Is This the America I Want?

Posted on 27/08/2012 by Grumpa Joe

Ten years ago, I read a book by a little known author named Dinesh D’Souza. The book is “What is so Great About America?” I know what is good about America because I live it, but I wanted the perspective of a young man who came to America from India. He had to learn what is good the hard way. In my mind, he would re-educate me on that which I take for granted.

D’Souza’s book did not disappoint me. He learned very quickly the basic reasons the people of the world admire America, and why some want to destroy us because of our success. I won’t get into the details of the book except to say the word “LIBERTY,” plays a huge role in why America is great.

Yesterday, Peggy and I met up with a group of friends at the AMC movie-theater for the 11:45 a.m. showing of a film titled “2016: Obama’s America.”  The movie is an excellent documentary based on D’Souza’s more recent book “The Roots of Obama’s Rage.”

Dinesh D’Souza is expert at unraveling Obama’s background from Obama’s book “Dreams From My Father,” and Obama’s flowery speeches designed to mask his true intentions.  Throughout the film D’Souza explains from where Obama derives his ideas. D’Souza then ices the cake by showing us how Obama’s actions comply exactly with his policies. There is no doubt left in the viewer’s mind that the stated policy and the action are congruent.

There are some amazing scenes in the movie taken in India and Africa, in villages where people live in extreme conditions. My mind’s eye saw these scenes evolving in Chicago, New York, Los Angeles, and every  city in America. It is not a pretty picture to imagine yet our current direction under Obama will lead us there.

D’Souza interviews Obama’s half brother George in Africa. George seemed like a nice man although somewhat shy about answering questions. George is the antithesis of Barack who answers questions endlessly as though his goal is to run out the clock. George answered in short concise phrases. George’s answer to one question in particular stayed with me. The question asked if Kenya was better off after it broke the colonial ties from Britain. George answered by citing other African countries like South Africa where whites have led longer, and who are better off than Kenya.  (I’m sorry George, but isn’t that a bit racist?)

Another policy exposed is Obama’s desire to level the USA with the rest of the world in nuclear weapons. D’Souza displays a map of the world showing the number of nuclear warheads Obama is leading us to. The revealing graphic showed Russia with 1500 and the USA with zero.  The Muslim countries had more nuclear weapons than America.

Near the end of the film we are sitting in a classroom full of first or second graders reciting and singing praises to Obama’s greatness.

The most shocking fact came near the end; a graph of the debt America will carry in the future. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to understand that so much debt will lead us into a standard of living equal to that of the hovels and tin shanty villages of India and Kenya.

After the movie we went to lunch where eight of us discussed the film and its messages. Some thought the movie was long others like myself thought it went like the speed of light. After our discussions I concluded those who thought it long leaned toward the hope and change concept.

If you care about America, you must see this film to learn for yourself  how Obama defines Hope and Change, then ask yourself is this the America I want?

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Anton Chekhov’s Three Sisters

Posted on 05/08/2012 by Grumpa Joe

Ora Jones as Olga in “Three Sisters”

This week our little theater group attended the last of a five play series titled “Three Sisters.” The play is by Russian playwright Anton Chekhov. Steppenwolf ensemble member Tracy Letts adapted the work for an American audience. The subscription this year featured stories that were in some way connected to war. All were very good, but two of them were outstanding. Three Sisters is one, the other was “The March” a story about the Civil War.

I’ve seen two Russian works in my life. The first an opera, and now this play. Both impressed me as being somewhat oppressive. The long cold winters in Russia must make people morose. I don’t recall the name of the opera anymore, but I do recall the ride home from the Lyric Opera House. It was an October night and Chicago experienced its first heavy snowfall. Being so early in the season, there were no plows to clear the roads. The leaves were still on the trees and the snow heavy and sticky. Tree limbs and whole trees came down from the weight. We made it home, but the memory of the opera is dim in contrast. I do remember the entire set being in black and white. The background setting for Three Sisters was in black and white.

Writers proclaim that plays by Chekhov were “born for ensemble.” Tracy Letts certainly gave us an adaptation that is perfect for the Steppenwolf ensemble. The story had moments of comedy, pathos, sorrow, longing, and life emotions. The actors became the characters and were quite believable in their roles.

If you get the chance to see this play do. My little theater group came a way rating “The Three Sisters” the best of the series.

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Technology, Ain’t it Great?

Posted on 13/01/2012 by Grumpa Joe

My heart got an unexpected workout this week. This is a long story so, pull up your chair and relax with your favorite beverage in hand.

Wednesday, was the day of our Steppenwolf subscription. The play we saw is Penelope, written by Irish play right Enda Walsh. At first, I thought that name was mis-spelled and should have read Edna. It wasn’t, the guy has a weird name. His name may explain this weird play. The story is based on Homer’s “Odyssey”. Imagine four guys clad in Speedos having a conversation for ninety-minutes.

The evening began with a smooth uneventful fifty minute drive with our friends. Unlike the last time when we were locked in a one-hundred-fifty minute traffic jam and just made it in time for the curtain. That night we dined on Sweet Miss Givings chocolate chip cookies. This night the traffic was light and the sky was clear, although the prediction was for snow. I parked the Death Star in the valet spot in front of Gianni’s Ristorante on Halstead Street; one of our favorite restaurants. I asked the valet to keep the car close by, as we would be bringing out left-over food and I wanted to store it in the trunk rather than carry it into the theater. He was gracious and said he would.

We met a third couple inside the restaurant and had a lovely time over a liesurely dinner. We left Gianni’s a half hour before the curtain. I asked the valet to open the car which he had parked in front. He took the bag, and I watched as he fumbled trying to open the trunk. He kept pushing the button on the key fob but nothing happened. I went to his rescue. I said, watch this. I held the fob in my hand and pushed the tiny, well concealed, button on the right tail light lens. Nothing happened, nada. “That’s strange,” I exclaimed. I went to the car door, the same thing happened. The key fob which is the miraculous technological wand with which I play “Open Sesame,”  stopped functioning. Luckily, Toyota thought this might happen and provided a conventional “key” to open the driver’s door manually. I showed the valet what I did and instructed him on how to start the car with a dead key fob. We crossed Halstead Street to Steppenwolf and  forgot about the incident. Before I left the Valet, I asked him to move the car to the other side of the street so we would be positioned for a fast getaway at the end of the show. Again, he graciously agreed to do so. I left him knowing full well that he could have major problems locking, opening, and starting the car.

The six of us suffered through Penelope and had some lively discussion about what the heck we saw. The third couple, agreed to stick around until they saw us safely underway in the Death Star. The suspense of not knowing if the car would start was killing me. As I stepped out of the theater, I searched Halstead looking for the white car. At first my view was blocked by other patrons leaving, then I spotted it. The valet started the engine while we walked toward it. He reported the key worked again, but stopped the next time they tried to use it.

The drive home went as quickly as the drive there. Our conversation about the play continued. All agreed that we didn’t understand a damn thing. I commented that the last time we saw a play we were baffled by, it too was by an Irish playwright. His name was Thomas Beckett. It must be the effect of the Irish whiskey being swilled in Irish pubs.

A new light appeared on my dashboard. A yellow icon of a key with a line through it indicated that the car did not see a key anywhere within range of it’s wirelss signal. The light stayed on during the entire drive. I kept praying the Death Star would remain running until we arrived.

Once we were home, I found my extra key fob and tested it with the car. It worked fine. The next morning, I bought a new battery for the fob and now the Death Star  is happy again, and so am I. The doors work, the trunk opens, and the motor starts, all by pushing buttons, but we still don’t have a clue about the message of Penelope.

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Sweet Miss Giving’s Cookie

Posted on 15/10/2011 by Grumpa Joe

I disagree with comments flashing around Facebook that 1% of Monsters consume 99% of cookies.

Grandma Peggy and I planned a beautiful evening out. We have theater subscriptions for Steppenwolf and had to reschedule our date from Wednesday to Thursday a week later. We did that because our theater date coincided with the funeral of a dear friend. Needless to say, the weather a week earlier was heavenly, warm and dry. The friends we usually go with reported the play was excellent and that we shouldn’t miss it.

The plan was to leave the house at four-thirty for the seven-thirty performance. We would valet park, dine at Gianni’s, and saunter across Halstead Street to Steppenwolf. We did leave at four-thirty. That was it for the plan. From that point on things went awry.

At forty-first street all traffic on the Dan Ryan stopped. Normally, we do not hit heavy traffic until the entrance to the last express lanes at twenty-second street. Traffic delays from twenty-second are more normal than the one we sat in Thursday.  It rained this time, and the line of semi-trucks looked like a railroad train from fortieth to the Loop.

The electronic sign at thirty-ninth said it would be twenty-seven minutes to Circle. (Chicago Circle Campus of the University of Illinois). Circle is at Roosevelt Road (twelfth street from thirty-ninth is twenty-seven blocks or roughly three and a half miles). Thirty minutes later, at twenty-second street, another electronic sign flashed “thirty minutes to Circle.” That didn’t sound so good.

Peggy and I had a wonderful conversation along the way as I watched the mpg indicator on the Death Star drop from 24.5 mpg to 22.5 mpg. We moved very slowly, so slowly that the speedometer needle never left the peg. I thought this jam would be the ideal scenario for the all-electric car. When you don’t move, it doesn’t matter if the electric can only travel forty miles on a charge. Although two and a half hours with head lights on would drain the battery too.

We finally, passed Madison Street, the geographic bisector of town. Traffic began to move north out of the loop at a light warping speed of ten miles per hour.

We pulled into the Steppenwolf parking lot a seven o’clock. Both of us made a mad dash to the rest room for relief. Once the pressure was off our mind the stomach growls kicked in.  We headed for the snack bar, where I spotted the cookies. Not just any cookie, these were Sweet Miss Giving’s Chocolate Chunk Cookies. I took two off the rack and waited in line to pay. “That’ll be six dollars please.”

Whoa, six bucks for two cookies! It didn’t matter I became the monster and Peggy was the monsterette.

I have to blog about this cookie, I told myself. I stuffed the empty package in my pocket.

The play was as great as our friends told us. I’ll write about it later. We left feeling pretty good about ourselves for having stayed awake for the entire performance, and we actually understood what was going on. Steppenwolf does, at times, present some weird stuff.

Our drive home took a sweet forty-eight minutes.

The following morning I read the label on the cookie package. No wonder these things were so good, one cookie is two servings for a total of five-hundred calories, but Sweet Miss Giving’s cookie made up for missing dinner at Trattoria Gianni’s, and the ridiculous two and a half hour drive.

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Spring Variety Show-1955

Posted on 07/06/2011 by Grumpa Joe
Homer's Barbershop Quartet

Image via Wikipedia


During Junior year at Mendel the announcement came about a special activity.  I signed up to be in a variety show.  Mendel Men and the girls from neighboring schools were the performers.  I really didn’t know what I was signing up for but I thought it would be fun.  Mister Schulp recruited students to come for try outs.  He organized a chorale group.  A bunch of boys showed up.  He asked each of us to sing a line to test our voices. For some strange reason, he chose me as one of the singers.

This activity created another reason for me to stay at school longer. On days when we rehearsed, and I had to work too, I rarely got home before nine p.m.  On singing only days, I made it home by seven to do homework.

We rehearsed singing in harmony. Until that time, I didn’t know harmony existed, nor could I read music.  I learned to like singing, but it was hard to stay on a line of notes when the guys next to me sang something different into my ear.

Mr. Schulp was patient, but kept pushing and training.  Eventually, we started to sound better. About a month before the performance, the show went into rehearsal at an auditorium west of Mendel down 111th Street.  The stage rehearsals were in the evening, and Dad let me drive the Green Hornet, to the rehearsals.

The chorale did several numbers, the last one being  a barbershop quartet.  That was my first experience with barber shop harmony. The chorale members wore suits with a white shirt and tie.  The barbershop quartet had to change into a red and white striped jacket and a straw hat for their number. My part in the show was short, but I stayed till the end of rehearsal to see all the performers.

Mom and Dad came to the show and enjoyed themselves.  The event was a big hit and a lot of fun.  I never sang in a group again after that experience.

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