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Valentino the Puppetmaster performing in front of the steps of the Art Institute of Chicago. Also, meet Zaria, the young guitar phenom, rocking out on her new Fender Stratocaster.
Location: The Art Institute of Chicago
Time: Friday, August 10th ~7:30pm
Check out this article from the Chicago RedEye, titled “We have a wiener–with a $50 ticket”. The (ostensibly anonymous) author, whomever she is, is simply brilliant. Her word economy is remarkable. Here are the choice cuts (err, quotes):
- 1. “A massive hot dog clogged Chicago’s main artery Thursday morning”
- 2. “A police officer wrote the ticket and affixed it to the wiener’s foot-long side mirror“
- 3. “The entourage got a grilling from the officer”
- 4. “The company neither condones nor relishes such action”
I knew Summer Dance was happening in Grant Park, so I stopped by to see the action. I became familiar with a few of the others, including Susanna, featured here dancing with her new friend Leo.
By the way, Susanna is a second-year anthropology major and dance minor at Macalester, where Kofi Annan went to school. She canvasses for Environment Illinois, as well as for the Human Rights Campaign. Presently, much of her time is spent raising awareness about the Green Cars Initiative.After the awards were announced, Katie & Susanna invited me out to Images (a restaurant and Latin dance spot in Lincoln Park) for an evening of salsa, cumbia and bachata. Susanna and Katie are hereby promoted to “friend+” status.
A human rights advocate working for the City of Chicago, Maury has been friends with Leslie–a human rights lawyer herself–for years. Leslie and Maury battle issues that relate to affordable housing in the Chicagoland area.
I found Maury outside Kinko’s restraining a 150-pound Newfoundland female. To put this into perspective, the dog weighs 40lbs more than its senior citizen owner (Leslie’s mother). Here’s the story…
Now how’s that for a dog? Can anyone tell me how much a dog like this eats?
Time: Thursday night, 9 August 2007
Location: Kinko’s Copy Shop, 57th and Kenwood Chicago
I find Malika, 24, on a University Park Metra rail train bound for Southside Chicago. She has ebony skin, jet black hair and small dimples on her cheeks. “Can I sit next to you?” She nods and smiles. She’s reading a book of fiction that focuses on intimate encounters.
DC: Is the author of the book you’re reading a younger Nora Roberts?
MM: Well, not quite. It’s fiction and it’s easy reading.
DC: How long have you been reading that book?
MM: For about a month. I only read it on the way back from the office. I need a way to relax after a full day at work.
…
MM: You’ve got an iPhone? Can I play with it? I haven’t seen one before.
DC: Sure.
….
MM: You know, you’re like a character from a novel.
DC: I’ve never heard that one before…
…
DC: What do you do for a living?
MM: I’m a financial analyst with Accenture.
DC: Huh. The company I work for competes with Accenture.
MM: Really? What do you do?
…
DC: So you’ve been in this job for two years? Do you plan on going to grad school?
MM: Yes, I’ve been thinking of B-school, especially a few months ago when my division was being relocated, but since then I’ve secured a permanent salaried position.
DC: Are you paid more now as a salaried employee or before as a consultant?
MM: It’s funny you should ask… I’m actually paid less on the salary basis…
…
DC: Do you have any siblings? How’s your family?
MM: I do. Two older brothers, two younger sisters. Three of my siblings are adopted. They’re good.
DC: Interesting. I decided recently that I’d rather adopt than have a third or fourth natural-born child. But I don’t feel as if I could adopt a child that I knew had major developmental issues.
MM: You know, it’s interesting you say that… one of my adopted brothers really struggled growing up.
This weekly blog, titled “Greeting, Stranger”, will document and distribute the stories of the people we meet on public transit and in public spaces. In the last week, have you spoken with a friendly and thought-provoking stranger on a bus, train, subway or airplane? Think “This American Life” with less selection bias.
Check back every Sunday night for new stories. The tales you read will be as fair and balanced as the writers and editors can make them. Just keep in mind that the impressions we form of the friendly strangers we meet are subjective by nature. Quotations are not exact, but they are in spirit.
If you feel inspired to learn more about the stranger sitting next to you on the subway, please, by all means, feel free to register as a contributor and tell us about your experience. The more off-the-wall and spontaneous your story is, the better. We’re particularly interested in stories that cross the racial, political and socioeconomic divide — stories that, in their retelling, foster an enhanced sense of humanity, purpose, and unity.
I met Melvin in the security line at the Columbus International Airport. Dressed in baggy shorts and a fisherman’s hat, he lumbered toward the metal detector at a relaxed pace. He carried two bags with him — one on wheels, another in his hand.
DC: ‘Greetings, sir. So, where are you headed?’
He was headed to Las Vegas for a few days to participate in slot and poker tournaments.
DC: ‘Oh, really? Have you been there before? What kind of stakes do you play for?’
A few times. He plays in slot and poker tournaments at all kinds of stakes. ‘It just depends on the game’, he explains. His favorite games, it appears, are played on slot machines.
DC: ‘Have you cashed out a few times?’
ML: Sometimes. (Or, in his own words, ‘You lose more than you win’. )
DC: ‘Are you retired?’
ML: ‘Yes, I am. I’ve been retired for years now.’
DC: ‘Where did you work before retirement?’
ML: ‘Lucent Technologies’
DC: ‘As a researcher?’
Here, Melvin hesitated. Did I hit a nerve?
ML: ‘No… I… Well, I worked with chemicals.’
The name “Melvin Lowman” is a pseudonym. Melvin is only one of the tens of thousands of retired gamblers who return week after week, year after year, to the City of Las Vegas to play slot machines–mechanical devices that are scientifically engineered to be as addictive as crack/cocaine.
I was in Las Vegas last year. No memory of that trip is more vivid than my departure from the plane. When you visit Hawaii, as you exit the plane, you’re greeted by dancers bearing the gift of a lei. In contrast, when you disembark from a plane in Las Vegas, you’re greeted by a chorus of ringing slot machines, manned by a volunteer army of retirees.
Melvin may have worked for Lucent as a chemical engineer or as a janitor — I’ll never know. When we reached the luggage carousel, he jumped ahead of me as I wrangled with my luggage. He realized soon after that he was less ready than I, and he stepped backward. I offered to let him pass ahead, but he insisted that we go back to our original order. I saw him again on the other side. I wished him well on his voyage, and good luck at the slot machines.