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It’s spring of 2004. Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman are trying to decide what to do with their summer. They come up with an incredible plan. Both are motorcycle enthusiasts and they want to do something unique. They decide to take the summer off and ride motorcycles around the world. They plan to start in London and end in New York City. And since they are planning something so singular, they decide to film it. Then they decide it would be better if someone filmed it for them. I imagine the initial conversation going something like this:

Charley, what do you want to do this summer?
Let’s ride our motorbikes around the world!
Brilliant!
Yes. Let’s ride through Ukraine, Kazakhstan, and Mongolia.
I’ve always wanted to see Mongolia!
And there’s this road here, look at the map. We can ride that.
The Road of Bones. Sounds bloody fantastic, it does!
One problem.
What’s that?
We haven’t got any motorbikes.
Right.

So McGregor and Boorman put together a crew, hire a Swiss cameraman, and get to work finding sponsors. What results is this incredible television documentary about their 115 day trip, Long Way Round. McGregor and Boorman use the journey as a vehicle to bring attention to UNICEF’s humanitarian work in Ukraine, Kazakhstan and Mongolia– including a powerful stop in an orphanage housing children affected by the Chernobyl disaster.

I am enjoying this series on a number of levels. It is a travel piece about a part of the world I know very little about. It shows a more unscripted side of celebrities. It underlines the distinction between tourism as a commercial enterprise and traveling as a journey. And McGregor and Boorman are witty and shrewd, authentic and charming.

I was pleased to learn that on 12. May, 2007 this crew began a second trip of a lifetime. They are traveling from from John o’ Groats at the northernmost tip of Scotland to Cape Town at the southernmost tip of Africa. They will ride through Central Europe and Eastern Africa. Again the pair are riding with a film crew and in support of UNICEF. This second trip of a lifetime is called Long Way Down. I invite to follow along through the BBC website associated with this trek.

In March of 1996, Outside magazine sent Jon Krakauer on an expedition to climb Mount Everest. Krakauer’s editors wanted him to write about the increasing commercialism of the summit. Krakauer stated he had given up mountain climbing long ago. He agreed to the climb for purely professional reasons. He later revised this statement, confessing a reawakened desire to climb mountains– like the heroes of his childhood once had done.

The climb turned to catastrophe. By the end of summit day, May 10th, 1996, eight people lay dead at the top of the world. Krakauer’s account has been described as a book-length confession– a compelling accounting of an expedition plagued by hubris, greed, poor judgment and bad luck.

I have climbed a fair number of mountains, most of them in Colorado. And I have, at times in my foolish youth, entertained thoughts of traveling to Kathmandu. I have thought about making this ascent into Heaven. Those desires stemmed from my own personal experiences in the Rocky Mountains. They do not come from competition or pride and I will not allow them to become poisoned with unconsidered commercialization– as irreplaceable Everest has been.

I do not mean to say these climbers got what they deserved– they didn’t. No one deserves to die on the face of mountain. What I find most intriguing about this story is not the conflict of man versus nature, but rather man’s flawed nature against a merciless void.

I will never understand the rivalry that exists between the fans of Chicago’s two baseball teams. I think it is something that develops at birth. I was not born here. I did not grow up here. I missed out. I came to Chicago as an adult. Granted, a tabula rasa when it came to professional baseball– but I still missed out. I think it is too late for me.

I understand that a division exists: as much as Chicago likes to describe itself as a diverse collection of peoples, places, things and ideas I’m convinced that what is really important to Chicagoans is not Chicago, but the local block. So we have a city of almost three million people. In that city I see more people describe themselves by their sports teams, political alliances, and neighborhoods than the city at large. “I’m from Bridgeport.” “I’m a Bulls fan.” “Me? Wicker Park hippy-artist.” That trend plays on stereotypes both good and bad. I mean both kind and unkind. Whirl expressed that she has never lived anywhere where so many people were so concerned about how she ate something. Pizza has to be like this. Nobody puts ketchup on a hot dog! We’re fat and happy and God damn it all we want you to be fat and happy, too.

As a curious counterpoint, I notice most suburbanites identifying themselves as Chicagoans rather than Palos Hillfolk, Oakbrookians or Schaumburgers.

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Sinclair Lewis was an American novelist and playwright. His novel, Main Street, was to be awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1921. The Columbia University Board of Trustees overturned the jury’s decision. Five years later, Lewis again was awarded with the Pulitzer, this time for his novel Arrowsmith. Lewis refused. In 1930, Lewis became the first American author to win the Nobel Prize in Literature. Insightful and critical, satirical, and sympathetic– It Can’t Happen Here is Lewis’ last great work. This speculative novel warns that political movements akin to fascism can come to power in countries such as the United States when people blindly support their leaders.

It has been misattributed to Lewis that he writes in this book, “When fascism comes to America, it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross.” And while the particular quote was never written, the sentiment behind it permeates much of the language. New American Library recently reprinted this novel in 2005 and I picked it up as my next book in part due to the the power I perceive in the quote coupled with the impact of the recent documentaries, Jesus Camp and The Corporation, and the non-fiction books, State of Fear and Fast Food Nation.

Michael Meyer wrote a new introduction to the 2005 printing. He concludes his introduction with:

[Lewis] believed that dissent– even a cranky, erratic, eccentric, old-fashioned version of it– was not disloyalty but at the heart of an American democratic identity. Engulfed in the complexities and vulnerabilities of our post-September 11 world, Americans of nearly all political persuasions are likely to find that It Can’t Happen Here, though firmly anchored in the politics of the 1930s, surfaces as a revealing and disturbing read.

The book’s back cover reads:

It Can’t Happen Here is the only one of Sinclair Lewis’ later novels to match the power of Main Street, Babbitt, and Arrowsmith. A cautionary tale about the fragility of democracy, it is an alarming, eerily timeless look at how fascism could take hold in America. Written during the Great Depression, when the country was largely oblivious to Hitler’s aggression, it juxtaposes sharp political satire with the chillingly realistic rise of a President who becomes a dictator to save the nation from welfare cheats, rampant promiscuity, crime and a liberal press.

Sound familiar?

Eric Schlosser levels the following charges: fast food has hastened the malling of our landscape, widened the chasm between rich and poor, fueled an epidemic of obesity, and propelled American cultural imperialism abroad. That’s a bold statement. Schlosser first wrote about the unsanitary and discriminatory practices of the fast food industry in a two-part series for Rolling Stone magazine in 1999. He expanded that treatment into this almost 300 page book and published it in 2001.

While reading about the book I found a number of comparisons to Upton Sinclair‘s 1906 novel The Jungle. I had to ask myself: have a hundred years gone by without any serious changes in the way America treats food? Have the ghosts of the Union Stockyards simply changed clothes and donned franchise uniforms at strip malls, pizza joints and hamburger stands across America?

I want to feel better about myself. To that end I have adopted a simple motto: eat less; move more. I am hoping this book will help me achieve that goal.

I am tempted to start this entry with a quote from Agent J from Men In Black II. “Old and busted; new hotness.” I know that phrase fails to capture either the tone or the facts of the latest change in my life. Still, I like the humor in it. It makes me smile. In the simplest terms I have resigned from my position at Midway Games and accepted a new position at the Chicago Tribune.

Those of you who know me may have realized there had been changes in direction for me just based on the recent books I have been reading. I know those hints do little to address the inevitable question as to why I left Midway. I am afraid that is going to remain private. I will not upbraid Midway or the people that worked there with me. This will have to do: the most concise answer is that I was not happy. When I combined that fact with several failed attempts to decrease my dissatisfaction the outlook grew dim. So I left.

I have come to accept my own sentimentality. And I admit that the idea of working for a newspaper is something I have thought about doing for a long time. My very first job was for a newspaper: I was a paper boy for five years. Perhaps I have come full circle. I cannot say in good conscience that I anticipated working in this particular aspect of the newspaper—running the networks that glue it together. Still, I am working for the paper. And that feels good. At the end of the new employee orientation program, they invited us into the front page meeting. Where the editors for the various sections of the paper sat down and went over their various possibilities to run on the front page of the paper.

That experience galvanized me: I had made the right decision. This is a place I could enjoy working. I have only been here a couple days and I am quite optimistic that it will be many more.

Sherman Alexie wrote The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven and The Toughest Indian in the World. He adapted parts of the first book into the screenplay for the 1998 feature film Smoke Signals. Flight is Alexie’s first novel in a decade. Using wit and eulogy, satire and sentimentality Alexie tells the story of an orphaned Indian boy who travels back and forth through time searching for his true identity. The book’s jacket states:

The journey for Flight‘s young hero begins as he’s about to commit a massive act of violence. At the moment of decision, he finds himself shot back through time to resurface in the body of an FBI agent during the civil rights era, where he sees why “Hell is Red River, Idaho, in the 1970s.” Red River is only the first stop in an eye-opening trip through moments in American history. He will continue to travel back to inhabit the body of an Indian child during the battle at Little Bighorn and then ride with an Indian tracker in the nineteenth century before materializing as an airline pilot jetting through the skies today. During these furious travels through time, his refrain grows: “Who’s to judge?” and “I don’t understand humans.” When finally, blessedly, our young warrior comes to rest again in his own life, he is mightily transformed by all he has seen.

I am a fan of all of Alexie’s previous work I have come across. I hope that this modern-day vision quest proves out as compellingly as it seems to promise. I suspect it will.

Mike Royko wrote a newspaper column in Chicago for thirty-four years. He started at the Daily News, then moved to the Sun-Times when the Daily News shut its doors. In 1984 he left the Sun-Times for the rival Chicago Tribune when the Sun-Times sold to Rupert Murdoch, claiming, “No self-respecting fish would be wrapped in a Murdoch paper.” His column was syndicated to some 600 papers around the country. He won fans, antagonists and awards– including the Pulitzer– for his work.

Royko died in 1997, just five short years after I arrived in Chicago. I remember reading his column when I first moved to town. I also recall never quite understanding his impact. I suspect that may be the deficiency of not growing up in this city. One More Time is a collection of just over 100 of Royko’s best columns. They were selected by his widow, Judy Royko, and several of Mike’s friends. Studs Terkel provided an introduction. Royko’s classic characters like Slats Grobnik live on in this collection; the Billy Goat Tavern is here as Mike remembered it. Some critics have argued Chicago pols get more attention than they perhaps deserve. Royko was an expert at finding universal truths in parochial situations. He could also keenly examine larger issues–war and peace, justice and injustice, wealth and poverty.

One reviewer describes the writer and his posthumous book this way:

A gruff, no-holds-barred writer, Royko spoke for the many who are voiceless. Despite his success and the rise of celebrity journalists, he remained refreshingly unimpressed with himself. “I just hope my next column is readable, doesn’t bore people,” he said in a 1993 interview. “I don’t have any grand scheme.” Yet the continued relevance of these columns reminds us that good journalists can make a difference. A terrific compendium for those who always meant to clip and save Royko’s words but didn’t.

That would be me.

Rick Kogan works as the host of WGN radio’s “Sunday Papers with Rick Kogan” and a senior writer and “Sidewalks” columnist at the Chicago Tribune. Years ago I counted myself a regular at the Billy Goat tavern on Washington– not the original, but filled with some shared history. But I know only the myths and misconceptions. In the acknowledgements of this book about Chicago’s Billy Goat Tavern Kogan writes:

You would not be holding this book in your hands if Sam and Bill Sianis had not asked me one afternoon sitting around a table at the tavern, “Would you write a book about the Billy Goat?” I told them that if they wanted a book strictly for the tourist crowd we could slap it together in about 30 minutes: a lot of pictures, a few Mike Royko columns, some curse and Saturday Night Live stories.

But Sam said, “No, I want the real story for the tourists and everybody else too,” and he then did everything in his considerable power to make it happen, correcting some long-standing errors in the historic record and offereing honest and often heartfelt answers to every question I asked him.

What Kogan produces is an affectionate tale that plunks you down at a barstool next to some of the Billy Goat’s regulars. In these stories he reminds us that the corner tavern is friendliest place in town and that there were once poets working for newspapers.

Last night’s game between the Chicago White Sox and the Texas Rangers was a treat. It showed teamwork. It showed skill. It showed drive and determination. It was a joy to watch. Last night’s game was also the first game in major league history to feature all of the following events. Each of these is something special in its own right, but to have all three happen in one game for the same team. Incredible:

  • a no-hitter (9.0 IP, 0 H, 0 R, 0 ER, 1 BB, 8 K) (Mark Buehrle)
  • a multi-home run game (2) (Jim Thome)
  • a grand slam (Jermaine Dye)

And just for good measure: That walk Buerhle issued was to Sammy Sosa. Buerhle picked Sosa off first base two pitches later. Oh, and Jerry Hairston Jr. gets tossed out the game for arguing with the umpires about being thrown out at first base on a bang-bang play. Buehrle has long been one of the majors’ fastest working pitchers. He completed this no-hitter in two hours and three minutes.

This is why I love baseball.