Mysteries Abysmal

PC'ness at its worst

Back in my hometown the Beaner's Coffee stores are undergoing a widespread name change to avoid being "insensitive" to the Mexican community. It's one thing if the name is irrelevant to its product, but coffee is made out of beans and that's the he and the she of it. Even more upsetting is the relative obscurity of this so-called racial slur. The new name, Biggby, is just garbage. If this NPR-ization of the American psyche continues, I say look out Cracker Barrel: you could be next. 

Spirited kitsch on Broadway

Avenue Tavern.  12:26 a.m. A relatively complacent crowd at a popular Lincoln Park drinking establisment erupts to the sound of Wham!'s "Last Christmas."

Discord on the diamond

The Mitchell Report is out and lists many surprising names suspected of illegal steroid use, Roger Clemens chief among them. As a life-long baseball fan, this section was hard to read:

In the report, McNamee said he had personally injected Clemens four or five times since August 2001. Clemens had previously been suspected of steroid usage, but denied it. The report was the first confirmation that McNamee provided testimony to Mitchell.

Then there are some unusual names on the list, like Neifi Perez, the biggest bum to ever put on a Major League uniform (OK, so he has a decent glove, but he's worthless at the plate.) So will fans be turned off by all this and stay home next year? After all, MLB is enjoying an attendance surge that is unprecedented in its long history.  I hope not, because my team the Tigers are expected to field one of the best teams MLB has seen in many a year.  They are going to make the '84 squad look like Triple A. 

The real mccoy

Chicagoans seem to think deep dish is where pizza begins and ends. Au contraire!  I'd be happy if I never had to bite into a buttery-crusted, soggy, excessively cheesy deep-dish pie ever again.  A great pizza is about a sweetly robust sauce with a super crispy, charred crust. A superior crust is one that when it burns, it almost begins to carmelize. So when pizzerias pile on the cheese, that only masks its best qualities.  Well, I finally found a pizzeria in Chicago that does Neapolitan/New Haven/New York style pizza the right way: Coal Fire.  If any of you New Yorkers have had Grimaldi's under the Brooklyn Bridge, this is a similar pizza but not quite as soggy.  Their hall-of-fame pie is the lightly salted "prosciutto" with extra sauce, and with their custom built 800 degree coal fire oven, your pizza will be brought to your table in under 5 minutes.   

Chicago's back in the game, folks.   

He was Joey Kremple

It's no secret that we love Crispin 'round these parts.  Congrats to friend and fellow DePaul alum Drew Fortune for recently interviewing him.  I do not get any more jealous than this. 

Culture, skidding

I didn't know scare-maven Stephen King writes a pop column for Entertainment Weekly.  In the current issue he reveals his Top 7 Albums of '07 and there's a few nice choices on there.  He leans generously towards an earthy southern twang, with Steve Earle in the front position, and then with some less desirable fare that shows his age: Ozzy Ozbourne and John Fogarty.  Yet Wilco's Sky Blue Sky gets a nod, an album I'm growing to love more than their other celebrated efforts.  But the prize here is Southern Culture on the Skid's magnanimous cover collection Countrypolitan Favorites, which I've been sampling on iTunes and kinda lovin'.

Past masters

With the weather lousy and Netflix arriving at my door every other day, it can only mean that it's hermetic movie month once again on this blog.  The best I've seen in the last few weeks has been Fassbinder's Ali: Fear Eats the Soul.  But I'm not going to write about that just yet; instead, I'll conjure up the ghosts of Christmas past and subject you to one of my more sentimental movie reviews, written two years ago to the day.  Sometimes the archives are worth culling up from the dust once in a while. 

First snowfall

Here is Chicago at its most beautiful.  The "Doggie Diner" snap is a favorite because that little shack is home to the greasiest goods you'll find in the Windy City.  Even though the service is terrible, I go out of my way to visit them a couple times a year. It sits awkwardly among the multi-million dollar town homes in the heart of trendy Lincoln Park, and I hope it stays around forever.