I'm With the Band

Nothing tells you that you are old like hitting your son's rock and roll debut at the Subterranean in trendy Wicker Park. Matt has connected with three other musicians to form a new group named Pet Lions. I wondered if it was named for his high school, the LT Lions. As it turns out, the name was derived from a forwarded video (sure, I was doing some time wasting) telling the story of two flamboyant Londoners who purchased a lion cub at Harrods, raised it at home, then relinquished it to a preserve. I can't get the link to load correctly- but search for Christian the Lion on You Tube and you will see that despite returning to the wild, this lion never forgot his people. Matt loves animals, so I had shared the clip, and he indulged me by watching it. It turns out that the singer had received it as well from his mom, and he declared it the official name for the band, whose members were to be determined. When Matt was added to the band, the nomenclature was already in place. The karmic connection must mean that this musical incarnation was meant to be.

Matt has always loved his drums- and of course, it is the worst instrument of all to transport, so band practice was generally here, in the space that now provides interim housing for Pat and Rachel. ( I would much rather have them in residence than a drum set!) He has been frustrated by his separation from performing: banging on his set was always cathartic, and helped him navigate the hated halls of high school. He also plays guitar and a bit of keyboard, and he is an accomplished digital recorder. All of his passions are currently in play- from 9-5 he works at Mr. Skin, cataloging the female form and adding video elements to encourage repeat visits. Every night he looks forward to practicing at Tom and Karl's apartment- a place where no one but musicians would dare to live. In fact, the other event creating this band was a Craigslist ad, placed by Tom, answered by Karl, seeking a roomate. The force is with these boys. Maybe they should be called Room Mate Wanted or Craig's Band- but Pet Lions will do. They are a neophyte group, and who knows how permanent this line up is- but as a totally objective listener/viewer, I am amazed at how well they played for only 4 weeks of rehearsal. Check their my space for a listen.(That link is working as the title. Blogging is for better minds than mine.) They covered I Should Have Known Better with a power pop tempo that made me want to dance, and I am a bad dancer. The entire family was there in support- as was Ron Lewis, accountant/music savant/honorary uncle. The elders tried to blend- a hard task with the generation gap. I saw that Shuhie Yamamoto's parents also managed to casually take pictures while grinning ear to ear. It was a happy night.

This weekend the Dahl boys will hit Lollapalooza to watch the bands they love and hate. During Matt's most impoverished despair after the demise of his show at WCKG, I bought him a ticket, and made little laminated schedule cards to put in his insulated backpack. He pretended to appreciate the schedule cards on a carbiner, but he was elated to have a 3 day pass. With the Pet Lions in place, this will be a place for him to dream. And sweat. And dance. When we say yes to drums in the basement, we put gossamer wings on musical hopes. These hopes are flying right now, and I am glad to be even a little part of the launch.

Image above, thanks to Eric Rejiman

Patrick REALLY loved The Dark Knight

I have not yet seen Batman, but Pat is attempting to scare me (and his wife) silly by channeling the Joker. This display was made possible by a tube of cortisone lotion, a lipstick and a ridiculous sense of humor. He has some weird mumbling dialogue to complete the incarnation, but I ran when I glimpsed this clown mask. My daughter in law is a saint. If Pat had hives, they would be cured.

Dog Days of Summer

I have been here and there for the last week. Milly and I headed to Michigan, sneaking past Mabel in a duplicitous exit. Mabel was distraught, though she was left in the fine company of Steve, Pat and Rachel. She extracted her revenge by helping herself to an entire blueberry pie. I am sure she considered staining the carpeting with it, but in the end, her gluttony won out. Her petulance has continued, despite Pat's efforts to assuage her by giving her pool rights and car rides. Rachel calls her the bakery fiend, as she has also polished off a loaf of bread and made a mad dash for some pretzel rolls that were on deck for lunch. Rachel's a gamer, though- she wrestled the rolls away, made a sandwich, rebagged the untouched ones, and was off to school. Some of Mabel's munchies are revenge; however, she is also rebelling at my efforts to slim her down before she stresses her 7 year old bones. In people years, she is getting close to my age, and I can warn her that most everything goes to hell. I am doing for her what I lack the discipline to do for myself.

My sister Jennifer, her daughter and grandson joined me in New Buffalo. If I ever needed evidence that the world is spinning double-time, I received it. Three years ago, Megan was a beautiful bride. Two years ago, she visited New Buffalo before her son, Mason, was born. Now she is almost eight months pregnant with #2. (a girl!) It was fun to unlock the memories of younger Janet, waiting for Mike to join Pat. In fact, I can remember putting Pat in his bike seat, and taking him to the park to confide that his "prince" days were numbered. He had no clue what I was telling him, nor did he talk well enough to respond. And me- I had no idea how the lock-step existence we had enjoyed for two years would shift into a lifetime of snippets and shifts. I guess that is why I loved watching Megan enjoy this precious time with her son- it is a gift that you cannot fully appreciate until it is history.

When they headed back to Detroit, Milly and I had some solitary time before Steve joined us. She is a Portuguese Water Dog by breed, but swimming is a lot of work for her. Mabel the Lab is such a strong swimmer that she has become a water taxi for Milly. Faced with the chore of swimming, Milly glides casually by her sturdy co-pet, and climbs aboard. I decided to teach her to swim in the lake- a great personal sacrifice, given her post-swim ritual of rolling and burrowing in the dune. She chased a stick on shore, and waded in to grab it, but she was more inclined to patiently wait for the waves to bring back her toy. This was frustrating, but I have to admire a dog that lets the universe do her work. After a hose-bath and a blow dry, Milly was permitted to bunk with me. Sand in my bed takes me back to the misery of sleeping bags on the beach at CYO camp in Michigan. It will not happen.... just like Milly's career as a Portuguese Water dog, assisting fishermen.

Steve and I merged over the weekend, and hit Stop 50 Wood Fired Pizzeria for the best pizza in the universe. Having missed me, Steve even green lighted dessert for me- a concession, as he is a dine and dash sort of fellow. I craved S'mores in a ramekin, flash melted in the wood burning pizza oven. Steve settled on a carmelized banana. Heaven.

Sunday Steve headed home, and I grabbed another bit of Great Lakes solitude. Milly had another swim lesson. She maintained her trepidation with the waves, and her love of the sand. The sunset was spectacular. Milly's shower and blow dry were followed by a HG TV marathon, ending at 3:00 am. Milly and I cleaned, packed and headed back to reality Monday morning with the Big Dog on the radio to entertain us. ( As my room mate, Milly received executive permission to travel in the back seat- a HUGE prohibition in Steve world, where dogs travel in the cargo area. She was so well behaved that I have purchased some sort of sling to drape from the front to the back headrests to house her on future trips, as well as a harness. Automotive accessories are also frowned upon in Steve's domain.)

Mabel seems to know she missed some fun days: she tries to be standoffish, but is compromised by her love of Kraft Singles. I can win her back. This week- a chunk of the family heads to Michigan. Mabel will surf, Milly will try to go tandem. People and dogs, stacked like cord wood, as Steve says. Stop 50 beckons. There will be more sand, less solitude. It will be precious and wonderful....though we may not realize this until we have the luxury of looking back.

Reading is NOT for losers

The extraordinary has happened.

I love to read- it is a pleasure that has been sacrificed for years, as I vivisected my attention span. Magazines and newspapers have absorbed most of my leisure reading, but my heart loves books. They take me new places, and link me with characters that my mundane routes would never touch. Somehow, sitting and escaping became a guilty pleasure- deferred and ignored. My book club allows me to justify at least one book a month- a paltry allowance. I have a stack of "to be read" books waiting for me that is at least 4 feet tall. Vacation generally allows me to plow through 3 or four, but at that rate, I will be buried with a library of unread books. I guess I will be cremated, since they could also function as kindling, and Steve is not likely to hit my Ann Patchett novels.

Steve often maintains that "reading is for losers", but he processes tons of information and prefers to shut down and absorb information passively. When he reads, he almost memorizes the content: it becomes a task. He has found a few books to love, but generally he scorns bookish pursuits.

Having finished Blink!, this month's book club selection, I pulled my book-in-waiting from the top of my pile, and started reading. The name of this book is The Art of Racing in the Rain, by Garth Stein. I loved it immediately- the narrator is a dog (Enzo), and he is a wise guy. It is a retrospective of his life, intertwined with his master, and the family he grows. Steve saw me reading it, knew I loved it, and he picked it up. He stole it, leaving me adrift in the lives of Enzo's people.

I have often suggested that Steve read to combat his insomnia, since it requires brain engagement, which tires most people. Wednesday Steve needed a nap, but instead he read that book cover to cover. That is a contemporary miracle!

I retrieved (dog talk) the book, and yesterday I sat outside and traveled through Enzo's life with him. This is a wonderful book- it asks very little of the reader and gives great pleasure and wisdom. Enzo's master is a car mechanic, who dreams of racing, but defers his dreams for family obligations. Stein could have been maudin or cutesy with his construct, but he is neither. If both Steve and Janet can get behind a book- in a big way- the book is a phenomena.

When I finished the book, I was sad. I remembered how wise Chamois our Golden Retriever had been, and how she telegraphed things to us. I missed her. I took stock of our current dogs- somewhat lacking soul, though full of spirit. Pat was working at the patio table, and he smiled at my sentimentality, but respected it with silence. It has to be weird to see your Mom weeping over a book. I needed Steve to be sad with- but he was walking. When he returned, he comforted me, and reminded me of all that was uplifting in the conclusion. Talk about a role reversal.....

What I am saying, is get this book. Read it, love it. Give yourself the gift of solitude. Get to know Enzo and his family. You will be rewarded. I promise. And if you want to thank me, or suggest a book for my pile of deferred gratification- janet@dahl.com. I'm there if you need to be comforted, too.


Click the article's title, and you will access the website of Racing. I do not like the voice reading the excerpt- not tough enough to be old Enz- but I love the video. It is just as I dreamed him!

Garrison Keillor on Studs

Garrison does not need to even name the man he is honored to speak to.  Steve hates GK, but I love his writing- far more than his radio.  This is a lovely homage to another story teller and observer of life.  I pray that Studs keeps the faith until November, and beyond. 

The Matthew Dance

I caught this enticing link from AOL today- Ya- my kids tell me constantly how unhip AOL is- but so am I.  Hipsters have probably traveled with Matt Harding, or danced like him.  He has millions of You Tube views, as well as parody responses.  I was still infected by his good will and the calming knowledge that a smile and a silly dance can break down barriers of language and politics.  Chicago is well represented in the 2008 video.  

He has a cool google earth travelogue, and a good sense of humor, as well as his own website,  http://www.wherethehellismatt.com/.  

  

Happy July 4th

We are home, we are happy, we are all together!  We converged for the fireworks, and in honor of the reunion, I will post my video clip of the finale of last night's fireworks.  It was the first time I had ever seen the pyrotechnics from the ground- last year it rained, and we watched from inside - and we were actually looking DOWN on the display.  From above, they looked small.  From the 

ground, they are beautiful and amazing. 

  The best thing of all was that we were all there together.  That is the best thing about a Midwestern holiday- food, family and fireworks.  God Bless America!

Today a few girlfriends and I will do the Hinsdale 4th of July Craft show- I have done it since the kids were tots and I would ditch Steve.  One year I returned, and Joe Walsh was at the house, planning an epic parade with Steve.  They were both drinking in those days, but no amount of Jack Daniels and beer would induce Steve to decorate bikes with crepe paper and traipse about the neighborhood.  Joe was drinking wine, and I think he was a more whimsical soul.  Alas, the parade never materialized, to the boys' dismay. Once I mistakenly drove  into the Hinsdale parade, right behind the recycling float.  As the Eagles say, you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.  So I drove the minivan to the end of the route, got out, and bought some crafts.    I think, even then, it was obvious that I was an outsider.  Today, perhaps my spangles will betray me, or the red white and blue dilly boppers, or the flag temporary tattoo.  I will report on any amazing new crafts, though Steve says I own one of every conceivable crap. He means craft, I am sure.

Tonight:  White Sox, more fireworks, more family and more food.  What a country! 

We are an Illinois Family

The eagle has landed, the kids are in the house.  Literally!  They marathoned successfully through Oklahoma and Missouri, stopping to see the surrey with the fringe on top, dine at Chili's, grab a concrete at Ted Drewes, and chug along with the White Sox to an impressive late arrival.  Pat was so excited that the Sox had pulled out a 10th inning win that he called to bubble over.  He did not know that the uber-insomniac Steve had set the Tivo to catch the game here in Michigan. 

 Steve thought that the dulcet tones of Hawk- and especially DJ- would put him in a coma, during a week where he has been unable to go to sleep.    It was not to be.  Our bed here is HARD and HIGH.  The dogs get up on it in the dark, leaving precious little room for us- and they will not move for fear of falling off.  I have some sort of throat/allergy thing going on, and I am snoring.  Steve has tried every avenue to induce rest- but even the White Sox failed him.  He went to sleep at 5 am, and I woke up at 7:30.  He was in another room, with the dogs happily wreathed around him.  I stole the dogs and ran and swam them while he caught some sleep.  I think Steve is on his last nerve, so I am behaving like a Stepford Wife.  I may just have a tonsillectomy to help him out!  What I have done is order a featherbed and cover for the mattress.  We will see if that works.  If not, we will go mattress shopping.  We can't vacation without sleep!

As a Stepford wife, I DID go out on Lake Michigan yesterday in Steve's boat.  I fear open water, despite being a capable swimmer.  The kids are ashamed when I wear my orange vest, and yesterday the lake was as smooth as waxed paper, so I was comfortable locating the vests, and sitting in proximity.  I even drove for a bit- though my pokey speed made Steve restless.  

At home, the real world beckons.  I am relieved that the police grabbed that mass murderer down in Granite City- I had really wrestled with the question of whether to warn Pat and Rachel that he was on the loose, and presumed to be downstate or near St. Louis.  I chose not to mention it, but then obsessed about it.  I woke to hear that one of Chicago's finest was killed by a woman near the Belmont station.  It is a stark reminder that we live in peace and happiness because there is a line between good and evil.  That line is manned by police officers, who see the underbelly of life more each day than we will see in our lives.    They often have only seconds to assess a situation, make a decision, and protect those who are defenseless. These instinctive actions are placed under a microscope by many tiers of society, and they are rarely thanked and honored.   Yesterday, an experienced officer was shot as he weighed the situation at hand- perhaps spending a nano second on the fact that the offender was a woman. This empathy cost him his life.  He is an everyday hero, and there are thousands of others serving and protecting us.  As we turn to celebrate the 4th of July, it is good to remind ourselves that freedom- in our homes, cities and our country -is paid for by the brave actions of our peace officers and soldiers.  I do not take them for granted.  God bless them all.

Home Stretching It

Well-The kids are past the halfway mark. They are chugging alongat warp speed. Texas was crossed in a day.Pat was short on details, but I can see that they hit the Cadillac Ranch and the Big Texan Steak House before pointing the Hyundai to Tulsa Oklahoma.

It was the Big Texan Steakhouse where Steve could not polish off the last 2 ounces of a 72 ounce T bone, to the derision of the Dahl cabal. I wonder if Pat indulged- I kind of doubt it, because Rachel is a corrupted vegetarian. Pat, of course, is the corrupter. Now a 72 ounce Boca Burger would be no

problem, because there would be no gristle.

Steve says there is not much happening in Oklahoma, and that must be what the kids think, because Pat is considering driving like Marathon man and arriving home in the wee hours of the night. If he intends to cover that much land mass, he will need Red Bull. And a willing co-pilot. And more Red Bull.

We will stay parked in New Buffalo, and they can acclimate to live as Chicagoans at leisure. The sheets are clean, the soap is new, and the hot tub is ready to soak 2000 miles of road weariness out of their bones. They are welcome to all the amenities. Sweet Home Chicago beckons. We will be home for a family reunion Chicago fireworks extravaganza, and a Dahl White Sox Friday night. It will be our first ALL DAHL game in two years. Yippee! I am counting the miles...as best I can.