Thursday Hey Nonny-Nonny

Not bad weather for December so far. Above freezing and sunny today and yesterday. This can’t last.

This week I noticed the first installation of solar rooftop panels on my street, though not in my part of town. A good thing to do, I suppose. But my on-the-fly, rough calculations go like this: Cost to install: x. Savings on energy each year: a small, maybe minuscule fraction of x. Tax-credit support for the project: you’ll find out after considerable paperwork and wandering through the fun house that is the tax code. So another fraction of x. Years to recoup investment: many.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe that’s changed or was never right. Could be that Greta will come to my front door someday and personally shame me about my non-solar house. I know the cost of solar panels is way down, but that’s only one cost component, and I also know that any home improvement project costs more than published estimates, or the contractor’s estimates, or more than you think it should, or just more period.

Schaumburg Town Square here in the northwest suburbs is decked out pretty nicely with lights this year. Here are trees along the square’s square pond.

Schaumburg Town Square Christmas lights

The clocktower and its plaza are gold and silver.

Schaumburg Town Square Christmas lights

The first time, I think, I’ve seen the clocktower itself arrayed in sparkling gold.

Closer to home — at home, in fact — I recently made a clip of the dog perched in one of her favorite places, the stairs. Lights feature in this clip as well. Strange, eerie lights… either an easily explainable reflection from the dog’s tapetum lucidum inside her eyes, or the animal is sending me telepathic beams to relay one simple message, Feed me more.

On a more somber note, two deaths have come to my attention recently. Both of people hardly old.

RIP, Craig Bloomfield, PR man and commercial real estate writer, and professional acquaintance of mine. Also, roughly my age. I don’t remember the last time I spoke to him, though it’s been a number of years. I have some pleasant memories of PR lunches with him back in the early 2000s, especially at the Russian Tea Time in the Loop.

RIP, Debbie Gregg, eldest sister of a very old friend of mine. I spent a lot of time with her brother Tom in the early ’70s, and Debbie was around sometimes. She was about the same age as my eldest brother. Tom and I haven’t been in touch much as adults, and I probably haven’t seen Debbie in 30+ years, since Tom got married, but it’s still a sad thing to hear.

GeGeGe and Many Torii

Other places that Yuriko visited during her recent stay in Japan included Mizuki Shigeru Road in Sakaiminato, Tottori Prefecture, and Fushimi Inari-taisha, a Shinto shrine in Kyoto.

Mizuki Shigeru Road sports more than 100 statues depicting characters created by Shigeru Mizuki (1922-2015), a manga artist best known for a series called GeGeGe no Kitarō. I’m not a manga aficionado, or even very interested, but his characters are so widely known in Japan that even I recognized some of them, by sight if not by name.
Most of them I don’t recognize. But they are interesting.
I understand that Mizuki drew much of his inspiration from yōkai, a broad class of monsters, spirits and demons in Japanese folklore. I believe it.
Yuriko said that she hadn’t visited Sakaiminato before (though we did go to another part of Tottori once together) and that the statues are fairly new.

I recognized another place she visited, however: Fushimi Inari-taisha, a shrine whose precincts feature many, many torii. And almost as many steps.Fushimi Inari-taisha

Fushimi Inari-taisha

Fushimi Inari-taisha

I’m pretty sure, but not absolutely sure, that I visited Fushimi a good many years ago — nearly 30 — and climbed many steps through many orange torii.

Japan ’19

Yuriko returned recently from a couple of weeks in Japan. Besides time with family, she visited a number of interesting places in the Kansai and a little beyond, such as the Adachi Museum of Art off in Shimane Prefecture, which hugs the Sea of Japan coastline northwest of greater Osaka.

Never made it up that way myself. The museum, which features a large collection of works by Taikan Yokoyama and other artists, is also known for its garden. Looks impressive.Adachi Museum of Art

Adachi Museum of Art

I’d have to see it myself to compare it to Ritsurin Garden in Takamatsu on Shikoku — the most breathtaking Japanese garden I’ve seen. But best not to invent rankings for places like that anyway.

Also of interest: she visited not only the Tower of the Sun (Taiyō no Tō) on the former grounds of Expo ’70 in Osaka, she went inside.

That wasn’t possible when I was in Osaka, though gazing at the exterior was something I did from time to time. I’ve read that the interior only opened permanently last year after renovations to the structure, with the artwork inside refurbished too. It’s a depiction of the Tree of Life.
tower of the sun interior osakaWow. I’d like to see that as well sometime. Along with the Maishima Incineration Plant (which Y didn’t visit this time).

Neon Santa

Most of yesterday’s snow is gone. If winter were like that all the way through around here, that would suit me. Then again, that would also probably mean Texas-like summers and the melting of the Greenland ice sheet for starters, so never mind.

Christmas lights and decorations are sprouting rapidly in our neighborhood, some modest, some modestly gaudy. No one here goes for the full Griswold, or even a half or quarter Griswold.

As for Christmas in the stores, all that sprouted weeks ago. Still, sometimes I see new things. New to me, anyway. Like a Neon Santa.

Available at a warehouse store I visit sometimes. Could have been mine for about $30, but I passed on it. I also noticed that it isn’t actually neon. In our time, it’s an LED Santa.

Thanksgiving Dinner 2019

December didn’t arrive with a blast of snow, but instead gray skies that gave up rain from time to time, which — by Sunday just after dark — had turned into light snow. In other words, weather like we’ve had much of the time since the Halloween snow fell, followed by the Veterans Day snow.

Come to think of it, we had Palm Sunday snow this year. Seems like a year for named-day snows. But no Thanksgiving snow. Or Absence of Color Friday snow (well, maybe).

Took no pictures of 2019 Thanksgiving dinner. Will there be a time when it’s socially mandatory to take a picture of every special-event or holiday meal? Or every meal? Sounds like a small component of dark tale you’d see in Black Mirror.

This year’s meal looked pretty much like this plate — same kind of fish bought from the same place — and was just as good, with the food prepared mostly by my daughters’ skilled hands. Chocolate creme pie for dessert, also from a store, and one we’ve enjoyed before. I did all cleanup, a multi-pan, multi-dish, many-utensil effort, but worth it.

Tintinabulation &c

A classic November day outside my window today. Slate gray sky, rain in the morning, chilly but not freezing, gusts of wind pushing leaves around. At least week’s ice and snow are gone. They’ll be back. A brown Christmas would suit me fine, but I can’t count on it.

Back to posting after Thanksgiving, around December 1, after a week-long holiday from posting, but not from work this year. Still, being off on Thursday and Friday — which will include no special consumer activity on my part — ought to be pretty sweet, as always.

We will probably hit the grocery store on Tuesday or Wednesday evening. Meat, carbohydrates, sweets, etc. Exact menu to be determined in conference with the rest of my family in the near future.

Here’s Phil Ochs’ adaption of Poe’s “The Bells.” Didn’t know about it until recently. Nice.

I have a big book of Poe’s work from the library that I’ve been grazing lately. Read “The Bells” again, among other things, after many years. I’d forgotten most of it. Somehow I didn’t notice when I was younger that the poem progresses from silver to gold to brass (brazen) to iron bells — from merriment to happiness to alarm to death, or at least what I take for death in poem, though not the song:

They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A pæan from the bells!

Last night I read “Hop-Frog,” which I hadn’t before. A neat little revenge story, like “The Cask of the Amontillado,” though not quite in the same horrifying league. I guessed the ending — what violence Hop-Frog was planning. No matter. Poe’s usually worth a read. The influence of even that minor story seems to turn up in odd places.

The Ordinary Now, Retail Edition

About two weeks ago, we visited a nearby regional mall. One thing I noticed was an enormous construction site where one of the anchor tenants used to be, a department store I can’t ever remember visiting. Later I read that the site will soon be a home to a store with no connection to the rest of the mall — none casual visitors can use, anyway. It’s a brand that will probably do well there.

Inside the mall, we witnessed the last gasp of another anchor.

Last 2 Days! We had to wander through. Still for sale: large rugs, some washing machines and refrigerators, store fixtures. I actually remember buying something at this location: a lawn mower a few years ago. A Craftsman. It’s held up pretty well.

A few days ago as I looked out my office window, I noticed a delivery truck. That isn’t at all unusual, not even this particular kind of truck, but I wanted to take a picture anyway. A small urge to document the ordinary now, since it won’t last.

The deliveryman was fast, though. By the time I got my camera (phone, that is), activated the camera function, unlocked the front door, stepped outside, pointed and pushed the button, he was on his way, so the image is of an e-commerce delivery truck in motion. Maybe that’s fitting: go-go-go.

The Hot Sardines

Usually one visit to the city per weekend is enough. On Saturday, the trip to see The Merchant of Venice involved a drive to a part of town where parking is easy and an El stop is nearby, so we could ride the rest of the way to a neighborhood with far more difficult parking.

Not long ago, I found out that the Hot Sardines were going to be in town the same weekend — but on Sunday — so I decided that I wanted to see them, too. At least driving all the way was an option, since the band was playing at the Old Town School of Folk Music in Lincoln Square. We parked a half a block away.

The only reason I know about the Hot Sardines is YouTube. To be more exact, YouTube algorithms that suggest one thing and another. When it comes to music, that’s almost always very little outside a narrow range, but occasionally something unusual gets through. Probably listening to electroswing a few years ago made the bots suggest the Hot Sardines’ to-the-ceiling-lively version of “Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen.”

They’re just as lively in person. Hot is fitting. Hot jazz and lots of it, in a roughly two-hour show with no intermission and two encores, with frontwoman Elizabeth Bougerol and bandleader Evan Palazzo each hopping their jive — peppy vocals and animated piano, respectively. Other band members jammed on trombone, trumpet, bass, tenor saxophone, clarinet and drums, sometimes including conga. Often enough each of them had solos in which to shine, and shine they did, every jack jazzman of them.

There was also a fellow on stage with no instruments. Sitting in a chair in his fancy duds and fine hat. (Of course, they all wore fancy duds — Bougerol in gold lame and Palazzo in powder blue.) As soon as the first number started, his feet started tapping, and you noticed the taps on his shoes. He was the band tap dancer. Did he ever move, sometimes just sitting down, but often on his feet, moving all over the stage, tap-tap-tap-tap-tap with arms and legs moving every which way, adding his distinctive rhythm to the band. Who thought of adding him? (A.C. Lincoln by name.) What an inspiration.

Some tunes were more familiar, some less, all good. Among others, the Hot Sardines played “Some of These Days,” a Sophie Tucker number, “Bill Bailey Won’t You Please Come Home,” “Lulu’s Back in Town” and “Caravan” (take note of A.C. Lincoln doing his thing in that last video). “Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen” was the first encore.

As we entered the theater, I noticed a few small signs here and there explaining that the show was partly sponsored by the European Union. Odd, I thought, then forgot about it.

About mid-way through, Bougerol, who had a pretty good between-song patter, mentioned it. “Seems like one of our sponsors is the European Union,” she said, making a gesture that told us, How strange.

“Must be because I’m a French national,” she said.

Listening to her speak or sing in perfectly idiomatic and unaccented English, you’d have no clue. Apparently she was born in Neuilly-sur-Seine near Paris, but spent time in Ivory Coast and Canada while growing up — as well she might, since her grandfather was a Canadian jazzman named Bobby Gimby, who wrote a song I might have sung as a six-year-old had I lived in Ontario instead of Texas.

Bougerol did four or five of songs in French — just as jazzy as anything in English — but the only one whose title I know was “I Wanna Be Like You,” or whatever the French equivalent is. She said she knew it from watching the French version of Disney’s Jungle Book as a child.

The band lineup is a little different in this video, but the tune and lyrics are the same.

She also told the amusing story of how the band formed. Namely, the beginning of the musical collaboration between her and Palazzo, who met by answering the same Craigslist ad for a jazz jam. They discovered they both knew a relatively obscure Fats Waller song, “Feet’s Too Big,” and played it at the jam.

Then they played it for us in the audience.

Now that’s a fun song. Fats Waller’s recording of it is here.

The Merchant of Venice

On Saturday Ann and I went to the North Side of Chicago to the Pride Arts Center to see The Merchant of Venice as performed on a small stage by Invictus Theatre Co., which did a first-rate job.

Besides enjoying the steady stream Shakespearean turns of phrase — as with any of his works — by seeing that play, we were also dipping our toes into the unending argument about how to interpret the play and especially Shylock.

The modern urge is to want Shylock to be sympathetic, and he is sometimes, such as in his righteous anger. Yet sometimes he’s not, as when he bemoans not his lost daughter, but the money she took with her. I doubt that Elizabethan audiences concerned themselves much with understanding Shylock, however nuanced Shakespeare made him. They just were looking to be entertained, and probably booing and hissing at Shylock was fully part of that.

But we bring centuries of further history with us when we see the play. Invictus referenced this explicitly by setting the action in Fascist Italy, with costumes specific to that period — including the stylish dresses of upper-class women of the time, but also blackshirts. The setting added an extra layer of menace to the situation Shylock found himself in, making him easier to sympathize with.

Also emphasized: Shylock as an outsider. Joseph Beal, who did a fine turn with the part, played it with a Yiddish accent, which might not have meant anything to Venetians of 1600 or even 1938, but which marks him apart from the rest of the cast to our ears.

There are comic elements in the play, of course, some of which actually were funny, especially when Portia’s suitors mulled which box to pick to win her hand. A young actor named Jack Morsovillo briefly stole the show as the comic Arragon in that scene. Though it wasn’t all that funny, the play also featured the comic conceit of two men unable to recognize their wives simply because they were pretending to be men.

In this production, a silent addition marked the end of the play. Jessica, the daughter who abandoned Shylock, emerges on one side of the stage, looking miserably torn about the decision she’s made. Shylock emerges on the other side of the stage, looking at her. Are they going to reconcile? Quarrel? Before anything is said, two blackshirts come from behind Shylock, grab him and take him away.

Quite an ending, even if appended for a modern audience, for a play that’s technically a comedy. So the production was squarely in this new(ish) tradition — since the 19th century, I believe — of making Shylock more victim than monster, but hardly all victim. Well done, Invictus.

Vienna 1994

At Stephansplatz in Vienna in November 1994, I posed for a picture in front of Stephansdom. I decided to make a globe-like shape with my hands by putting the fingers of both hands together, fingertip-to-fingertip.

Stephansplatz in ViennaWhich looks like some kind of nightmarish gluing of my fingers together. Just an eccentric little gesture that didn’t quite go right. I’d realized sometime earlier that Vienna was as far east as I’d reached in July 1983, when coming from the west. In 1994, coming from the east, I’d reached Vienna again. So I had passed through every longitude. Hence, a globe.

Actually, I’d already passed through every longitude by the time I’d reached Prague about 10 days earlier, traveling from Krakow, because Prague is west of Vienna, but never mind. I figured Vienna was the meeting point. It occurs to me now that besides London, Vienna is the only place in Europe that I’ve visited more than once. Need to rectify that in future years if I’m able.

Had a good visit both times. Here’s Yuriko on the grounds of Schönbrunn Palace.

Schönbrunn Palace

It was a foggy day. Just barely visible in the background is the Gloriette. The day I visited in 1983 was sunny, not too hot, and pleasantly windy. I parked myself on a bench on the slope between the palace and the Gloriette and sat a while, admiring the view and writing a letter. A peak moment.

The Christkindlmarkt on the Rathausplatz had just started when we were there.
Christkindlmarkt on the Rathausplatz In the background is, naturally, Vienna’s Rathaus. Lots of pretty things were for sale at the market, I remember, but more expensive than the equally pretty baubles we’d seen at Krakow Cloth Hall market, which wasn’t a Christmas market, but had ornaments.

Belvedere Palace. You want palaces? Wien’s got ’em.

Belvedere PalaceVienna’s Ringstrasse.
RingstrasseOne of the things that struck me when wandering around that part of town during my first visit to Vienna was spotting OPEC headquarters. It was in this building from 1977 to 2009.

If I’d known OPEC HQ was in Vienna, I’d forgotten that fact. OPEC isn’t that well known these days, but in the ’70s the organization was in the news all the time, generally characterized as shifty foreigners gouging upstanding Americans for oil. Not the kind of organization that occupies a building in a major European city, with offices and windows and phones and secretaries and all that. A silly thing to think, but often enough it’s hard to shake the prevailing nonsense.