The News From Oberlin, Ohio

Dear Blogger,
Everyone in Oberlin is asking me if my semester was worth it.
Here's my answer:
It was the most fun I've ever had at school and actually learned anything.

Steve

Weather Systems

Dear Blogger,
Here's my final shot of the city:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/20471837@N08/sets/72157603353662424/
I guess that's all we're gonna see of the city for now.

Go Green,
Steve

The White Elephant in the Room

Dear Blogger,
So I’m officially done in the city. All I have to do is leave tomorrow morning. I’m helping Kari get to the bus station so she can leave, and then I’m taking David’s WTFWJD hat to his co-op. And then I’m done with the Chicago Center.
I’ve taken the necessary goodbye photos of the apartment and my friends and the neighborhood.
We had a wrap-up session at the classroom today. It was really sad for me to go to. It’s been such a great time here. I want you to know that.
They asked us questions about what happened to us while we were here. Some people told funny stories about riding the CTA, and the people told touching stories about their internships, and we saw the student teachers that we hadn't seen since September, and we all said what we thought the experience meant for us. I said that I learned so much and that I barely scratched the surface of anything I saw. All kinds of surfaces that I might not have been able to scratch in Albion. And I got to spend time with a group of people that want to learn the same things I do. And that I love the people here, the people in the Chicago Center and at Haymarket Co-op and in Hyde Park, and the people in Oberlin and the people in Albion and the people in Ohio, and the people at the BPFNA, too.
It all just kind of comes out at once, y’know?
Ani and I were talking about this on the way home from the center. There’s a lot more we could have done, but we realized we didn’t do some of those things because we didn’t have the time. I did some great things while I was here. And there’s always next time, right?
I just have to leave and go back to Oberlin. And post my final photo album, post a few more things for you here and there, and then it’s all over.
So pay attention for a little longer, please.

Congratulations,

Steve

Nearly There...

Dear Blogger,
I gave my presentation, officially titled as The Last Garden Spot in Chicago: Civil Rights and American Nazis Come to Marquette Park, today. What a wordy title.
It went really well, as far as any presentation that I can give can go. The time slot was cut back from 30 minutes to 20, which was okay. I just talked faster, (which I cannot do unless I’m under pressure, which is weird. But we had thirteen people presenting—so if we’d kept it to thirty minutes, that’s around seven hours. We kept it to six, with lunch and a few breaks here and there), and I cut out some of the more fancy-hey-lookit-me-I-did-extra-research details.
And for those of you that are interested, I cut out the part about the interplay between class and race, for the most part. I alluded to it, but we have to remember that I was only giving a thirty (twenty) minute presentation. Race & class are pretty complicated stuff, and I’d only create more questions than answers, so I avoided it. (And when I was putting together the Power Point, I kept creating more and more slides... it was more trouble than it was worth.) Though, I did keep the idea of the internalization of racial boundaries and the overall impact these two groups had on one another, and, more importantly, Marquette Park. Fascinating stuff.
It was a great project to work on. I enjoyed the topic, I loved working on it, I formed a close relationship with my teacher Leesa (she wrote her masters about community organizing in the Southwest… truly a great resource), I uncovered some kind of scary and weird stuff about how people act, and I re-interested myself in learning at school. And possibly some ideas for FURSCA, if I’m still thinking about that.
And it’s finished!
I’m finished.
And here we are.
But there’s more to come. I still have to say goodbye to these people and the city. It’s not going to be fun at all. Everyone’s leaving on Wednesday.

Goodbye Friends,

Steve

ps- if you want to know more about my directed study, as there is still more, just let me know.

Goodbye, Sunlight

Dear Blogger,

Today was my last day at work. I can't believe it! Where did the time go?

The question everyone is asking: did you enjoy it?For the most part, yes, I did enjoy it. In a strange way, I really did. I think it really comes down to the kids. Those kids.

I've certainly gotten over my bitterness that you may have picked up on, during the early parts of the semester. In a program like the Chicago Center, I think that the limits of the program are pretty clearly the limits of the individual student. Everything we do here, we get guideline from our teacher, and then we have to get our own crap done. (Some people don't like this, but I really appreciate the complete necessity of imagination to learn.) So in this respect, I'm still a little disappointed with my internship, but in reality, I'm secretly (no longer secretly) angry that I didn't take the internship search more seriously and look into the other options I had.

But like I said the first time, I really did like the program, so in the end, I'm glad I got stuck in Sunlight. And more importantly, I'm no longer disappointed with myself for not being able to escape that place and going somewhere else.It's a skill, I think, to take something that completely sucks and doesn't take you the way you want it to take you, and so, you have to take it wherever you want. That's stupid when I say it out loud. (Who wrote this? Dr. Seuss?)

That having been said, what was the best part?I guess I could say the kids. But I don't know what part of that's true, really. I mean to say, I don't hate any of them. I could never say that, because it wouldn't be true... they did all sign a gigantic card for me and quite a few of them were sad to say goodbye to me. And some of the younger kids didn't seem to understand that I was probably never going to see them again. (It's strange, because I remember thinking this from when I was younger, but I think it's hard for young children to separate that the people they associate with school aren't always part of the school. For example, one kid was talking to me about something that happened on Friday, something involving pizza, I think. I was never there on a Friday, and I told him so, but he didn't quite understand that I only exist there for three days a week. It's very strange.)
I was talking to my teacher, Leesa, about this. It seems like I put myself through a lot of stress that wasn't necessarily worth anything in the end. I had to keep fifteen-or-so kids from destroying one another for forty minutes. I liked helping the kids with their homework and hanging out with them, but I keep coming back to the stress. It just seems like we, the tutors, kept pushing the kids on one another when we got sick of them. And I feel terrible saying it, but the kids were a lot of stress a lot of the time.

But why?

We were the ones keeping them in that room. We were the ones telling them to sit down for four hours. Was it our fault that they were misbehaving? I'm asking myself, right now, what exactly were we trying to accomplish? This is the curse of social work that I'm going to spend the rest of my academic life trying to escape.I guess in a round-about way, I've vaguely answered the question that it was a good experience for me. But it's a vague answer. I don't want to leave such an important storyline from my time here as unanswered. So I will tell you this: I have an immense amount of respect for Ahmad. For every ounce of sweat I dropped, he dropped three ounces. And for every hour I spent in that room, he spent four trying to make up for Ruphina's shortcomings as a boss. That's a good guy, right there. I respect him.

Wizard People, Dear Reader,

Steve

FAKER!

Dear Blogger,
I've got another photo album for you!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/20471837@N08/sets/72157603313465261/
It's what happens when the hippies go crazy in 1968, and Mayor Daley doesn't know what else to call you. This is the shortest set yet, but I've got a few more tricks up my sleeve, okay?
I'm Chevy Chase And You're Not,
Steve

Chicago Nazis

Dear Blogger,
I recently watched a video called Chicago Nazis, a straight-up single-camera documentary about the Nazis in Marquette Park. Two guys just followed the Nazis around while they were preparing for some demonstrations. It's one of those gut-wrenching, ohmigod-these-people-are-terrfying-and-they-are-just-normal-people sort of things.
It is probably the best resource I've had on the Nazis so far, at least, in giving a good record of what they were like, and what drove them to by who they were.
But I also found some good YouTube videos that were helpful. For some reason, I can't embed these videos, so here are the links, yo:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jbhVuBlj4Hg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5LIwRwG8S3w
Someone let me know if they're not working.
Let's Rock This Candy Shop,
Steve

What Comes After The Wave Of Change?

Dear Blogger,
Ani and I gave our presentation on the Bell/Oakley/Claremont gray zone. I had an interview yesterday with a man named Harry Meyer, who is the head commercial developer for The Greater Southwest Development Corporation. I asked him about the issue of race in the Southwest at the time when integration was taking place. Harry told me that the reason 60,000 people moved out of West Englewood in four years was not because of the presence of black people, but because of economic reasons.
During our presentation, we were mostly certainly stopped by the class to explain this at least twice. While I will admit that claiming there is a distinct separation between economics and race is a sociological no-no, I do think it is an interesting thought on the nature of race in Chicago.
Listen:
The black population in Chicago was growing during the fifties and sixties following the Second Great Migration, and the black middle-class was attempting to distinguish itself from the lower-classes by attempting to move into white, middle-class neighborhoods. Now this is where I think things get interesting. Keep in mind that before this point in American history, racial integration had not been such a major issue, and as a result, the notion of race relations that developed over the following years and even the notion that we have today, were not as developed. It was essentially a new experience for everyone in these neighborhoods.
There is no doubt in my mind that race was certainly an incentive for people to leave their neighborhood at 60,000 people in four years. But as most Americans hold much of their accumulated wealth in their property value, and because the social infrastructure was beginning to suffer as the wealthy left West Englewood, the neighborhoods began to suffer.
And this is where I begin to see Harry’s point:
Imagine sixty thousand people moving in four years. That’s an average of 15,000 people moving in a year. How can an economy even begin to survive such a change? And why would anyone want to stick around to live in poverty? Can you even comprehend how that would impact every aspect of your life?
And where do those 60,000 people go, Harry?
They move West— to Marquette Park.
And how do people in Marquette Park respond to a dramatic change next door?
They try to defend their neighborhood and keep it from happening to them.

They attempt to build a natural barrier.
Suddenly it all comes together.

It's the gray zone.
And as the white, working-class neighborhoods begin to change and more and more people arrive, the natives feel challenged by the change in their neighborhood’s identity. And they fear it will happen to them. Nothing is safe when your home is in danger, you see? The only natural response is to blame who comes behind the wave of the change, the black people. So, as a result of the economic losses and the association of African-Americans with the lower classes, and the sudden proximity of the two races where there had possibly been no proximity before in American history, there is no doubt in my mind that the notion of race in Chicago changed drastically. Race is socially constructed, I think we can all agree on that, and race and class became inseparable in an entirely new way after this.
And what comes next?
Violence.
Nazis.
Grhijregrenhigy78hb jkenite-- my brain is going wild. This is potentially my thesis statement.

From,

Steve

Open Housing

Dear Blogger,
So right now I’m doing research on the background of the Civil Rights Movement in Chicago. Still looking for credible sources on the nazis, though I’m going to a library on the North Side for a video.
At the center of the Civil Rights Movement in Chicago was the call for Open Housing. It’s an interesting topic, and at the center of both of my projects.
At this point in history, the mid-sixties, because of the two waves of migration of African-Americans to the north from the south, there was a growing black population in the city of Chicago. And wherever there is a significant population, there is always a middle-class that wants to separate itself from the lower-class. At this time, the black ghetto was from around Roosevelt Avenue, east to Kedzie, and south to 63rd street, and was slowly growing west during the 1950s. (South of the loop, and stretching south of Hyde Park, and towards the West Side of the city.)
As the black middle-class was moving away from the ghetto, they were moving into neighborhoods that had previously been white neighborhoods. Pretty soon the white people began to move away, to the suburbs, or further into the Southwest Side of the city.
At this time, white realtors were known for buying property from white families that were in such a hurry to leave the neighborhood that would sell for cheap. These real-estate agents would then sell these houses for nearly double the prices to the black families. There were even segregated advertisements for the whites with houses looking to sell, and advertisements for blacks looking to buy those same houses.
As these black families were paying hugely inflated prices for regular sized homes, which they couldn’t necessarily pay for, the families began having trouble supporting themselves, financially.
So at what point does this sort of thing stop being a series of racist actions by a select number of racist people, and at what point do these actions become something that happens by regular people who are only keeping their heads above the financial sea level? Keep in mind that the average American family holds much of its wealth in property value (I’m not sure the exact number. Len Berkey would be so disappointed with me…). Why would you stick around when you’re losing your money and your home, and just ignore what’s happening to everyone else? Most importantly, how can anyone justify aligning themselves with the Nazis?
In 1971, a series of ordinances attempted to allow the placement of For Sale signs in neighborhoods, although the Illinois Supreme Court eventually prohibited this. It was an attempt to stabilize white neighborhoods. But how exactly was it going to stabilize these neighborhoods? Was it going to keep whoever was buying houses in a neighborhood a mystery until someone moved in, to keep white people around, when it was too late for them to leave? Or was it a masked attempt to keep black people from moving in by keeping them from knowing which houses were For Sale?
Dr. Martin Luther King said the fight for Open Housing was “the most clear-cut form of discrimination which exists in the North.”

You're Beautiful,

Steve

God Bless You, Mr. Vonnegut

Dear Blogger,
Slaughterhouse-Five is one of the funniest books I've ever read.
Sincerely,
Wild Bob

The Last Garden Spot In Chicago

Dear Blogger,
Things are getting a little backed up here, and I’ve been getting ready to go out of town for Thanksgiving.
Chicago Lawn is an important place in Chicago history, and also in United States history. I’m doing a directed study on the identities of two groups that appeared in Chicago Lawn: The Civil Rights Movement, specifically the Open-Housing Movement… and the National Socialist Party of America. And I’m also doing a presentation for my seminar class on attempts during the sixties to build a racial border between West Englewood (a black neighborhood) and Chicago Lawn (a then white neighborhood). As both of these topics hold a fairly complex history, and as they're fairly closely related, and I don’t want to give you a lecture, I’m going to give you what I’m studying and learning, piece-by-piece.
On Sunday I went with Ani and our seminar teacher, Leesa, to Chicago Lawn (also known as Marquette Park), and this is when I took my most recent photos. In the early sixties, Chicago Lawn was almost entirely white (99.9%), and was fairly affluent. During this time, West Englewood, a neighborhood just to the east was beginning to integrate, and more specifically, the wealthy white people there were beginning to leave for the suburbs. This, of course, caused the people in Chicago Lawn to panic. When rich people flee, the businesses have no business, causing money to disappear, which then causes jobs to disappear, and then the neighborhood just goes to hell. Of course, hell only stops by when the realtors buy property for cheap, and then sell it for twice the buying price, so no one can actually afford to stay in hell once they buy a house there. So what's going to happen to the people in Chicago Lawn that don't want to leave their homes?
About the time that Chicago Lawn was beginning to actually integrate, a bank owner (whose name I can’t remember) proposed building a wall separating Chicago Lawn and West Englewood essentially enforcing segregation.
Now, the interesting thing about this wall is that it wasn’t intended to be some gigantic, concrete wall separating the neighborhoods, like East and West Germany. It was actually intended to be some kind of neutral zone, like in North and South Korea, the Demilitarized Zone: a place where nothing can economically exist and no one would want to exist. This wall, what they called a “natural barrier”, would keep the neighborhoods successfully segregated. (In the photo album, this place is where there are vacant lots surrounded by fences and barbwire with garbage stuck on it, and some photos of traffic tunnels we walked through.) I’m not sure if everything there was going to be torn down and just left barren, or if it would be toxic place where no one would want to be build anything for fear of being alienated by their neighbors, or how the wall could come to be, at all.
Speaking of existing, this wall doesn’t really have a name. Leesa referred to it as the Western Avenue Wall, due to proximity with Western Avenue. (She was more specific in naming it in the Bell/Oakley/Claremont street area.) So far as a few searches on Google can tell me, this wall has no documented history, it’s something that people alive at the time all knew about. (We talked to a man in a restaurant and he told us that it was an internal boundary. Meaning that no one really drew the boundary. You just knew when you were out of place, and so did everyone else around.) And what’s the point of naming something that doesn’t technically exist? And it won’t technically exist anymore when the people who created it and enforced it are all dead.
But there is nothing really there anymore at the Wall. Just some old abandoned coal building, some cracked parking lots, empty traffic tunnels, and some solar panels that probably aren't powering anything in a vacant lot. (Is nothing there, because the formerly successful businesses all leave or fail when the neighborhood integrated indirectly leaving this spot vacant? Or, did the Wall come into some kind of vague existence with no one saying anything to anyone else outside of Chicago Lawn, making it a purposeless border when the neighborhood eventually integrated?)

It’s some kind of vague, secretive purgatory.

Happy Thanksgiving,

Steve

1447

Dear Blogger,
I've gone all around Chicago this weekend! A parade downtown, and a trip through the Southwest. I took roughly 150 photos, and here the 80 best of them:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/20471837@N08/sets/72157603123890379/
And, please, I'm serious when I say this:
these are the best, most important photos I've taken so far, at least personally. If you haven't been looking at my albums, I think you should at least look at these ones. They're deeply crucial to most of what I'm going to be talking about, from here on out. (I'm talking about the photos from the Southwest Side, as they pertain to my directed study and seminar project... but I'll be covering those, soon.)
I won't say anymore, but please look at them.
Rock Hard & Rock Steady,
Steve

Hell's Kitchen

Dear Blogger,

I was reading Batman: The Long Halloween this weekend (very highly recommended), and I was pleased to see that a mob family from Chicago played a significant role in Gotham City's organized crime syndicate.

When I first got here, the Chicago mafia, the Chicago Outfit was coming to trial for various crimes. (Operation Family Secrets! Sons turning against fathers! Racketeering conspiracies! 18 counts of murder! An anonymous jury!) Unfortunately, I kind of lost track of what was happening, but it's expected to severely dismantle the Outfit. And also, the Daley Family (Richard J. Daley who was mayor during the sixties and seventies and father of the current mayor) are rumored to have some connections to the Outfit.

I don't really have much to say, but here's the wikipedia entry, in case you're interested:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chicago_Outfit#History_of_the_Chicago_Outfit

Leave The Gun And Take The Cannolis,

Steve

A Gritty, Urban Crime Drama

Dear Blogger,

One of the most difficult things about living in a city, and please stick with me on this I know that I write about this all of the time, is that it is hard to realize that a lot of the things that happen here could never really happen in suburbia. The homeless here don't get rounded up by the local cops for peeing under that bridge, because it was a little to close to the golf course to go unnoticed, really. The cops and the homeless are two completely separate entities in Chicago. There are no cops in Chicago that look like Keith Charles, and there are no homeless guys here that ride on trains and sing songs with Pee-Wee Herman.

But, see, it's difficult. The cops here have a long history of violence, racism, hatred, and complete indifference to the people they are sworn to protect. I've seen people get off a bus and cross the street when the police come around with their sniffing dogs. There are people here that will avoid the police at all costs, and for good reasons, too.

It's heavy to deal with.

There's a reason I'm telling you this:

I was walking back from the 57th Street Bookstore today, and I saw a guy running down the street to catch a bus that was waiting for passengers. He was carrying something under his arm in that kind of awkward way, with one arm over the top to hold against him and his left arm supporting the bottom, while he ran kind of leaned forward.

I have actually seen this man, an elderly man, a number of times, in front of the Original House of Pancakes, which I walk past on my way to and from work. Sometimes he asks me for money, but he hasn't for a while. I've given him change, and I'd really like to help him, but how many times can I give him a quarter? Am I even helping him? Is there anything else I can do?

A lot of people run places in Hyde Park, especially when they're trying to catch their bus. But this guy was apparently being chased. Another man, a police officer came running around a corner after the homeless man.

It's really heavy to deal with, seeing someone you've tried to help in the past. Someone that you've heard about, growing up in Oberlin, the people you're told to help (it's not their fault, they're victims of society, you know).

I turned around to hear this cop yell, "Stop! Someone stop him! That's not his!"

The guy he was chasing was getting closer to the bus at this point. A kid who looked like a high school student, grabbed the thief and kind of half-tripped, half-swung him to the ground. The poor guy had dropped his bag at this time, and all of the contents had fallen out. I was close enough at this point to see that the homeless man had stolen a gigantic block of cheese from someone.

And the cop had caught up to us at this point and says, "Awww, man! That's nacho cheese!"

Happy Veteran's Day,

Steve

Miller's Crossing

Dear Blogger,

I was able to weasel my way into Social Research with the help of Dr. Togunde, and a few exchanges with the registrar.

I spend most of my time at college wanting to take a creative writing class and when I finally get in, I have to back out. How does that happen?

Things at work have been going well. I'm officially friends with one of the eight year old boys, Timothee. He's absolutely hilarious and absolutely adorable. He likes to climb on me when I'm talking to someone else, so I'll often have to shake him off, pick him up, and then put him in a seat.

Although, tiny little things sometimes happen that really get under my skin.

There's a family of four kids, the Adebanjos. Elizabeth being the oldest, then Michael, then Anu, and then Emmanuel. Being the oldest, Elizabeth is generally dependable to do her own thing and not get into trouble, and also, to help out if children start to get out of hand.

Yesterday, Emmanuel did something that I didn't see-- but I did turn around in time to see Elizabeth slap him on the cheek. I told her that she shouldn't slap him like that, she said she does that when he acts up, and I told her to Please don't do that in the classroom, though. (Keep in mind that from 5:20-6, I'm the only adult in the room.)

Like any small child, Emmanuel started crying hysterically. He climbed onto his chair, and then he climbed onto the table. I was able to get him to sit down, but not get off the table. I thought he had calmed down at this point, but then he jumped off the table and started hitting Elizabeth and continued crying liked he had been.

The weird part is that he kind of stopped hitting her, and started half hugging her and half-slapping her sides, but he was still crying although not as hard. I asked her if he was okay and she said that he was. After that, he seemed so exhausted that he just sort of collapsed onto the ground and lay there. I started rubbing his back and telling him to take deep breaths, and asking him if he was okay, he got up and started to run, but I grabbed him, and I told him to keep taking deep breaths. He kept crying, and then it just turned into some strange kind of exhausted self-healing process that no one really can put words on until it's finished.

This seems like it was something that had started at home, got bottled up, repressed (the other two siblings stayed back, and even seemed ambivalent for most of the time, although, they did help to settle Emmanuel down towards the end), and then it all just kind of exploded at once, and then settled into what's kind of like the unease that comes after a bad storm: you know what happened was awful, you just don't want to do about anything.

It was really the only time at work that I was at a complete loss for what to do. I asked Elizabeth to just take them home, as it was a little before six o'clock. Mostly I was afraid of what Emmanuel was capable of doing-- to himself and to anyone else who might have gotten in his way. It was kind of like seeing all of his repressed energy and anger and anything else that he might have inside of him blow out of him at once, and it just kept coming and coming and was somewhere between rage and terror, but still healing for him in some way.

Also, being the only adult, and being in an environment that isn't very well equipped for any sort of disaster/emergency (we don't have any Band-Aids in the classroom!), what was I supposed to do if anyone had gotten seriously hurt? It's a lot of responsibility that I don't know if I'm prepared for.

There were twelve other kids standing there, watching us or not watching us (I can't remember), and as all of my energy was focused on this one kid for a good ten/fifteen minutes, they could have done some awful things. This made me realize on the ride home, that for the first time since I've worked there, I had absolutely no control over the classroom. Children are capable of terrifying things, in terrifying moments.

But don't you think control is entirely a state of mind?

Let's think about that for a while...

Have A Good One,

Steve

Raw Meat & Egg Yolks

Dear Blogger,

I've registered for classes, and, of course, everything went kind-of-close to according-to-plan. Here's what I'm taking:

• Men and Masculinities
• Introductory Geology (With Keith and Ani!)
• Geology Lab
• Social Psych: Soc Perspectives
• Introduction to Creative Writing

This is pretty good. I got three of the four classes that I wanted. Except that the one class I wanted (Social Research), wouldn't let me in. I think it's because there is a stats class that sociology majors need to take, and I took RDA I in its place, so the interwub got confused and won't accept it. So I e-mailed Dr. Togunde and he told me to bring him the forms to sign, meaning that I can get in, but I'm off-campus so I'm going to call the registar's office in just a minute.

And the Chicago Center also gives us these journals that we have to write in ever day. Meaning that we all put it off to the last minute. On the 15th, we have our third section due, and I've been writing a few entries a day so that I don't need to write them all at the last second and want to kill myself because I'm so bored, like I always am when I write them. Turns out that no matter when I write them, I'm still bored with the assignment. My daily routine isn't so exciting that I have something new, let alone insightful, to say about anything.

(In Senior Composition in high school, we had to do this same assignment. I was just as bored with that, so I started making up story lines. For example, I wrote a lot about a horse I had named Henry, that ran away and got hit by a train near my grandparent's house in Kentucky, which I saw, and which traumatized me for life, and senior year I started having flashbacks. Although, the only reason I got away with this is because Mr. Blair thought I had a great sense of humor and told me that he appreciated my creativity and compared me to James Thurber for some reason.)

The dewey-eyed small-town boy living in a big city and pointing out things that everyone else overlooks from years of experience will only take you so far. It's just dumb.

Suicide is Pa-ai-ai-ai-nless,

Steve

Zabel Sandwich

Dear Blogger,

I'm going to Evanston this evening to see Daniel. Isn't that exciting? I've never been to Evanston before, except on a train.

I also went to Navy Pier yesterday for the first time since I've been here.

It's not really that exciting of a place.

Salutations,

Steve

Organizational Fatigue & The Plague

Dear Blogger,
I slipped these new photos from the Halloween Parade in, just under the monthly time limit. I hope you like them.
They're not scary. You won't get the plague...
http://www.flickr.com/photos/10959363@N05/sets/72157602818742370/
But you might get the organizational fatigue.

Happy Halloween,
Steve

Of The Holy Apostles And Of All Saints, Martyrs And Confessors, Of All The Just Made Perfect Who Are At Rest Throughout The World

Dear Blogger,

It's Halloween! We're going to a parade tonight up in Belmont. I'm hoping it will be almost as exciting and bizarre as The Big Parade, but I'm not holding out. How could I?

I had a meeting with my supervisor and my internship adivsor from the CC. Everything went o-kay. I'm apparently going to learn how to write grants, sometime soon. If my boss, who is still gone, gives Ahmad her permission. Meaning I'm probably not going to learn how to write grants soon. She's notoriously stubborn. (She fired a girl once because the girl's mother died, and she thought the girl was lying to her to get out of work. Although, that might not be stubborn, that might be insane...)

I have a presentation for class tomorrow on a writer for The Chicago Defender, and an outline for my directed study on Friday. Things are getting even busier. It'll get done if I can motivate myself.

Mazel Tov,

Steve

George Steinbrenner vs. George Steinbrenn-ah

Dear Blogger,

I have nothing to say, but the Red Sox won the World Series last night.

For eighty-some years, the Red Sox were defined as the team that fought the Yankees tooth and nail. Even if they still lost, we loved them because they did what no one else could: stood up to the Yanks. The good ol' Red Sox.

Not anymore. They've won the World Series twice in four years, and more importantly, they've broken that damn curse.

Stop it.

There's no curse.

God doesn't curse baseball, and, if there was, why would God curse the Red Sox?

Listen:

The Red Sox are just like the rest of the shmucks in the major leagues after they broke that curse. No, wait. They're not! The Yankees have the highest payroll, the Red Sox have the second. They're not just like the rest of us! They're just like the Yankees.

And everyone in baseball thinks the Yankees are evil, right?

Go, Team,

Steve