Scorned by Kerasotes

Drove over last night to the Kerasotes ShowPlace 14 – Galewood Crossings a few blocks north of North, just off Central, first right off the bridge, to catch “Redbelt” as advertised for a 7:20 showing. 

“Not selling tickets to ‘Redbelt,’” said the young lady.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because it’s not showing on the scornay.”

“The what?”

“The scornay.”

“The scornay?” 

Her friend, standing with cell phone just outside the ticket booth, finally intervened: “The screen, the screen.”

Which under normal circumstances would have prompted another question, Why aren’t you showing it on the screen when it’s scheduled to be shown and in fact is on the electronic list blinking right above us? 

But stunned by defeat, I returned to my vehicle and took myself back to Oak Park.

UPDATE: Renona (sp?) called from Kerasotes in Galewood, an hour and 20 minutes after I emailed them a link to this posting, and she couldn’t have been nicer. 

She didn’t know why “Redbelt” was a no-show, was very apologetic, and nicest of all, she’s givine me two free tickets, to be picked up at the gate by asking for the manager!

But at $4 a senior citizen ticket, am I going to expose myself visually as the on-line complainer?  Let me think about it.

UPDATE 2: The manager also called, also wants to be friends.  I called back, he wasn’t there.

EXPLANATION: “Scornay” is combination of her accent and my imperfect hearing, FYI.

School with name — a good one

Here’s an Oak Park story with Washington Irving roots:

No Oak Park school is better named when it comes to kids’ reading than Washington Irving, on Cuyler in the village’s southeast corner. How can we beat The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, with the school teacher Ichabod Crane scared almost to death by a headless horseman.

Or Rip Van Winkle, asleep for 20 years and waking to find his children grown, his mean old wife dead, and the British no longer in charge in his upstate New York village?

There’s more more more here at the Wednesday Journal of Oak Park and River Forest.

Diversion on Lake Street

Last night “What Happens in Vegas,” co-starring Cameron Diaz (or was it Jennifer Lopez? one of the Z-ladies) and (Half-) Ashton Something, with volume turned up so as to make this yet another cartoon with live people.  Comic books used to show “pow” and “bam” when hero socked bad guy.  Movies have bass chords or thunks.  This one had a series of thunks at one point, lest we hoi polloi moviegoers miss something.

That said, it was diversionary, in a semi-crowded theatre (Lake on Lake) half-filled with decent enough crowd.

First thing to remember (after thunks) is that this moviegoer had no spontaneous laughter coming out of his throat, nor any other kind, nor any smile.  The entire attraction was the plot line: something about this movie kept this m-goer wondering what comes next.  The characters, in addition, were not overtly off-putting, and once you accept the presumed sleep-around dating scene — if it feels good, it’s good, genitally speaking, which it is, genitally speaking — you can even appreciate the basically human (i.e., good) responses and developments of the hero and heroine.

Moreover, Dennis Miller as the judge unloads a hard-nosed, credible defense of wedded perseverance: he looks at his wife of 25 years sometimes and wants to set her on fire — but among other things, that’s not legal.

So for a night at the movies, 7:30 version, out in the sweet May air by 9:30, not bad.  What’s more, I had to correct the young woman at the ticket booth, prepared to charge me $8 — “I’m a senior,” I said, without adding my line, “not high school or college either” — and she switched it to $5.50.

Close call, reminding me of telling the booth lady at the State on Madison in 1944 that I was eleven, which I wasn’t, but twelve was the age of adulthood when it came to ticket price.

Phew.

Chatham Five robbed?

The Chicago Defender has stayed with the “massacre” in the longtime-black, until recently peaceful Chatham neighborhood.

An unpaid debt by one of the five people found murdered inside a Chatham home may be at the root of the killings, sources said Tuesday [4/29]. A home in the 7600 block of South Rhodes Avenue was the scene of a backyard barbeque April 22 that lasted into the wee hours of the night.

When one of the attendees returned to the home the next day, she found the back door ajar and the music blaring. She went inside, saw her friends–two women and three men–dead and called 911. Police have not determined when the massacre took place, but a source said a neighbor heard gunshots about 2:30 a.m., but did not call police.

Oh my.  What’s in that not calling police at 2:30 when you hear shots?  It’s the beginning of the end of a quiet neighborhood.  There has to be indignation when shots are heard, and a willingness to raise hell.

I have felt that indignation, though not at gunshots.  Rather, on being told of lewd suggestions made by black kids from nearby Chicago to some of our kids playing in the Beye School playground across the street in the 70s.

They heard me yelling from a front porch a block away, as I ran across the street towards the offenders, kids in their early teens.  Someone else called the cops.  I chased the offenders off the playground.  They ran east toward Austin Boulevard, the Oak Park-Chicago boundary, not waiting to hear my beef because who wants to hear what a crazy man wants to say?

It was after school had been left out.  One of the teachers, a veteran whom we knew and liked, took umbrage at my display, commenting to one of our kids then or the next day, I forget.  I told the cop, who said they had hightailed out of reach, that at least they know a wild man lives here, meaning they would try some other block to pull their stuff.

Meanwhile, on the Chatham block, there had been problems that the alderman and police say they never had been told about. 

An investigation into whether a prostitution ring was being run out of the home is also underway. . . .   Neighbors said there was plenty of foot traffic in and out of the home during late night hours. However, there were no complaints filed with the alderman’s office, Ald. Freddrenna Lyle (6th) said hours after the bodies were found. The neighborhood’s police district commander also said no alarming activity has been reported to the police about the home.

““I’ve lived in this area for more than 20 years, and it’s always been quiet,” said one woman.

And maybe it will be for 20 years more.  But cops and residents and alderman have to be in contact.

Later: Reader B. wonders, “how the neighbors knew there was in excess of $20 grand taken??????  seems oddly specific.”

Regarding this in the Defender story:

Other neighborhood reports are that a large amount of cash–in excess of $20,000–and high end televisions and stereo systems were taken from the home before the bodies were discovered. While police declined to confirm or deny the allegations, they said the incident is isolated and robbery is the likely motive. 

Yes.  Who knew and how did they know and why didn’t they too call the police?

Thus spoke Emerson

Before there was Gwendolyn Brooks Middle School on Boul Wash, there was Ralph Waldo Emerson Junior High, and before that, Emerson grade school. There still is the Emerson Library at Brooks. Old names fade away. This Emerson fellow bears looking into.

He was America’s chief public intellectual, to use a hot phrase of a few years ago, in the first half of the 19th century-“America’s greatest idealist thinker, America’s most peculiar thinker,” said the late James Tuttleton of New York University. He gave speeches and wrote essays, and people paid attention to him. So should we, especially Emerson students, teachers, alumni, parents, and anyone else who lives or ever lived or will live in Oak Park.

There’s more more more of this by me at the Wednesday Journal of Oak Park & River Forest.

Sauce for goose . . .

Oak Park columnist John Hubbuch ably defending an earlier column in which he called Hillary a “cuckquean,” feminine for cuckold:

I would hope my wife, sister, daughter or female friend, presented with this appalling pattern of behavior by their spouse, would file for divorce and stop enabling the husband and demeaning herself.

Same for other supposed stand-up feminists who stood up for their man who tomcatted around.  The sheer effrontery of these guys called for rapid response of sharpest nature from the abused wife.

Not saying divorce is required.  But some bringing to heel of the heel in public, if only by declining to do a press conference with him, is clearly in order.

Tone it down, says Oak Park Dem

Oak Park’s Dem committeeman and one of its state senators, the astute and up-and-coming Don Harmon, warns against harsh words and the like among Dems in this primary:

The nominating process has almost run its course. While I believe and hope that Sen. Obama will be our party’s nominee, I would certainly support Sen. Clinton, were she nominated. More so than ever before, we Democrats need to rally ’round our nominee, and do so in a manner that engages independent voters and Republicans troubled by the course of current events. Fights within families often include the most hurtful words, but just as often lead to healing. In a campaign where words matter, let us all begin the healing by choosing our words more carefully.

He speaks for a lot of Dem professionals, who are worried about divisions in the party that will give the lie to their candidate’s bringing an end to divisions in the country.

First, no metal, then not enough mettle

The good news was, the metal detectors worked at Proviso East last night.  The man behind it, among many milling about on both sides of it, kept calling out to us on the other side, “Single file, folks.  Single file.”  And hats off, not to anyone in particular but to the goal of civility in closed places.

The bad news was, the Huskies lost decisively to the Dolphins of Whitney Young.  . . . .

More more more at my Wednesday Journal blog . . .

Barack O. sox it to blax — would hit home in Oak Park

B.O. made like Bill C.:

On the campaign trail, Democratic front-runner Sen. Barack Obama . . . drew wild cheers as he told a mostly African-American crowd that parents need to shape up, turn off the TV, help their kids with their homework and stop letting them grow fat eating Popeyes chicken for breakfast.

“It’s not good enough for you to say to your child, ‘Do good in school,’ and then when that child comes home, you got the TV set on, you got the radio on, you don’t check their homework, there is not a book in the house, you’ve got the video game playing,” said Obama while in Beaumont, in southeast Texas.

“So turn off the TV set, put the video game away. Buy a little desk or put that child by the kitchen table. Watch them do their homework. If they don’t know how to do it, give them help. If you don’t know how to do it, call the teacher. Make them go to bed at a reasonable time. Keep them off the streets. Give ‘ em some breakfast.  . . .


His Sister Souljah moment?


He’d go big in Oak Park (IL), where getting black kids to score as high as whites is a big issue.  Nothing in this Lynn Sweet column about catching up to whites, however.  Good.  It can’t be the issue, though it’s ballyhooed as such in OP, where “the gap” has magic.


OK.  Say you want blacks not just to score better but (explicitly) as well as whites.  OK.  Get them to act white.  Let every black parent post on the bathroom mirror the new slogan for black betterment, “ACT WHITE.”  That should do it.


If the black p. says f—– it, as many will, then so be it.  We whites can’t say we didn’t try.  Black is beautiful anyway, so what’s the problem?

That antic-ridden marriage

You can’t beat letters to the editor for revealing the pulse of the nation.  As noted here yesterday, in epistola veritas (see below).  At issue is a column in Wednesday Journal of Oak Park & River Forest which referred to Hillary Clinton as a cuckquean, which is female for cuckold.

So came this protest arguing that it was “misogynistic” to define Clinton’s political success “by the unfortunate and inappropriate sexual antics of her husband.”

Here’s where the national pulse is revealed (in part), in saying that tomcatting around is “unfortunate and inappropriate” and falls not under adultery — which by definition doth cuckold or cuckquean make — but under “antics.”

The writer adds, “Had Sen. Clinton been a man, this would never have been written.”  Of course not.  He would have been not a cuckquean but a cuckold.

Meanwhile, she’s a heroine to women?  Putting up with that schmuck all those years?  How so?