Friday, July 13, 2007

The Big Sleep

I read a story in the Tribune this week about a chap who was issued a $300 ticket for sleeping on a CTA train after a hard day's work. He was summoned to appear in the City Hall Court but, given the heavy presence of the press, the creepy prosecutors dropped the case out of embarrassment. Ironic, is it not, that it is apparently illegal to sleep on a train, while the entire administration of Chicago can spend its collective career in torpid, corruption. But, I was given to thinking about the possible benefits of outlawing sleeping in class. Applying fines of $300 to students for sleeping transgressions would quickly reverse recent financial over-runs on building projects. To be fair, I can quite understand why people can nod off in lectures as I listen to the droning emanating from classrooms as I proceed through the IC. However, I do rather take exception to those who slump very obviously on the desk from the very beginning and remain thus for the entire class.

Sunday, July 1, 2007

Shear Genius

Dulcie and Aylwin indulge in a star****ing haircut this weekend as they make the pilgrimage to Griffith Indiana to meet Shear Genius finalist Ben Mollin. So we are suckers for Bravo reality TV shows; what can I say? Even so, it is slightly odd to be transfixed by a show about cutting hair, when there are important problems in the world to worry about like what is dark matter made of? It turns out that Ben Mollin, the tattooed Chicagoan who almost won the thing, has his "salon" in Griffith, Indian, located by some synchronistic miracle within shouting distance of Three Floyds Brewery (see earlier post about Dark Lord Day). So Dulcie does the unthinkable and calls up to make an appointment. Slightly surprisingly he answers the phone and appointments are fairly easy to come by. So this Saturday we retraced our steps to northern Indiana with the duel mission of achieving haircuts and landing some growlers of Three Floyds, which we failed to achieve on our DLD visit.

So it is with a slight feeling of unreality that we enter Griffith (blink and you will miss it) and pull outside the combined music and hair salon, the least imposing center of haute couture as you could imagine. There is our Ben sitting casually in the window framed by guitars. Fame and celebrity have not spoiled him it seems and we have an enjoyable visit. Notable though was his complete lack of interest in us other than where we had come from. But of course we are nothings and the talk had to be about the show and the personalities. I will say this much: the fellow can cut hair and the prices are dead reasonable. I even had the privilege to buy him a shot from the neighboring store. If you can tolerate the automobilic purgatory of 80/94 I highly recommend a visit. Don't try to use a credit card though.

And so to FFF. The scene we found this time bore no resemblance to the madness of DLD. Gone were the tattooed, pierced, black tee-shirted youth, to be replaced by a much more sober middle-aged crowd, with the possible exception of a couple of bikers. There were even people there not drinking beer. You might wonder how can this be? I can answer: the food is a match in quality to the beer and reasonably priced. The range of beers on offer, both FFF and from all parts, exceeds the capacity to sample them. The SSCP's recommendations: Dreadnaught and Fantabulous Resplendence. They are highly alcoholic and immensely hopped and completely fantastic. The obligatory growler was procured. In days of yore the working man would take his growler to the local for a post-work beverage. I'm thinking that if I consumed one of these every day I would be left completely incapable. But perhaps the beverage of yesteryear lacked the punch of your typical Alpha King.