An O'Hare Pick-up Nightmare

It’s an evening in June.  My wife Alice is arriving at O’Hare from the East Coast, but it’s not going as planned; there are bad storms in the area.  The following is a transcription of a text conversation between my wife and me (and my daughters when I’m driving).  You be the judge as to whether texting helped or hindered this process. 

7:18 PM, Alice

I am going to be delayed.  Willing to pick me up?  I am American Flt 4193.

7:19 PM, Paul

No problem.

Things get delayed more, and Alice still hasn’t landed by the time I pick up my daughters from a late summer school class.  I take off straight from there around 10:30PM, assuming by that point that it’ll be a quick in and out at O’Hare.  We arrive at the cell-phone lot and wait for further instructions.

10:50 PM, Paul

We’ll be parked in cell phone lot until you let us know

We wait and we wait.  People are getting tired and edgy, but the girls don’t have summer school the next morning.  No big deal.

11:11 PM, Paul

Getting close?

11:12PM , Alice

Oh goodness.  There is no one here to move the jetway.  I will let you know when I am off and on my way.  3 minutes, hopefully.

11:13 PM, Paul

Ok.

11:19PM, Alice

They are holding us hostage.  Want to head home and I will grab a #*@# cab?

11:22 PM, Paul

Probably good idea.  294 was bumper to bumper going south.  Could b clear but maybe better take Manheim.  If things change for u soon let us know right away

We begin to exit the cell-phone lot and make our way toward Manheim Road.

11:23 PM, Alice

We are getting off!  Can you still come?!

My daughters’ take control of the cell-phone.

11:23 PM, one of my daughters

Yes!!!

11:24 PM, Alice

Yippee!

We begin to make our way toward the terminal pickup.

11:24 PM, one of my daughters

Bottom level

We approach the roadway to get to the bottom level, but it’s bumper to bumper.  Time to call an audible.

11:29 PM, one of my daughters

New instructions…Go upstairs…

Then again, the top level doesn’t look any better.  In fact, it’s horrendous!  Now there’s a certain degree of frustration setting in.  I circle around and make my way back to the parking lot.

11:33PM, one of my daughters

Just kidding…just to get out it would be an hour…We’re parking…We’ll meet you on lower level by baggage claim. 

Unfortunately, by this point Alice has already made her way outside and it waiting at the lower level.  The rising frustration level isn’t confined to the car.

11:34 PM, Alice

No.  I am standing here!

11:34 PM, one of my daughters

Yeah…but to get to u it’d be a long time

11:34 PM, Alice

Up or down?

11:35 PM, one of my daughters

Baggage claim!

11:35 PM, Alice

K.  By Starbucks.  Claim 9

11:35 PM, one of my daughters

Ok!

We park the car, Cubs level, get into the elevator, press down, and exit into the tunnels beneath the pickup area where we’d hoped to be ten minutes ago.  I now have control of the cell-phone, which makes me feel a little better.  Cuz I’m a guy.

11:37 PM, Paul

U can start walking down toward the lot

11:38 PM, Alice

There are 2 tunnels.

(I’m thinking, “Yes, I know there are 2 tunnels, but for gosh sakes, just get downstairs already!”) but I show great TEXTING RESTRAINT and edit myself, a skill I haven’t yet mastered while talking.

11:39 PM, Paul

Here now claim 9

Eureka!  We have visual confirmation!  Hugs are exchanged.  Bags are rolled.  We make it home by midnight (I decide to take Manheim) and tell my wife, “Next time, take a cab.”

The Clouds Part for Rufus

Foreboding clouds and cool winds yielded to a brilliant sky and mild temperatures last night for Rufus Wainwright’s fourth appearance at Ravinia in Highland Park, IL – this time with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra – to perform five Shakespearean Sonnets, followed by a solo set of pop music.

Three of the sonnets originally appeared on 2010's All Days Are Nights: Songs for Lulu, which Wainwright performed last year in Chicago with only piano accompaniment.  This time the sonnets were backed by a full orchestra while the singer, wearing a tan blazer and vest, a flashy scarf and white pants, stood at center stage, his hands clasped at his front for much of the show.  Rufus's vocal talents flourished in such a setting, and although some season-ticket holders might have not been sold on Wainwright as a classical artist (many of them left after intermission, or shortly thereafter), it’s undeniable that in pop music his vocal range and control have few equals.  As for the orchestral arrangements, at times they were too busy, with embellishments that cluttered up the melody, but at their best – like in Sonnet 43 – they anchored Rufus’s singing superbly.

For the second half of the show, Rufus appeared onstage – surprisingly without a costume change – for a solo show accompanied by piano, save for four songs backed by acoustic guitar.  His set list was less ambitious from his last Chicago appearance, sticking closely with fan favorites for the most part and ignoring his debut album, though he did unveil a new song devoted to publicist Barbara Charone, and he dusted off two lesser-played songs from his album Poses, “Grey Gardens” and “California.”

As always, Rufus was humorously self-deprecating on stage, admitting before playing “The Dream” that he might not be able to get through it.  Last year, he struggled throughout the most difficult parts of the piece (if you can find me a more complicated piano part for a pop-song, I’d like to hear it) but managed to plow his way through.  This time, Rufus had to stop, utter “Let’s try that again,” and then finally acquiesce after a few more attempts to find an on-ramp.  “I can’t play it anymore,” he laughed, before playing a chord that allowed him to finish the piece.  Perfection or not, the audience seemed genuinely appreciative at his efforts.

A few songs later, Rufus offered a new piece slated for his next pop album (to be produced by Mark Ronson), and said it wasn’t entirely set yet, but that he’d approach it as an “open rehearsal, which is what the show has sort of become.”

The show’s high points were from Rufus’s more intimate songs – “Dinner at Eight,” “Martha,” and “Zebulon” – all devoted to various trials and hardships with his family.  During these pieces, the audience – at least those seated in the pavilion – fell completely silent, a feat which might not have been possible in a setting other than Ravinia. 

The concert ended with the upbeat “Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk,” along with two encores, Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” and “Going to a Town,” the last introduced with Rufus’s admission that “although it’s sometimes been hard, I still believe in Obama.”

If there were any Tea Party supporters in attendance, they opted to stay silent.  When it comes to art, sometimes you gotta swallow a few political quips.

From Album to Tape to CD to .mp3 File to...the Cloud

Jon Pareles published an excellent article in the New York Times about the ever-evolving makeup of the music we listen to, and it all seems to be headed to the same inevitable conclusion: the cloud, which you may have already had exposure to on Amazon, Apple and Google.  Cloud computing isn't new and it isn't limited to music - people have been creating Microsoft Office documents on-line for years - but with regard to music, the cloud simply refers to on-line storage that allows listeners to access music from multiple devices via an Internet connection, rather than having to copy mass quantities of storage from device to device. 

For my own website, I've been using a DivShare to store my own compositions, though with the Big Boys now in the cloud business, I suspect it's only a matter of time before DivShare gets purchased.

Of course, having each music listener in the world own their own cloud requires storage - massive storage - and insane redundancy, not to mention user time.  Remember how long it took you to convert your CDs to .mp3 files all those years ago?  If you and I both own The White Album, does it make sense for each of us to have to upload the same album (again) and store it on-line?  Why not just have the album stored in one place that both of us have access to?

Apple is all over this concept with iMatch, that - for a fee - will recognize music you own (legally or illegally) and provide access to their own copies.  For those of us with hundreds or even thousands of CDs, this concept is an attractive one. 

Cloud computing continues the trend of diminishing the value of music, and poses a tricky problem for artists who are already feeling the squeeze since physical ownership of a song became unnecessary.  When listeners have access to any song at any time from any place, the song becomes something less in the hearts and minds of the listener.  As Mr. Pareles wrote:

"Songs have become, for lack of a better word, trivial."  Now anyone with Internet access has "an infinitude of choices immediately at hand. But each of those choices is a diminished thing; attainable without effort, disposable without a second thought, just another icon in a folder on a pocket-size screen with pocket-sized sound."

Meeting the Stranger: a Packer fan on the East Coast

In his novel Cat’s Cradle, Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. pokes fun at the superficial allegiances people make, particularly those based on geography (something Vonnegut calls a granfalloon).  But as I traveled last week in the Northeast, I concluded that meeting people – no matter what shallow reason might be behind the introductions – makes for a more blessed venture.

For about a third of my twelve day trip, I sported either a Milwaukee Brewers shirt or a Green Bay Packers shirt.  And on these days, my attire inevitably resulted in meeting people I would never have spoken with otherwise.

Sure, some of the conversations were actually one-line quips that ended as soon as they began:

• The man at the visitor center in Cape Cod who said, “We don’t generally give advice to Packer fans.”
• The woman in Boston, who in spite of jogging with labored breath over a bridge, nonetheless heaved out a “Go Pack” as she passed me.
• The older gentleman in New York sporting a Yankees’ hat who, after noticing my Robin Yount shirt, said “You’ll be lucky to get out of this town alive.”  (I reminded him that the Yankees swept the Brewers earlier this season).

But I also had two lengthier conversations on two different subway rides – one in Boston, the other in New York, both of them only two stops long – that I’ll always remember, and that gave my already enjoyable trip an extra lift that only human interaction can provide.

After a ballgame at Fenway, I met a woman who noticed my family’s Packer paraphernalia, and in the two stops we had together, I learned that she was a social worker from Neenah, that she considered moving to New York but decided on Boston, that she had a boyfriend in Connecticut, that the beaches we were considering visiting were nice but crowded, and that we should consider transferring to the blue line because the green line is notorious for mechanical problems (note: we ignored her advice, and three stops later our train broke down).

In New York, I met a man who congratulated me on the Packers’ Super Bowl championship, announced that he was headed to a Yankee game even though the score was already 12-0 in favor of New York, applauded my son’s and my decision to go to the Empire State Building instead of joining my wife and daughters at a Broadway show, and professed his allegiance to Brett Favre no matter what Packer Nation had to say about it.  After I shared with him the details of my family’s trip, he said to my son, “You are one lucky kid.”

Of course, I couldn’t wear my Packers and Brewers garb every day.  For much of the trip, I wore shirts with solid colors or stripes, and on those days I spoke with fewer people, started fewer conversations, and went to bed with terrific memories of sites to behold, but not with that extra something, that extra spark that awakens after sharing just a bit of my life with a stranger.

We meet people for silly reasons all the time: for the places we come from, the teams we support, the places we work, the religions we practice, the music we like, the pets we own, the politics we share or oppose and the authors we read.

And we are better for it.