey home through the dark city streets. I don't remember how, but as we chatted the name of the late singer songwriter Laura Nyro came up. I had been introduced to her work by my roommate during my San Francisco days and have over the years collected several of her albums, which I still own. One however, her first, I have never been able to find, despite hours spent in used record stores pawing through bin after bin of vinyl. I mentioned this to the driver. As we came to a stoplight he quickly sifted thorough a box of cassettes, this was a number of years ago, and popped one into the dashboard player. The quirky, unmistakable, sometimes smooth, sometimes staccato voice of Laura Nyro filled the cab. As we pulled up to the dilapidated 6 flat that I called home at the time I attempted to pay and exit the cab. He insisted that I stay and listen to his 2 favorite tracks before I left. We sat in the car enjoying the music together before I paid the fare and left the cab.
I sometimes wonder if he recalls that short ride we shared that evening as I do.
Part #2
My mother had died and I had to travel to the Catskills to help my step father clear out the house and salvage what sentimental family mementos that I could. My mother was, to put it mildly, strong willed. The night she was cremated, as couple of days prior to my arrival, there was a violent thunder and lightening storm. My step father relayed to me how my sisters stood on the porch shooting photos as lightening strike after lightening strike lit up the sky. Schedules did not mesh and upon arriving I had to take a cab from the train station to my mother's home. The driver remarked on the storm, "Lived here my whole life and never seen anything like it" he told me. As my step father and I drove my sister to the airport in Albany we cane to a conclusion. My mother, strong willed even after passing, was, that night, taking her final bow.
In San Francisco, back in the early eighties, cabs, while not as plentiful as in Chicago, were still fairly easy to come by. Many, some nights it seemed as if all, were driven by the gay men that were ubiquitous there in those years. The money was good and drug testing was not yet in vogue. If your driver was chewing gum at a pace so rapid his jaws were a blur there was a good chance that he was speeding his brains out and you were in for a RIDE. I became accustomed to these adventurous sojourns however my mother, when she would visit, not so much. I remember her literally scream one night as we rounded a corner on two wheels before becoming slightly airborne as the cab descended the hill before us. Have you ever seen the car chase scene in the film Bullitt? On occasion a San Francisco cab ride was something like that.
Part #1
I strode out of the club. A cab set waiting at the curb making it unnecessary for me to make the effort of sticking my finger in the air. As I climbed into the back seat the driver turned around slightly and inquired, "Is the music too loud?" Recognizing the soulful yelps and funky rhythms I replied "James Brown can't be too loud." The driver smiled and I began my journey home through the dark city streets. I don't remember how, but as we chatted the name of the late singer songwriter Laura Nyro came up. I had been introduced to her work by my roommate during my San Francisco days and have over the years collected several of her albums, which I still own. One however, her first, I have never been able to find, despite hours spent in used record stores pawing through bin after bin of vinyl. I mentioned this to the driver. As we came to a stoplight he quickly sifted thorough a box of cassettes, this was a number of years ago, and popped one into the dashboard player. The quirky, unmistakable, sometimes smooth, sometimes staccato voice of Laura Nyro filled the cab. As we pulled up to the dilapidated 6 flat that I called home at the time I attempted to pay and exit the cab. He insisted that I stay and listen to his 2 favorite tracks before I left. We sat in the car enjoying the music together before I paid the fare and left the cab.
I sometimes wonder if he recalls that short ride we shared that evening as I do.
Part #2
My mother had died and I had to travel to the Catskills to help my step father clear out the house and salvage what sentimental family mementos that I could. My mother was, to put it mildly, strong willed. The night she was cremated, as couple of days prior to my arrival, there was a violent thunder and lightening storm. My step father relayed to me how my sisters stood on the porch shooting photos as lightening strike after lightening strike lit up the sky. Schedules did not mesh and upon arriving I had to take a cab from the train station to my mother's home. The driver remarked on the storm, "Lived here my whole life and never seen anything like it" he told me. As my step father and I drove my sister to the airport in Albany we cane to a conclusion. My mother, strong willed even after passing, was, that night, taking her final bow.
In San Francisco, back in the early eighties, cabs, while not as plentiful as in Chicago, were still fairly easy to come by. Many, some nights it seemed as if all, were driven by the gay men that were ubiquitous there in those years. The money was good and drug testing was not yet in vogue. If your driver was chewing gum at a pace so rapid his jaws were a blur there was a good chance that he was speeding his brains out and you were in for a RIDE. I became accustomed to these adventurous sojourns however my mother, when she would visit, not so much. I remember her literally scream one night as we rounded a corner on two wheels before becoming slightly airborne as the cab descended the hill before us. Have you ever seen the car chase scene in the film Bullitt? On occasion a San Francisco cab ride was something like that.
Saturday, May 21, 2016
My One and Only....Bears Game
It had been going on for a couple of months. One of my husband's clients were going to be out of town during the weekend of a Chicago Bears home game for which they had season tickets. On Sundays over the years, as well as occasional Mondays and Thursdays, I have begun to understand, in a general sense, American football, When I am not working we often watch at least a portion of the Bears games. We have even watched them in Jackson Hole and Puerto Rico. This client's absence would be an opportunity to see a game live in the stadium. Two obstacles stood in our way.
Obstacle #1: Would we be the recipient of the tickets? There were apparently several possible alternate choices.
Obstacle #2: Would I have that Sunday off or. were we to get the tickets, would someone have to take my place?
We got the tickets and due to me being firm and unwavering with my coworkers I had the Sunday off. Once we had the tickets in hand and I saw their face value I realized that this could very well be the one and only professional football game I would ever attend.
It had poured rain the during the week and the day before the game. That morning, however, promised to turn into the type of fall day one relishes. Bright sun, temperatures in the low to mid 60's, in short, glorious football weather. Brilliant leaves clung to the trees and formed a multi hued carpet on the ground in the parkland that lines Chicago;s lakefront. The sunlight accentuated the colors as our bus made it's way down Lakeshore Drive.
We had given ourselves extra time. Too many details could go awry. Erratic bus schedules, extra security once we got to the stadium, finding our seats. As always when one displays an excess of caution things could have not gone more smoothly. We stopped for coffee and a roll figuring that even the overpriced environs of Starbucks would be less expensive than buying food at the game.We enjoyed the downtown scene, which often borders on chaotic. As we exited Starbucks a woman. face pulled overly taut in a vain attempt to recapture her youthful looks entered with a man with a wrinkled visage and scruffy long hair. obviously unconcerned with recapturing his. A zydeco band played in a plaza as we continued to the stadium.
We went through the long line created by the stadium's tight security when we arrived. The columns of the original Soldier Field are visible from the ramps leading to the seats that wrap around the newer structure. Views of the city are framed between them .Our seats were midway up, just off the 50 yard line. We reveled in the beauty of the day, taking pictures with our phones and then posting them on Facebook. We cheered on the team and discovered what occurs during the commercials on t.v. Young men run out on the field with flags bearing the teams insignia, then run back to the sidelines again. We "made noise" as instructed by the megatron signs and had a generally wonderful time.
Sadly, despite a couple of excellent plays made by Jay Cutler, the type the consistently inconsistent quarterback is occasionally capable of, in the last few seconds of the game we lost. Ah well, it's only a game. We left with smiles on our faces having had a wonderful time on an incredibly beautiful early November day.
Obstacle #1: Would we be the recipient of the tickets? There were apparently several possible alternate choices.
Obstacle #2: Would I have that Sunday off or. were we to get the tickets, would someone have to take my place?
We got the tickets and due to me being firm and unwavering with my coworkers I had the Sunday off. Once we had the tickets in hand and I saw their face value I realized that this could very well be the one and only professional football game I would ever attend.
It had poured rain the during the week and the day before the game. That morning, however, promised to turn into the type of fall day one relishes. Bright sun, temperatures in the low to mid 60's, in short, glorious football weather. Brilliant leaves clung to the trees and formed a multi hued carpet on the ground in the parkland that lines Chicago;s lakefront. The sunlight accentuated the colors as our bus made it's way down Lakeshore Drive.
We had given ourselves extra time. Too many details could go awry. Erratic bus schedules, extra security once we got to the stadium, finding our seats. As always when one displays an excess of caution things could have not gone more smoothly. We stopped for coffee and a roll figuring that even the overpriced environs of Starbucks would be less expensive than buying food at the game.We enjoyed the downtown scene, which often borders on chaotic. As we exited Starbucks a woman. face pulled overly taut in a vain attempt to recapture her youthful looks entered with a man with a wrinkled visage and scruffy long hair. obviously unconcerned with recapturing his. A zydeco band played in a plaza as we continued to the stadium.
We went through the long line created by the stadium's tight security when we arrived. The columns of the original Soldier Field are visible from the ramps leading to the seats that wrap around the newer structure. Views of the city are framed between them .Our seats were midway up, just off the 50 yard line. We reveled in the beauty of the day, taking pictures with our phones and then posting them on Facebook. We cheered on the team and discovered what occurs during the commercials on t.v. Young men run out on the field with flags bearing the teams insignia, then run back to the sidelines again. We "made noise" as instructed by the megatron signs and had a generally wonderful time.
Sadly, despite a couple of excellent plays made by Jay Cutler, the type the consistently inconsistent quarterback is occasionally capable of, in the last few seconds of the game we lost. Ah well, it's only a game. We left with smiles on our faces having had a wonderful time on an incredibly beautiful early November day.
Friday, April 8, 2016
Guadalajara 2016 - A Few Words About Mexican Churches
No matter how impressive every Mexican church I have ever visited exudes a certain humility. Many European churches, as well as North American ones, seem designed to flaunt wealth. Mexican churches, by contrast, appear to be designed not to be showcases for what a church owns but to beautiful spaces in which to worship. In one the gilded altar was juxtaposed against humble carved wooden wainscoting along it's walls. Images of saints, instead of being sculpted marble are painted wood. Exquisite examples of folk art inspired by deep belief and faith. While true that some 16th century cathedrals in the Yucatan were built using stone from Mayan structures demolished by the Spaniards, when the people of Mexico took control of their faith they created interiors that spoke of humanity and humility, not greed, fear and a lust for power. The addition of electricity in the more venerable churches is evidenced by almost ubiquitous Murano glass chandeliers, but even these are glass. not crystal. While beautiful they provide light, they do not exude it. Mexican churches, even the most grand, are monuments to a people's faith not an affront to it.
Thursday, April 7, 2016
Guadalajara 2016 - The Light Fantastic
On Friday night I treated myself to the best meal of my trip. I chose a restaurant on the second floor of a building that stood on one side of the plaza in front of the Cathedral. My choice was made, for the most part, because from the menu at the entrance I discovered I could enjoy a glass of Chivas for the equivalent of $5.
The long windows of the restaurant afforded me a view of the plaza below from my table. Night had fallen as I descended the stairs after dinner. I was unprepared for the sight I experienced as I stepped outside. The fountain in the center of the plaza was flooded by spotlights which changed color, from bright red to brilliant blue to a deep orange, brilliant color after brilliant color illuminated the water. The cathedral was equally spectacular. The baroque elements of it's facade were highlighted and enhanced by bright golden lights. As I made my way back to the hotel I discovered the fountain in the plaza outside the university was lit in a similar way giving an almost carnival atmosphere to the evening.
I was determined to return the next night, phone in hand, to capture the sight. I have mentioned the hordes of people I encountered in Mexico's second largest city. On Saturday night these were multiplied several times over making the sidewalks feel like rush hour subway cars. Miraculously I managed to find enough space to shot a video of the cathedral fountain and buildings surrounding the plaza by walking in a small circle to capture a 360 degree view. A band played in an outdoor restaurant. A group of punks walked by donned in tight, torn, gaffitti covered clothing and sporting multiple piercings. I saw another wearing heavy eye makeup and a long leather trench coat waiting for his order in a Subway sandwich shop. A man was ranting into a mike about God knows what, a group of girls, wearing what appeared to be Quinceanera gowns hung out the sunroof of a hummer limo as it passed by in the street.
Just your typical Saturday night!
The long windows of the restaurant afforded me a view of the plaza below from my table. Night had fallen as I descended the stairs after dinner. I was unprepared for the sight I experienced as I stepped outside. The fountain in the center of the plaza was flooded by spotlights which changed color, from bright red to brilliant blue to a deep orange, brilliant color after brilliant color illuminated the water. The cathedral was equally spectacular. The baroque elements of it's facade were highlighted and enhanced by bright golden lights. As I made my way back to the hotel I discovered the fountain in the plaza outside the university was lit in a similar way giving an almost carnival atmosphere to the evening.
I was determined to return the next night, phone in hand, to capture the sight. I have mentioned the hordes of people I encountered in Mexico's second largest city. On Saturday night these were multiplied several times over making the sidewalks feel like rush hour subway cars. Miraculously I managed to find enough space to shot a video of the cathedral fountain and buildings surrounding the plaza by walking in a small circle to capture a 360 degree view. A band played in an outdoor restaurant. A group of punks walked by donned in tight, torn, gaffitti covered clothing and sporting multiple piercings. I saw another wearing heavy eye makeup and a long leather trench coat waiting for his order in a Subway sandwich shop. A man was ranting into a mike about God knows what, a group of girls, wearing what appeared to be Quinceanera gowns hung out the sunroof of a hummer limo as it passed by in the street.
Just your typical Saturday night!
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