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- A. Sukhoy

U2: Magnificent

On Saturday September 12, 2009, 65,000 fans embarked on a journey to Soldier Field. Located right on Lake Michigan, the stadium, normally home to the Chicago Bears, transformed into a temple to the one common religion on earth: music. U2, fresh off the band’s adventures in Europe, began the U.S. leg of the 360 tour in a city that was home to me for twenty-three years. I got wind of the concert in Spring of this year and, via an auction, bid on two tickets in the Red Zone. Only one person could possibly be my date for this show - my sister, who, twenty-two years ago, convinced our parents to let me take a Grayhound bus to Champaign Urbana, where, via a lottery, at $15 a piece, she purchased six seventh-row center-stage tickets to the band’s Joshua Tree tour.

That specific album was, as Malcolm Gladwell would say, U2’s tipping point: it pushed the band over from a popular college group into a monumental, enduring musical force matched only by the likes of The Rolling Stones and Madonna. Thus, today, even in the most difficult of economic times, these musical acts are recession-proof (or, as my economics professors would say, they have “inelastic demand.”) and millions across the globe opened their wallets to escape reality, to get transformed and to just feel damn good. I, too, bit the proverbial bullet. And, after almost nine months of cost-cutting, budget watching and massive lifestyle changes, the investment was well worth it.

When my sis and I got to the stadium, after a one mile hike from the parking garage, and picked up our tickets, we were directed into the special Red Zone 2 section, where we were told to put away those same tickets, as by this point we had bracelets on indicating our location. Not only were we right in front of the 360 catwalk, but we also had access to private restrooms, private food stands and private merchandise counters. But, the truth was, we didn’t come to this concert for the external privileges. While nice, our main desire and focus was seeing one of the greatest living bands alive perform some of the most inspiring and memorable songs of the past three decades. And, we were not alone, as evidenced by the stadium masses. As my cousin later put it “Millions of people, singing along to every lyric of every song.”

Instead of trying any feeble attempts to describe the futuristic spaceship stage with the moving screen, the 360 degree surrounding catwalk and the bridges that connect the two, I’ll let the photos speak for themselves. I will, however, do my best to convey the essence of the concert and the sound of the powerhouse known to the globe as U2.

But first, a brief and necessary mention of the opening band, Snow Patrol. While most of their music played on the radio bores me to tears, hearing the musicians live gave me a new appreciation for the melodic sound and poetic lyrics. Additionally, the lead singer sported a Chicago Bears t-shirt and seemed genuinely happy - no, giddy - to be opening for U2 and promised all of us “the greatest night of our lives.” I also happened to be at the right place at the right time and watched the band’s “exit right” as the adorable young men all made their way right past me. A certain momentum had built and set the tone for what was next.

For the next thirty minutes or so, the crew, technical people, cameramen, roadies and a security team large enough to rival that of the President, prepared the stage for an unprecedented music and light show, something that felt once in a lifetime and yet incredibly alive and in the moment. We could all tell that something big was going to happen and the energy in the stadium generated a certain cohesive, happy vibe. At a time when the country, our country, feels so divided on so many critical issues, I sensed a certain relief knowing that the 20 somethings and the 40 somethings, the men and the women, the Democrats and the Republicans, the immigrant Americans and the native born Americans, the Catholics and the Sikhs, and everyone in between, all had one thing in common: we wanted to be rocked and we wanted it right now.

Not a moment too soon, the lights went down and smoke started to come out of the spaceship. David Bowie’s “Major Tom” blasted from the giant, surrounding speakers and the adventure began to sink in. “4...3...2...1...” To our right we could see that the band mates entered the stadium. Then, one by one, each entered the stage, starting with Larry, the drummer. Then Adam, Edge, and, finally, Bono. The crowd cheered and the people standing next to me were not only smiling and clapping but most, many in U2 gear, were also taking photographs. As the thousands of flashes went off, people wanted to capture the moment: to do anything so that it can be preserved and relived.

U2 opened the concert with “Breathe,” one of the songs off of the new No Line on the Horizon album. The title track followed and, after that, my favorite song, perhaps, ever, from this group of Irishmen, “Magnificent,” erupted from the speakers. This particular track pinpricked my soul for a multitude of reasons. Not the least of which is the human condition known as RBH - a recently broken heart, broken by an Irishman for whom, earlier this summer, I made a mix cd which began with this very song; a song the Irishman specifically said was “the perfect song” to articulate his feelings about us and what happened 12 years ago: “Only love, only love can leave such a mark; But only love, only love can heal such a scar.” And, as U2 performed it, in the present, one month after there is no more us, hearing it outside, on a stunning evening, with my sister next to me and 65,000 new friends, “Magnificent” helped in the mending process. It was finally time to let go and move on and I had the greatest (and biggest) support group on my side.

After one more track off of the new album, “Get On Your Boots,” the band began to give the audience what we really wanted - a cornucopia of songs that took us back to our childhoods, our college years, our first jobs, first apartments, first live-in loves, first grown-up failures and our first economic recession. Chances are that, for each audience member at least one song brought us back to a pivotal life moment - good or bad - and, when the whole world may have seemed to abandon any one of us, this band - on record, tape, cd or iPod - was and is still with us. We grew up on U2 and U2 grew up with us.

The song list included the following: “Where the Streets Have No Name,” “All That You Can’t Leave Behind,” "With or Without You," “It’s a Beautiful Day,” “Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,” “Stuck in Moment You Can’t Get Out Of,” "Vertigo (Uno, Dos, Tres, Catorse)," “Walk On” and “City of Blinding Lights,” a song not lost on anyone familiar with the stunning Chicago skyline at night. U2 then performed three tracks that the loyalists greatly appreciated: “Unforgettable Fire,” "Sunday, Bloody Sunday,” and the majestic “Bad.”

I would have absolutely loved to hear “All I Want is You,” but it didn’t make it to the song list. Neither did “Mysterious Ways,” “Desire” nor anything off of Zooropa. In fact, after a brief break, when the band resumed the stage, and performed “One,” it was the only song off Achtung Baby, a critically acclaimed album the band recorded in East Berlin just as the wall came down.

The most recent album was recorded in Morocco and U2’s geographical and global awareness translated itself into a video paying tribute to Iranian women, with a poem appearing on the large screen. Additionally, masks of an Asian freedom activist who has been under home arrest for the past two decades were passed out in advance and Bono asked everyone to put them on during a certain song. Personally, I could care less for the political messages. But, then, unless you live under a rock, you know that U2 is nothing if not politically active. Luckily, Bono and the band kept the politics to a minimum and focused on the music and on courting Chicago like a man on a first date trying to get some by the night’s end.

Bono must have mentioned the city’s name 100 times and, at one point, stated “We Irish like to think we’ve contributed something to your skyline... We (the Irish) are the wind in the Windy City.”

Before the first encore was over, U2 also played “Baby Light My Way” and asked the audience to take our cell phones out to create a constellation in the stadium. The last song of the first act was the mellow “Moment of Surrender.”

The second encore took on an electric feel, with Bono coming out on stage in a black jacket equipped with red laser beams pointing in various directions. “All you need is love,” he reminded us, “and a spaceship.” U2 then performed a techno version of “I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight.” While not a fan of the original recording, the live performance kicked the proverbial ass on so many levels. My sis and I felt like we were in a Eurotrash techno club. To boot, Larry, now on portable bongos, Adam, Edge and Bono made excellent use of the 360 catwalk and paraded around the entire circumference of the stage, walking right in front us, bringing us to perfect, high-energy joy.

U2 finished the last set with the remaining songs off No Line on the Horizon, including “Unknown Caller,” “Stand Up Comedy,” “Cedars of Lebanon,” and “White as Snow.” I hear that Sunday’s show had three encores, but, then, Sunday’s audience did not witness the opening night of the U.S. tour.

By the end of the show, with the perfect cloudless, dark sky, the perfect cool, lake breeze and the perfect behind-the-catwalk spot that gave visibility to the perfect rock band, my cheeks were aching from smiling so much, my voice was sore from singing and shouting and my feet, in their sexy boots, were beyond numb. At a time of so much life uncertainty, U2 had given all of us something concrete, something memorable and something truly magnificent.

For concert photos, click here

The Pretenders: Special, So Special

Before there was Beyonce or Britney, but right around the same time as Blondie, a female force swept the rock scene by storm. Her name was Chrissie Hynde, she was born in Akron, Ohio, and the only thing she wanted to do was play music. Living in London, hanging with Syd Vicious and firmly focused on the craft, Chrissie eventually led the band The Pretenders serving in multiple roles: as lead singer, song writer and guitarist. Unlike most of her female counterparts of the day (Debbie Harry excluded) Chrissie formed her own sound, her own look and damned the consequences. This took guts, and, given the music climate, she pioneered the way, making it hot for chicks to jam on guitar, swear like truck drivers and, yet, look like sexy babes, all at the same times.

Not only is fifty-seven year old Chrissie a rock n' roll veteran, but she's also a rock n' roll wife veteran, with former marriages to (and daughters with) Kinks lead singer Ray Davies and Simple Minds lead singer Jim Kerr (who later married Patsy Kensit (who went on to marry one of the Oasis brothers...) In 2005 The Pretenders was inducted into the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame, with Chrissie being one of the very few women whose name made it on the highly bias and often questionable list. (If my math is correct, of the 234 acts inducted only 24 are women, as solo artists or as part of groups.) And, unlike many of her Rock Hall peers, she doesn't rest on her laurels, but continues to create great music.

Several months ago, while listening to Chicago's WXRT Radio (on line), I heard this fabulous two and half minute song that just blew me away: the road trip rhythm, the folk punk guitars, the visual language made me think that XRT was playing a retro track. Turned out it was "Boots of Chinese Plastic," The Pretenders new song from the new album, Break Up the Concrete. I immediately downloaded the song from i-tunes, sat down and, with "Boots" on repeat, wrote the first date scene of my screenplay around this killer track, focusing on romantic leads Marianne and Jacob walking around downtown Cleveland, as the fast-paced song stops and starts. Repeat. In fact, towards the later part of of the screenplay process, I changed the original opening song from "So Long, Marianne," (the song that first inspired for the story), to a song that better fit the mood that needs to be staged in the flashback scene of Mid-80's Cleveland: "My City Was Gone." With Chrissie singing about Northeast Ohio and a "government that had no pride," no other piece quite sets the scene as her long-ago lyrics do.

Suddenly, I had a new respect, love and interest for The Pretenders. Thus, a few weeks ago, (and prior to knowing my surgery date) after accidentally coming across the information that The Pretenders had scheduled an appearance at Cleveland's House of Blues, I made the decision that, even during unemployment, some things are worth the money. So, after dinner with a friend on East 4th Street, I walked into House of Blues and purchased two General Admission tickets.

This past Sunday night, good friend and former Statler neighbor Sonia came over to watch the Grammys with me. Truth be told, she came over to see how I was recovering, but a music award show and pizza was as good excuse as any to spend some quality time together. While watching the star-studded event (I thought we were both going to lose it when Coldplay performed one of the best songs written in years, "Viva La Vida"), Sonia looked at an old issue of Blender magazine on my coffee table, which featured Chrissie Hynde, and spoke about how her recent album was heavily influenced by her homecoming to Akron. (Look for the "Akron Witnessed First" t-shirt she wears in the "Boots of Chines Plastic" video, referencing, of course, LeBron James.).

"The Pretenders are coming to Cleveland," Sonia told me. "Yeah," I replied, "and I have an extra ticket. Wanna be my date?" "Sure."

So, with bruises, stitches and bandages (and very recent clean bill-of-health news!), I met Sonia at House of Blues on Tuesday night, thinking we would be clever by eating dinner there, in order to cut through the back way to the concert later, thus avoiding the outside line. Well, with a forty-five minute waiting list, all of Cleveland had the same idea. Sonia and I finally found a bar table, had small meals and headed to the pavilion. I knew I would not be able to dance, jump or go crazy, and realized I'd have to spend most of the concert just standing and clapping, otherwise known as being your average white person. Also, HOB posted sings everywhere saying "No pictures!" (Damn!) But, with my own black patented (made in China) boots on, I was ready to enjoy the music.

As HOB decided the put all non-floor & bar stool seats "on reserve" (the bastards), we had no choice but to stand in a crowded mosh pit of sorts, except the average age was about 45. The opening group "American Band" sucked. Really. Bunch of stoner looking dirty tattooed dudes whose sound was more cacophonous than my ears could handle. The frustration magnified itself due to the annoying Amazon chick in front of us, who insisted on moving around. A lot.

Finally, the opening band left the stage, but this also meant that all those lazy peeps who didn't want to stand through Act 1, now crowded the dance floor, creeping in tight, leaving little room between themselves and the already there patient audience. At one point, as territorial tensions began to fly, a fight almost broke out. My patience was expiring, my forehead was perspiring and I told Sonia "I wish I had laser beams that could shoot out of my eye balls and disseminate the people in front of me." I mean, how cool would that be, of course, given I would be the only one with this special power?

But. Then. The lights dimmed. And. There She Was.

Looking exactly like she does on tv (and slightly grayer then when I walked past her on the Chicago intersection of Belmont and Broadway about a decade ago), Chrissie, still as thin as ever, with thick black eye liner and bangs in her eyes, took her guitar and took control of the stage immediately.

The Pretenders opened with "Boots of Chinese Plastic" and got everyone pumped. The band then went into classics "Message of Love" and "Don't Get Me Wrong." Chrissie paid homage to her early punk days by changing the Bridget Bardo reference in the former song to "like Morrissey." (yeah!). The band then played a pretty song with lyrics "I keep it simple, you keep it true," and, in case anyone thought Chrissie was going soft, after this number, she took to the mike and ripped "You wanna take my picture. Here. (pose). Take my fuckin' picture." And, in case, at this point anyone doubted her authentic spirit, she frankly told the audience "We're gonna play the new stuff now. So go to the bar. Get a beer. Whatever." When was the last time any artist had a sense of humor, especially about new material?

The Pretenders, with killer musicians, young and young at heart (the drummer has been with the band for 30 years) played some of the new songs. Good, solid stuff. I think one song was called "Rosalee." Another was called "Love's a Mystery," and one song Chrissie dedicated to "my second favorite guy. This is the guy I can't be with because I'm too busy for him." And, later, she apologized for the sound of her voice because "I haven't been taking care of myself. What are you gonna do?"

This vulnerability that she displayed seemed so refreshing from the highly-marketed, pre-packaged, obviously-sampled and overly-choreographed music that seems to bombard us at every corner. We're all told how image is such a critical aspect of the entertainment industry, how you're only worth what you look like and how your agent, publicist, producer, director, corporate vice president seems to know what is best for you, as an artist. And here's Chrissie, approaching 60, a mother of two, who has known and partied with four decades of musicians, from the U.S., to England, to France and back to the U.S., again, with gray hair, a dry throat and absolutely no apologies. She's still pretty, she's still thin. And, during a few numbers, she even danced, on stage, shaking her thing and showing many of us that being a woman and being a rock star, on your own terms, are not mutually exclusive. Truth be told, she's paid her dues, for nearly forty years. And, now, she gets to do what she wants, and how she wants it. Including, mid-song, telling us to put away cameras.

She also recognized that she is where she is because of her fans. And, after some of the new numbers, the band performed "Stop All Your Sobbing," and the classic "Back on the Chain Gang." Then, an odd request to us "What do you wanna hear?" At that point The Pretenders went into the song that, on the eve of Reagonomics, first put the band on the map, "Brass in Pocket." The crowd went nuts. Who could forget the video, of gum-chewing Chrissie in a waitress outfit, with pencil tucked in that beehive, taking orders from the then-bandmates?

After "Brass", the musicians went into a rockabilly tune, at which point Chrisse called us a bunch of "hillbillies" and then made the comment "We promised you country, but we'll give you punk."

Next was "Cuban Slide," with its Bo Diddley beat (whom Jenn B. and I saw at the same stage, about 4 years ago, may he rest in peace) and performed another Bo Diddley tune, the title song off Break Up the Concrete. And just like that, the band signaled how timeless its' music is and how it can borrow from blues, punk, folk, rock and country and morph it into the signature Pretenders sound.

Towards the end of the show, Chrissie admitted that she "used to live in Parma." When the theater lights finally went on, despite a great encore of four tracks, to much of our disappointment, "My City Was Gone" never made it to the song list. Perhaps, now that she's opened her veggie restaurant in Akron and has made her birthplace a second home of sorts, Chrissie has a certain pride about Northeast Ohio that the government never (and still does not) have. Perhaps, if her feelings were contagious, Ohio's banks could remain independent, people could afford to keep their houses, the Governor would pass the film tax incentive bill into law and the state could blossom, again. That would be special.

David Byrne: Once in a Lifetime

Thursday afternoon I got an unexpected call from some friends whom I haven't seen in a while. What made the surprise even nicer is that they invited me to Thursday night's David Byrne show at the Allen Theater.

I briefly debated going as times have been hectic and deliverables frequent, but realized in the equation of Work, Rest and Play, Play needed some attention, even if it came at the expense of Rest. So I agreed to meet my friends at the theater lobby. It was wonderful to catch up on all the changes in our lives, even though we did it in the midst of a packed crowd, all anticipating a great musical act. To further elevate the experience, as the ushers guided us to our seats, I learned the tickets were 8th row center! Looking around the historic hall, I thought that the Allen was the smallest and is definitely the most beautiful of the theaters on Euclid.

Then the lights went down. There was no opening act and David Byrne started right on time, with a cast of about a dozen, including musicians, back up vocalists and dancers, with everyone dressed in white.

David played all kinds of super great stuff from his new album, one he did with Brian Eno, called "Everything that Happens Will Happen Today." The 3rd song he performed got a standing ovation. I forget the title, but it could have easily mixed with "Slippery People," with its call and response chorus.

And then the Byrne Master went into "Once in a Lifetime" and everyone went nuts and started dancing all over the theater. It was very sweet to see many couples, some young, some young at heart, all getting into the music, shaking their thing and even having make out sessions, inspired by all the energy. Between the white attire of the performers, the philosophical, yet uplifting music, and the joy in the audience, a sense of innocence cradled the evening.

The irony wasn't lost on anyone when David sang "Life During Wartime," specifically with lyrics like "This ain't no party, this ain't no disco, this ain't no fooling around.No time for dancing, or lovey dovey, I ain't got time for that now." The reference to "This ain't no mud club or CBGB" made me think of the poster at the Rock Hall in the New York (vs. London) 70's punk era, with CBGB hosting Talking Heads, Blondie and The Ramones, all on one bill. Ah, to be the fly on that dirty wall...but I digress.

David went back and forth between new stuff, Talking Heads stuff, older solo stuff and just kept going. He did 3! encores and most of the theater was on its feet during the last hour of the show. By the time he performed "Burning Down the House" at the near end of the concert, people were just going crazy, in the best possible way. It's as though David gave everyone permission to reconnect with our inner 8 or 13 or even 19 year old, depending on what age we all were when we heard our first Talking Heads song.

Sunday Statler Fire: May 4, 2008

Sunday at 6am I had a rude awakening from the loud building fire alarm. I woke up, smelling something burning. Slipping on a pair of pants and sweater, my 1st thought was, what do I take with me? I realized life was more important then stuff so left the apartment with my home keys, phone and wallet. Taking the car keys seemed moot since if the building is on fire, the car would be too. As I headed towards the stairs, my neighbors, mostly the fraternity party known as CSU students who somehow manage to afford living in this building, all flocked in the same direction, wearing sweat pants, bathrobes or clothes from the night before. We all headed down the staircase and into the garage. In the midst of this chaos I struck up conversation with a guy named named Jason. He had a cool accent and we continued to talk as everyone got to experience Cleveland dawn standing on the south side of Euclid watching the firemen do their thing on a street still crowded with orange "tubs" signaling the construction that will never end.

We stood outside for a good 20 minutes before Jason asked the firemen what was going on. It turned out that the trash was on fire in the basement.

What would instigate such a thing, I thought? Someone's candle not extinguished? Secretly I hope they track it down to a cigarette or mary jane that originated from one of the frat boy apartments. That would be such sweet justification to make the Statler an adult residential building. Which is what most of us signed up for.

About half an hour later we were allowed to go back to our apartments, but only via stairs. Right. The thought of doing stairmaster up 8 flights at 6:30am on a Sunday was not happening. Luckily a few minutes later, we were allowed to use the garage elevators, which are just one floor shy of my apartment. One set of stairs was not so bad. I made is safely to my apartment, fell back asleep and slept till almost noon.

So my question is now that we had the fire, felt the earthquake from Illinois several weeks ago and experienced the flood that resulted from the pipe bursting in Public Square, which of the 8 great signs of apocalypse will be hitting Cleveland next? Hopefully the Boston Tea Party will result in a sweet home victory in Game 4 and everyone will live happily ever after.

The End.

Eating the World with Anthony Bourdain

“My job does not suck.”

So opened the Anthony Bourdain keynote address entitled “The Global Feast” at the Iconoculture conference in Miami Beach. “Iconosphere,” as the conference was branded, hosted a series of speeches, breakout sessions and discussions all focused on educating consumer product professionals on the latest behavioral trends. Topics included “Recognizing the Many Faces of Moms,” “Shades of Green: Exploring New Dimensions in the Eco-Savvy Marketplace” and, among others, “My Name is not Earl: Marketing to the True Blue Collar Consumer.” The presentations provided insight such as why a certain consumer would prefer to shop at Target, citing its Democracy of Design and a Well-Edited Collection of Goods. The marketer in me found these types of topics interesting. However, only one person at the Inconsphere conference connected with the artist in me.

The morning of Anthony’s Bourdain’s presentation, I made sure to arrive at the ballroom early, to secure a front seat. A man like him, in my imagination, stays up all night eating, drinking, smoking, conversing and laughing with questionable company. To my surprise, when I arrived at 8:20, I saw him having an in-depth conversation with the head chef of the hotel, perhaps even the head chef of Emeril’s restaurant downstairs. Ah, the Food Network irony! One woman approached me and asked if it’s ok to ask Anthony for an autograph. “I don’t see why not,” I replied and, as soon as she positioned herself near him, a long line immediately formed, of men and women, some smart enough to have purchased his book prior to attending the event, and some, like me, with cameras in hand. There we were, with great anticipation and the eagerness of an inspired child, waiting to meet a man who has eaten a snake. And got paid to do it on cable.

Anthony Bourdain in life is Anthony Bourdain on television: he is tall, dark and handsome. He has a smoky voice, deep eyes and reconfirms my description of him as “the Leonard Cohen of food.” This “what you see is what you get” energy permeates his presence and the essence of who he is. You can not separate the name from the brand: they are one and the same.

“Hi, so nice to meet you,” I said nervously as I stretched out my hand to shake his.

“Hi,” he replied.

“My friends, Deborah and Scott, are big fans of yours. They just got married. Would you mind signing this for them?” I asked as I gave him some hotel stationery.

“Is that Deborah with an ‘h’?” he asked.

“Yes…. And could I please get a picture with you?”

“Sure,” he replied, completely un-phased by the fan club in front of him. But then, what can possibly phase a man who has eaten the world?

With photo and autograph in hand, I was a happy camper and resumed my back of the ballroom seat with other American Greetings employees.

Without any glorified props, scientific research nor predictable PowerPoint slides, Anthony began his dialogue about food: about where food trends began, where they are today and where they are headed in the future. He spoke of food as though it was the one thing on earth that connects us all. And, really, if you had a grandmother in your life, you would agree.

From a historical angle he asked, and then answered, the following question: “What makes a great food culture? When someone invades a country…. Look at England, the most boring and bland food you will ever eat.” Currently Asian and Latino foods are his favorites and the best examples of what Anthony referred to as “food fusion” are in Malaysia, Singapore and Brazil. Because in these places “the influences are all moving together.” Traveling to other countries to eat their food is “gastro-tourism,” something Americans are finally doing.

According to Anthony, “The tipping point in the American palette was when Americans wanted to eat sushi…. Suddenly a white fried fillet was not the only acceptable way to eat fish.”

Anthony Bourdain also spoke of how food trends are determined. “There’s a group of chefs, sitting somewhere in New York who are deciding if pork bellies are the next thing. And if that’s what they decide, you will be eating a lot of pork that year.”

Considering that this man has traveled everywhere and eaten everything, I was surprised that while being a food connoisseur, he wasn’t a food snob – and that there’s a difference. For one thing, he only spoke for 30 minutes, leaving half of his time for audience questions, a generous move for a television celebrity.

“The prettier the food, the more sweaty fingers have worked on it.”

“The most disgusting thing I ever had was a chicken McNugget.”

“The best meal I ever had was pork chops on a bed of rice on a white plate. It was white on white on white, which breaks all the (presentation) rules. But it tasted great.”

“The scariest meal I ever had was a seven course vegetarian meal in Los Angeles. Humorless, angry people.”

Anthony also spoke of his experience in Russia, which, for various reasons was of great interest to me. “In Russia, they drink a lot of vodka. And (just when you think you’re done) they will make you toast to their mother’s health. And how can you say ‘no’ to that?”

Speaking of vodka, when asked if he has any fear about what he eats, his reply was “Alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol…. You should eat with the natives. And if they have been eating this food for hundreds of years, how bad could it really be?” “Food,” Anthony suggested, “should be submissive.” He did admit to once having to lie in fetal position for several hours after eating some meat cooked in a village that had no water. He quickly followed this story with a non-chalant “But, then, so what?”

At one point, while the rest of us, and please, pardon the pun, were eating out of his hands, a woman in the audience, a woman, I am guessing, who probably carries an important title and whose salary, bonus and welfare depend on how many boxes of processed food she can push down on tired, busy American parents, asked Anthony what he thought was the future of ...snacks.

He quickly motioned his hand in a downward slope and gave this woman and the rest of us a very quick and in-your-face schooling on the lack of nutrition, the obese lifestyle children are experiencing in the U.S., how childhood diabetes is at a rise and how his own daughter, born earlier this year, will be fed “real food” as soon as possible. How even today, her Italian grandparents send over Italian baby food, and how, like him, they consider American baby food unacceptable.

Another person in the audience asked Anthony what he thought of the recent popularity of organics. His reply? “Organic food is food of the rich. It’s great if you can afford it. But there’s nothing wrong with a regular tomato.” Finally, when asked where food trends are headed, Anthony looked optimistic and shared his theory: “We’re going to be eating the food of our grandparents.”

It’s comments like this that resonated most with me. Anthony Bourdain worked his way into the celebrity lifestyle from the far more humble beginnings of washing dishes in restaurant kitchens. He knows his roots and accepts that only with this sense of history does he have a foundation.

Today he travels the globe to eat, drink and be merry with the natives. At age 51, he has a young Italian wife and a baby daughter. Anthony Bourdain is a man whose inner core and public persona are the same: that is the recipe of being a great artist – knowing oneself and allowing your talent to be food for the soul to the world.

Clowns in a Circus: Memorable Quotes, Compliments of You

We live in troubling times. Without going through a long list of depressing situations to worry about, the past year has added plenty of meshigas to our already slightly (or heavily) neurotic lives. If you happen to be someone untouched, unfazed or unbound from reality, enjoy your Shangri La while the rest of us continue to juggle, manage, cope (insert verb of choice) life in areas such as finance, romance, health, career and trying to figure out which presidential candidate can bring us back to the economic hey day when people could actually afford their houses, when world peace seemed plausible and when we survived without even knowing who that annoying hotel heiress is. While we all hope that life's progression leads to better, happier, healthier and more fruitful (and self-aware) life experiences - some call this security - often the new found wisdom merely brings us the realization of "Shit! I still have so much more to go."

In light of the seriousness with which many embark within our days, dream during our nights and contemplate choice while operating heavy machinery at uber fast speed, today's blog is here to make you laugh.

For years I have been collecting quotes from many of you: over dinner, at Starbucks, during High Holidays as well as other locations and situations. Like an addict in need of a fix, I've overcome temporary moments of permanent hearing loss all in an effort to listen to what you are saying.

Because I spend more time with some of you than others, a few names will appear more frequently. The good news is that the quantity is justified by the quality.

So sit back, enjoy and know that even during the most uncertain times, you can count on yourself to bring humor, light, great insight and provide the gift of laughter to others.

PS: Some quotes are adult reading, so if strong language or dirty thoughts offend you, stop reading now.... :-)

PPS: If you have some additional nuggets of joy you would like to add, please feel free to post comments on the blog.


"I feel like we are all clowns in your circus." - Miguelle E. to Alex 6.8.07


"One fleeting sophisticated asset in a sea of barbarism." - Robert W. 11.17.03


"Bridges are at the top of the metaphor pyramid. That's a good place to be." - Daniel B. @ Fat Fish Blue 5.1.04


"You're like my personal documentarian." - Jacob L. to Alex S. 5.14.04


"Emotionally happy downstairs." - Michael A. 5.28.04


"I am not a man of steel. I am a man of concrete." - Daniel B. 1.05


"Emotional intimacy. F*** that. And f*** me." - Tony V. 3.11.05


"A friend of mine moved to Vegas to be with a Chinese acrobat who didn't speak English." - Deborah S. 5.8.05


Danielle G. : I'm full.
Florin: Go to the bathroom and make some room. - 12.19.05


"This is nerd central. You could be their king." - Deborah S. to Daniel B., "studyhall" Starbuck's. 1.29.07


"I love him from afar, but unfortunately he now lives in my bed." - Deborah S. 4.20.06


"I'm not zenning enough." - Michael G. 1.6.07


"Hillbillies and Asians." - Wallie G. 1.13.07


"I'm the connoisseur of all things adult." - Evan L. 1.13.07

"I'd be Byonce's house husband. The public would never see me." - Miguelle E. 4.3.07

"Social Penetration Theory." - Bettina L. 4.3.07

Deborah S.: I met LeBron's belly botton.

Alex S.: And he enjoyed it. 4.3.07

"We're never content. We're Jewish. Do you know where you are?" - Tom F. to Florida waitress 6.2.07


"I really don't know what to do. But I can fly because I have wings." - 2 year old boy to his brother in Florida 6.2.07


"I hate giving head. I don't even give head to my fiance." - Katie, in Vegas. Not to her fiance. 6.07


"I didn't know hookers were that attractive." - Daniel B., reflecting on recent trip to Vegas. 6.13.07


"There are no problems. Only opportunities and the psych ward." - Alex S. 5.07

"Sometimes Phoebe. Sometimes Einstein. What can I say?" - Vanessa D. 6.19.07

"You are a fountain of obscure facts." - Daniel B. to Alex S. 6.07


"Menefits." - Kelly M. 6.21.07

"I don't have to make the world spin." - Alex S. 6.22.07


"Loose and warm." - Miguelle E. 6.24.07


"People f*** all the time." - Miguelle E. 6.24.07


"I had a conversation about G-d with a porn star / hooker." - Steve Z. 6.25.07


"Jewish sex: twice the guilt and half the calories." - Alex S. 6.29.07


Alex S.: How do you say "thank you" in Indian?
Sonya B.: No one ever says it. 7.5.07


"I've heard of Charles in Charge. But I don't know who Charles is or why he's in charge." - Daniel B. 7.6.07


"Hungaria." - Rudy W. 7.7.7

"Have you ever lived outside the Midwest?" - Ben L. to Daniel B. 7.8.07


"Curious playful minds." - Ben L. 7.8.07


"When I came along, the dog just wasn't the same person." - Veronica, San Diego 7.12.07


"He's cute, but I'll destroy him like a matza ball." - Debbie D. 7.21.07


"Now that I'm quiet, what do you want me to do?" - Jennifer to Miguelle E. 7.07


"Being a Jew just isn't what it used to be." - Evan L. 7.26.07


"Guinness. A small gift from above." - Michael (bartender) 7.27.07


"Strange coincidences and you go together." - Rick H. to Alex S. 8.14.07


Miguelle E.: Look at our shadows.
Alex S.: Everybody has to walk in them. - 8.18.07


"This is ridiculous. This is worst than a food stamp line." - Alex S. waiting to be called in jury duty 8.20.07


"I hope your job and my job never meet." - Curtis (truck driver) to Owen (paramedic) 8.20.07


"The assistant director's mother is too neurotic to be a Jew." - Evan 8.21.07


"I'm not giving you $10. I'm going to give you a "f*** you. For free." - Jose to city parking attendant. 8.24.07


"Two Rodneys don't make a right." - Jose 8.28.07


"Why does everyone say funny things when I am swallowing?" - Evan L. 8.30.07


"I got a lot to offer without my clothes on." - Miguelle E. 8.30.07


"Phrasology." - Bob N. 9.12.07


"Slinky is the anti-mushroom head." - Evan L. & Alex S. 9.16.07


To read additional historical quotes, visit:
http://www.alexsukhoy.com/YouSaidIt.html

Just Can't Get Enough: My 23 Year Relationship with Depeche Mode

Many of us musicaholics have one artist we depend on to put us in a certain state. For example, if I crave upbeat dance tracks to inspire me to clean, there's New Order's greatest hits double cd Substance. If I want psychological self-reflection to remind me that someone else's emotional struggle is more painful then mine, then anything by Blue October does the trick. And if I desire creative motivation which reminds me of how much more growth needs to happen to realize full artistic potential, then I turn on I'm Your Fan, an album of covers by bands such as James and REM all humbly and respectfully performing Lenard Cohen lyrics. Finally, if I ever need "mood" music, then neither Barry White nor Patricia Kass can compete with the one band whose songs for the past two and a half decades have inspired numerous make-out sessions across the globe: Depeche Mode.

My first encounter with DM occurred in Dina Aksel's house in (yes, of course) Skokie, Illinois. Dina lived in an area called Devonshire and back in 1984 she had MTV. At the time MTV still played music videos and one summer afternoon at Dina's house we were watching Mark Goodman do his thing as innovative songs such as "Black Stations, White Stations" penetrated young minds. Then, a video came on by this new British band called "Depeche Mode." The song was "People are People." The beat was catchy and the lyrics demonstrated an almost too profound guitar-less, keyboard sound. (sing along with me now):

[:People are people, so why should it be
You & I should get along so awfully:] 2x

(tun, tun, tun)

So we're different colors and we're different breeds
And different people have different needs
It's obvious you hate me though I've done nothing wrong
I've never even met you so what could I have done?

[:I can't understand what makes a man hate another man, help me understand....:] 10x

Deep stuff for a decade of excess.

Another early memory of the band took place during a cold winter night in Chicago. My friends and I went to one of those now extinct Russian restaurants - this one on Lincoln and Peterson - to ring in 1987. I had lost my apartment keys and my sister had to leave her New Year festivities and pick me up so I could get home. She was not happy. (Sis, I am so sorry I spoiled that party for you & any others where you had to be the responsible one). However, that night her friend (I think Vadim) gave Masha the Black Celebration album. Dark, intimate and brilliant, listening to the title song as I type this I can tell you it planted a seed in a very young mind many winters ago. A few years later, during senior year of high school, for my advertising class I created a radio commercial. Using a dusty tape player, I selected "Just Can't Get Enough" for my background music. I have no recollection as to what product I created the ad for, but who cares? As a future marketer I knew that an insatiable craving for anything resulted in more sales.

In 1990 I graduated high school and Depeche Mode grew up. Or, perhaps, I finally began to understand what this music was communicating. That year DM released what, in this writer's opinion, is one of the greatest musical albums of that decade: Violator - a concise, seductive, perverse and dark title, perfectly reflective of its contents. The first song released off that album was played at my high school prom and, a few months later, at the cool clubs in DeKalb, Illinois. Debbie, my NIU roommate, brought a small tv for our tiny shared dorm room and watching the "Enjoy the Silence" video gave me chills. The addictive electronic dance beat tapped into my then very lost and confused soul like a heroin needle in the hands of a misguided celebrity. The second major hit off the Violator cd was "Personal Jesus." Written in 6/8 time it had all the Jewish kids singing every lyric - never mind the irony. While the entire cd contained only nine songs total, with titles such as "Sweetest Perfection," "Waiting for the Night to Fall" and "Clean" Violator instantly became the make-out album of choice.

In 1993, now a student at DePaul, as I took another step towards independence with my first Lakeview apartment, Depeche Mode released the even more mature Songs of Faith and Devotion. The following summer, Jen, my cousin Alex and big group of us drove to Poplar Creek to see Depeche Mode in concert. We had grass seating, it rained like a monsoon and yet we remained for the entire performance. We did not care. We watched the band do its thing - realizing then that perhaps some bands are best left to the studio. Which is ok. Depeche Mode was the first keyboard-focused non-guitar band to sell out the giant outdoor stadium in L.A. And the live two-cd set Depeche Mode 101 is a brilliant compilation of all their pre-Violator hits. But on that particular stormy afternoon, technology and weather did not cooperate. However, one particular song on the new album struck a major chord: "In Your Room." The song is an invitation, much like many of Depeche Mode's songs, even the ones on their more current albums like 2001's Exciter and the most recent Playing the Angel. The music is still relevant, still powerful.

To this day Depeche Mode continues to influence my life in the most unexpected ways. Late this summer I began a fascinating communication with a man named David who, upon reading my blogs (specifically about Grand Master Flash, Cavs and Lloyd Dobler) decided to start his own blog, writing on topics that interest him and make him question the expected nature of humanity. A talented writer in his own right, David and I decided to collaborate on a He Said/She Said dual point of view on one of the many familiar subjects that are of great interest. We could have chosen the adventures of overseas travel, the search for true love or the simultaneous and mutual self-discovery of our creative cores. Instead, we agreed to write about Depeche Mode and the band's ever-evolving impact on our lives. We also agreed to write our observations independently before sharing them with each other or with anyone else. (You can click on the link below to read David's perspective).

Thus, I've been listening to my DM library from the early days of "Stripped" to "Master and Servant" to "I Feel Loved." And I picked up on the undercurrent of the theme, the constant idea that connects all Depeche Mode songs: it's the hunger one person feels for another. Basic, primal and poetic all at once.

Every Depeche Mode song is a seduction - of the heart, the mind, the body and the soul.

I don't think any other artist has articulated what that hunger feels like. (only exception is "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails.) Sometimes we've hungered for someone so much it hurt - as the longing was a one-way street. Perhaps, we were craved by someone but lusted after someone else. And in that rare moment of mutual attraction, that age-old instinct that has sustained the perpetual conception of mankind, that split-second gaze between two people in hunger for each other, that instant is what defines every piece of music ever created by Depeche Mode.

So next time you want to seduce, or be seduced, surrender to someone new or someone whom you think you know, put on Violator and enjoy your own sweet perfection.

###

David's Blog: http://floridadavesherman.blogspot.com/2007/08/learning-with-depeche-mode.html

A Second Chance at Witnessing Greatness: LeBron & the Cavs

"We're not here trying to win any one's respect. We're here trying to win a championship." - LeBron James

It's currently 12:13 a.m. and in less then five hours I need to get up, get ready, pack and leave for the airport. But how can anyone possibly sleep? Anybody on the planet who just saw the Cavs 109 to 107 Eastern Conference win over Detroit is wide awake, energized and still in awe at the incredulous and miraculous 48 points that LeBron scored during the double-overtime game which led the Cavs to a 3-2 lead in the series. LeBron, one man on one night in one game single-handedly elevated what a person can do if he put his mind to it.

What makes this victory so personal to me is the path to it. Whenever people ask me what my biggest regret in life was, my response is never the obvious answer that people expect. Instead, what I tell them is "My only regret in life is that growing up in Chicago, I never attended a Michael Jordan Bull's Game." Real sports fans immediately look at me with deep sympathy and disbelief, in an almost mutual mourning of "what could have been." On the other hand, people for whom basketball, or any kind of sports, is not a part of their lives, tilt their head, frown their forehead and squint their eyes as if to say "Are you kidding me?"

I won't waste my time trying to explain anything to the latter audience, for they simply don't get it. And that's O.K. Because they don't have to. But I do. And this week, the appreciation for the Art of Basketball has been a once in a lifetime gift.

As with some stories you read on this blog, this one also begins in Skokie, Illinois. In Oakview Jr. High School Erin and I tried out and played for the basketball team. She and I were tough, we were fierce and we would run, grab, throw and shoot that ball until the two tallest girls in the class would add a score to the score board. We were determined and we never pretended to be girly-girls: we did not want to be cheerleaders, we wanted to be stars.

In 8th grade, the Bears won the Superbowl, and after graduation that summer, Erin and her family left town. She remained tall, I stopped growing after reaching 5'5". But we remained in contact and never stopped being sports fans. Erin's passion is baseball, and every year the Chicago Cubbies break her heart more than any other boy ever did (thank God Mike is there now). Mine is basketball.

In Chicago, during the 90's, when Jordan lead the Bulls to two sets of three consecutive championships, for six wins total, I was a busy college student, attending DePaul and working full time to support myself. Spending money on an NBA ticket while getting paid $6 an hour was not a luxury I was willing to afford. However, I did watch the games on television and in sports bars. Each consecutive year when Michael Jordan would up the level to which all others aspired, the world began to watch this man with a careful eye just to see what he could do in the last 3.2 seconds of a game. You all saw the magic, you all watched the game face and you all witnessed the man fly across the basketball court. It was the golden era of basketball.

In the Fall of 2003, much to the surprise of everyone, including myself, I moved to Cleveland. And that Fall, a young man named LeBron James was recruited on the team. Still not old enough to drink, the hype around him was that of an established celebrity: people would claim that they had a LeBron spotting at such and such restaurant or club or downtown apartment building.

One month after arriving in Cleveland, Erin came to visit me. I bought us two tickets to a Cavs game with the $100 gift card I received from my new bank. We had decent seats and began watching this team do their thing. "Double-dribble!" "Fowl!" "What is the ref thinking?" "C'mon, on!" Suddenly our jr. high dreams were living themselves out, almost twenty years after the fact. That night the Cavs had their 1st home win of the season and their 1st 100 point game. And that night, I became hooked.

Since Fall, 2003, I have attended three to four games each season. If it was not for the grad student loans, I'd invest in Season passes. But I am not greedy. I am very fortunate. Of all the games I have attended, I may have actually paid for about three or four of them. Generous people have invited me to games and have even given me tickets, because They Know. And every single game which I have attended The Cavs Have Won. Even when they played Miami against Shaq, the Cavs Have Won. I have sat as far back as the furthest rows in the upper section and as close as 3rd row behind the team. And each time, the excitement was incredible.

Two years ago my friends and I, celebrating Sylvia's birthday, actually saw LeBron at Blue Point Restaurant. Tall, polite and holding his tiny son he smiled, posed for photos with kids and signed autographs before exiting for privacy. He knew he was on the verge of something big, and so did everyone else in his presence.

This year, the Cavs have advanced to the Eastern Finals, being one of only 4 teams that stands a chance at playing and winning the NBA Championship. This week, via a fan based lottery, I was able to purchase two tickets for Game 4. Prior to this game, the series was at 1-2, with Detroit in the lead. The Cavs won Game 3, in Cleveland, and the chance to see them win a playoff game 10 minutes from where I live was my opportunity to Right a Wrong. It took a decade to get here and this time, I spent the money on some really nice seats. My good friend and neighbor Miguel went with me and together we watched an unbelievable man do unbelievable things in front of our eyes. We were Witnesses. And Witnessed a win that made us hold our breaths until the last 3.5 seconds of that game.

At this game, I took some great photos, including the one you see posted in this blog (click on it for closer view), of LeBron shooting, ball in the air, all players, audience members, reporters and referees looking up; All of us, Witnesses. And LeBron led his team, and his city, to another victory.

Tonight, the game was played in Detroit. In their house. On their turf. And. After four quarters, two overtimes and 48 points, LeBron disrespected his opponents house. He did not rely too much on his team mates. Tonight his team mates, his coach, his family and his city relied on him. And he elevated the game to a completely new level.

During the 2nd overtime, after making yet another 3-pointer, one of the reporters said "That was very Jordanesque." I secretly smiled. As Sahar told me at midnight, "It was actually very 'LeBronesque.' " And I get to see it all for myself. And share in the breath-holding drama with my city. (Particularly with my neighbor Miguel, as we exchanged short text messages through out the game, too involved to watch it together, but too expressive to not share in colorful commentary.)

The next game in the series, and the one where the Cavs could claim their turf for The Championship, takes place in Cleveland this Saturday. Ironically, I won't be here, as I am flying to Florida to celebrate my cousin Slava's recent Hawaii wedding to his bride Kelly. It's probably a good thing that I won't be here, just 10 minutes from the Quicken Arena as I could only imagine what the streets of Cleveland, a city which is doing all it can right now to prove it's worth to the financial, creative and athletic skeptics of the world, will look like after winning the Eastern Conference.

I don't have to imagine it. I saw it in Chicago for the first time over 15 years ago. This time, though, I am a Witness.

Hip-Hop, Wall Street & Skokie Illinois

On Sunday March 11 the Rock Hall inducted 5 artists into into the Class of 2007. Surprisingly, actually 2 of these artists were female: Chicago's own Patti Smith and Ronnie "Be My Little Baby" & the Ronettes. But what was even more surprising was not these women's induction into the male-driven Museum, but that a Hip-Hop artist made the cut: Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five! While their killer record spinning and scratching performance brought a shock to the establishment system, it did propel the obvious question: Does a Hip-Hop artist belong in the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame?

To answer that question, I recommend you read Christopher Farley recent Wall Street Journal perspective, "Hip-Hop Makes the Hall of Fame." The link to his article is below and if you're a subscriber to the publication, you can benefit from his passionate response; a response that struck a chord with yours truly. I was so inspired by what he wrote that I did what I had to do: write him directly. Below is my letter to him, (with one corrected gramatical error):

"Christopher,

I just read your Rock Hall Hip Hop article and need to share with you how much I enjoyed it! The fact that you took it back to your school days (and closed the piece on the same note) hit home: I was an immigrant Jewish girl from the Former Soviet Union growing up in Skokie, Illinois (a suburb of Chicago) when I was first introduced to "house" music by my cool friend Karla Young. It was the very early 80's and Karla's older brother Albert, in high school at the time, had a huge stack of records with this new sound, this electrifying sound, which no one had heard of before. Saturday nights I would also listen to WBMX FM and record the Saturday Night Dance Party on the couple of tapes which I could afford to purchase with some babysitting or drum lessons money. The first time I heard "White Lines" I had to memorize each lyric - there was no other option but to sing (off key) to this song each time it would come on. And many years later, when Duran Duran covered it, I bought the entire album of covers because of this one song.

Currently, I reside in Cleveland, just blocks from the actual Rock Hall Museum which, unfortunately never hosts the induction ceremony. But perhaps one day it will. And, now that Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five and Blondie, who first rapped about "Feb Five Freddy" and Flash in her Top 10 hit "Rapture," (how many people realized that it's no other than Basquiat, also of Caribbean descent, spinning records in the cutting edge video?) have both been inducted into the Rock Hall, perhaps music snobs can shift their perspective. And, if not, we can always watch "Crush Groove" over and over again to re-witness the birth of the ultimate American Dream: being given no resources and via gut instinct, passion and a bit of musical alchemy, changing the world.

Cheers to you!

- Alex"

Much to my surprise within 21 minutes Christopher wrote me back:

"Your point about Basquiat was a good one. I wish I had mentioned him. Thanks for your note."

Not bad a Jewish girl from Skokie, Illinois. Ah, Beastie Boys would be so proud!

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB117398371690838386-search.html?KEYWORDS=Hip-Hop+Makes+the+Hall+of+Fame&COLLECTION=wsjie/6month

Searching for Lloyd Dobler

If you are a woman between the ages of 30 and 45 reading this blog title, chances are you have already smiled. You are probably humming "In Your Eyes" reading this and recognizing a very tall, very young and very romantic John Cusack standing outside the house of an even younger Ione Skye. You remember how simultaneously strong and desperate he looks, with his hands high in the air holding an over-sized boom-box in a last-effort attempt to woo back the woman he loves. Deep sigh.

If you are a man or a woman, hopefully since the film's 1989 release you have had romantic moments of your own. Perhaps one of you has even experienced your own Lloyd Dobler scenerio and had the person who craves you so deeply stand outside your (or your parents') house one day, playing just the right song, in order to 1. get your attention 2. woo you back into their life. Perhaps you were the one doing the wooing. Regardless - you have had that moment where you were swept off your feet, damn the odds, head over heels in love and you did not let any of life's real obstacles get in the way.

Since 1989, as some of you, I have had numerous relationships, several deep loves and all the heartbreak that comes with it. And I would not have changed a thing. And. There has been one man who has been a constant, drifting in and out of my life for the past two decades with the same random consistency as a Midwest snow blizzard: you know it's coming, you know it's going to be strong, but you never know when it will hit you. The man I am speaking of is John Cusack.

Of course, I knew who John Cusack was way before "Say Anything" was released. I first spotted him in "Better Off Dead," "The Sure Thing" and in the background of all kinds of early 80's movies including "Class" and "Sixteen Candles". But when I saw "Say Anything," and witnessed this character's ability to be tender, yet strong, romantic, yet hopeful, silly, yet responsible (he was key man at the graduation party), and introduce the world to something called "kick-boxing" all the while being obsessed with great music, I immediately identified with this misunderstood outcast who wanted someone popular to like him.

In the movies that followed, John often portrayed men of mixed emotions, complex natures and dark undertones. Some examples include "The Grifters," "True Colors" & the recent "The Ice Harvest." But it is when John portrays the outcasted, hopeless romantic that I most want to be with John. In "Gross Point Blank" he was brilliant as the professional assassin going home to Michigan to attend his 10 year high school reunion and to make right with Mini Driver, whom he stood up at the prom one decade ago. In "Serendipity" he pursues true love all the way to an empty ice skating rink, where true love finds him. And, in "Must Love Dogs" he is a man in love with Diane Lane. A man who is also into music and kick boxing...

But the movie where all things John Cusack comes into play most is "High Fidelity." Shot on location in Chicago, it is a tale of misunderstood John searching for love and managing survival as the brilliant soundtrack of life marches on in constant cadence.

For the past twenty years John has waited for me on a basket ball court, he has been out with me on a date and he's even (once) kissed me. We have had silent discussions and fleeing, but deep, emotions. There have been moments where, upon waking up from another random "out of nowhere" dream I felt closer to John than to any man I have actually ever met.

And I am not alone in this particular pursuit. Back in the late 90's, when Jamie moved from Indiana, down my block on Briar St. in Chicago's Lakeview neighborhood, and into my life, she & I were fixated with trying to find John's house, John's condo, John's bike, John's coffee shop. I don't know if it ever mattered if we would ever spot John; what mattered was that we were hopeful.

In reality, I have experienced two incidences of 6 degrees of John Cusack. In high school, another drummer, Martin Bany, once told me how he and his father knew "Johnie's parents." The second event happened the night before I left for business school. Masha took me to see Madonna in concert and, outside the stadium, after the show, Joan Cusack, John's sister and wonderful actress, was standing, talking to her friend. Chris Forillo & I came up to her and then I took a photo of Chris and Joan. Ah, one step closer to the dream!

I recently read that John is single. And someone told me that he's "difficult." But who isn't? John Cusack is an accomplished and award-winning actor, successful in comedy, drama, thriller and, of course, romance movies. His strong sensitivity, obsession with music and love of film are just a few of the things he & I both have in common. Not to mention the Chicago roots. I wonder if I will ever meet him or if the man who I will fall eternally in love with will share the same characteristics? But am I really that interested in John Cusack, or his portrayal of my favorite leading man, Lloyd Dobler?

My Super Bowl Adventure

February 5, 2007

I wanted to share my little adventure with you of what happened to me during Super Bowl weekend, as I embarked on a little adventure to Rochester (and back) for a Simon on-campus recruiting event. The weekend itself was wonderful, celebrating birthdays with Rami & Isanna and their respective families at IHOP, having dinner with Angela and her boyfriend (yes, he exists) Chet, interviewing some brilliant future leaders for Simon, catching up with fellow Skokian Associate Dean Steve Posavec and buying some Sabra salads at the world's greatest grocery store, Wegman's.

As I left Wegman's on Sunday at noon and filled my car with gas prior to getting onto 390. The temperature was cold, but the sun was shining, visibility great and I ambitiously set off for my drive home, in great anticipation of Deborah's Super Bowl party to watch Da Bears play in the world championship for the 1st time since Erin & I sang the "Superbowl Shuffle" in 8th grade.

However, destiny had other plans for me and, immediately after passing through Buffalo, while talking to Debbie Dvorin in Chicago, the skies turned gray, snow began to blow horizontally and all visibility went to hell. And what followed next felt like a long, bad dream. But, perhaps, sometimes our spirits need a nice kick to exercise whatever demons have leeched on to our best manners. It's at moments like this, one truly learns what she is capable of and what one's character will and will not do. It's also at times like this the world throws you angels, like the nice young man with the "Tim Horton's" hat who pulled over, dug me out out of the snow and literally saved my life.

I have decided that I can now win "Survivor: The Winter Edition" and that for me to find true love, the man of my dreams must pass the following test:

Can a guy figure out what to do if he is stranded by himself in a snow blizzard in the middle of nowhere and then find his way home? Test includes: zero visibility, 4' of snow accumulating to 10', below freezing temperatures, 30 mile winds, no snow tires, no shovel, wind shield fluid replacement, frozen wind shield fluid "holes" (thus unviewable front window), being stuck in the middle of a busy intersection blocking 2 lanes of traffic all at once, a motel with no cleared out snow in the parking lot (or anywhere else), low room heat, no food, a broken remote and a shower that sets off the smoke alarm. Also, upon trying to figure out how to unfreeze the wind shield fluid dispensers, having the support stick to the hood of the car malfunction, thus having the hood fall on one's head....

If a man can survive that and make it home alive, without hitting anyone or being hit, he's no mamas boy :-)

As my good friend Jessica so wisely put it: "Alex, so you basically want to date AAA?"

Crooked River Burning Review

January 2007

Crooked River Burning by Mark Winegardner is a book Daniel gave me as a gift in 2006. It sat my old white built-in bookshelf at the Cleveland Heights apartment for nearly half a year before I finally picked it up. And then it took me months to finish, as it traveled with me to my new downtown apartment, to Chicago and even twice to London. Perhaps I should have had the novel stamped at each Passport station that I crossed during its reading? Anyhoo, I finally did finish reading it and have been recommending it to many. Additionally, it has recently received some amazing press.

The book itself is a couple of years in publication and in this January's Entertainment Weekly, Stephen King picked it as one of his top 10 reads for 2006. "Uncle Stevie" even puts a disclaimer that his list is not about books that came out last year, but books he read during 2006. And he calls CRB "The great American story. About Cleveland? Yes Cleveland!"

It's really, really good. I have never taken this long to finish a book because, secretly, I did not want it to ever end. Thus I read just a couple of pages at a time. Sort of like watching General Hospital, except on that show, after an hour, (or a week or a month) nothing new happens anymore....

Crooked River Burning is full of historical insight about this city, as well as memorable one-liners. My favorite quote in CRB is: "Every man in Cleveland lives within a mile of his mother. And if not physically, then metaphorically."

This novel should be the welcome manual for all of us who transplanted into this city, not understanding East vs. West, stagnation vs. progression, Cleveland's undenying belief that its factories, churches and sports would keep all afloat for much longer than reality would allow, how the political machine ran the town, all from a little restaurant on Vincent street, and basically what happens to people, and a city, when a myopic view takes over and the price future generations will have to pay (or simply leave) to resuscitate life into a once-energetic metropolis while the neighboring and growing suburban fiscal influence snubs Cleveland-proper, except during election time.

Many of you, Clevelanders or not, would enjoy the book and, if nothing else, learn a thing or two about the city that has become my home.

http://www.amazon.com/Crooked-River-Burning-Mark-Winegardner/dp/015601422X/sr=8-1/qid=1172203976/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/103-8551678-5928635?ie=UTF8&s=books