Going for Gusto

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2011-12-02T15:26:00.001-08:00

Please visit my new blog at www.goingforgusto.com.

With Houston leaving NL Central, how MLB divisions should be realigned

2011-11-17T08:30:00.000-08:00

With reports that the Houston Astros are on their way out of the National League Central and headed toward the American League West, now is as good of a time as any to re-imagine how baseball's divisions should be set up in an ideal situation.

With 15 teams in each league, this means we'll have interleague play just about every day during the baseball season. While it might make scheduling easier for MLB, it also lessens the novelty of interleague play. I don't like this. The leagues should have an even number of teams. So as long as we're re-imagining the divisions, let's add two expansion teams to even things up. This gives MLB 32 teams, the same number the NFL has. And in our scenario, six teams from each league make the playoffs – the divisions winners and two wildcards with the top two teams from each league earning a bye.

So, with 32 teams, let's copy the NFL's format and see how it might look (with last year's record in parenthesis):

AMERICAN LEAGUE

East
New York Yankees (97-65)
Boston Red Sox (90-72)
Toronto Blue Jays (81-81)
Baltimore Orioles (69-93)
Notes: New York and Boston have to stay in the same division. And with two wildcards at stake, Baltimore and Toronto at least have a chance to make the playoffs some year – not much of a chance, but a chance. Tampa Bay moves on to greener pastures.

North
Detroit Tigers (95-67)
Cleveland Indians (80-82)
Chicago White Sox (79-83)
Minnesota Twins (63-99)

Notes: Very similar to the current AL Central, minus Kansas City, which we all can agree is not much of a loss from a competitive standpoint. It's a division that makes sense.

South
Texas Rangers (96-66)
Tampa Bay Rays (91-71)
Houston Astros (56-106)
Expansion team

Notes: We get the two Texas teams in the same division to help encourage that rivalry and you don't get much further south than Tampa Bay in the American League. I also think Tampa Bay and Texas would be good rivals. As for the expansion team, either Nashville or Memphis would be logical choices. Raleigh, N.C., is a city on the rise that I think would be ripe for a professional team, as well.

West
Los Angeles Angels (86-76)
Oakland Athletics (74-88)
Kansas City Royals (71-91)
Seattle Mariners (67-95)

Notes: Sorry Kansas City, but when you're as bad as you are for so long, you lose your say in what division you'll be in. Welcome to the West. At least you get to play Oakland and Seattle more. The Angels certainly would be the team to beat in this division.

NATIONAL LEAGUE

East
Philadelphia Phillies (102-60)
Washington Nationals (80-81)
New York Mets (77-85)
Pittsburgh Pirates (72-90)

Notes: Pittsburgh, see the Kansas City entry above. Plus, it makes sense to foster a rivalry with Philadelphia, even though it wouldn't be much of a rivalry in the beginning.

North
Milwaukee Brewers (96-66)
St. Louis Cardinals (90-72)
Cincinnati Reds (79-83)
Chicago Cubs (71-91)

Notes: Too many good rivalries to break up the rest of the division. Just like with the American Central, we'll let the top teams continue to battle it out. And good riddance, Houston. Never made much sense with the rest of these teams.

South
Arizona Diamondbacks (94-68)
Atlanta Bravies (89-73)
Miami Marlins (72-90)
Expansion team

Notes: My least favorite of all the divisions because Arizona seems so out of place. An Oklahoma City expansion team could help a little to balance it out. The three other teams, though, are all on an upswing so this could be a fun division to watch.

West
San Francisco Giants (86-76)
Los Angeles Dodgers (82-79)
Colorado Rockies (73-89)
San Diego Padres (71-91)

Notes: Looks about the same as it did before. Though if an expansion team was started in someplace like Portland or Salt Lake City, we could then move San Diego to the NL South. That would be a fun trip for Miami and Atlanta.

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Recognizing vets who served during war and peace

2011-11-10T08:36:00.000-08:00

Today, we remember and recognize our veterans.

The World War II veterans. The Korean War vets. The Vietnam War vets. The Gulf War vets. And those who have served or are serving in the current conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Today, we remember and recognize all those who have fought for our country.

But sometimes I think we tend to forget another group of veterans.

Today, I also would like to remember and recognize those who served during peace time.

My father is one of these veterans. He served in the early 1980s when I was a baby, during the sole period in the last 70 years in which we had at least 15 years of not sending a large contingent of soldiers into combat. He might not have fought in a war or a major conflict, but he served, nonetheless. He was willing, nonetheless. And I feel blessed that my father did not have to fight while he served. That we had relative peace during that time. That my mother didn’t have to worry about her son growing up without a father.

A look back at the history of Veterans Day will show why I think it’s important we take time to honor those who did not have to fight, as well as those who did.

Veterans Day started out as Armistice Day, a day to recognize those who served during World War I. According to the U.S. Department of Veteran Affairs’ website, “An Act … approved May 13, 1938, made the 11th of November in each year a legal holiday – a day to be dedicated to the cause of world peace and to be thereafter celebrated and known as Armistice Day.” In 1954, it was changed to Veterans Day to “honor American veterans of all wars.”

Nov. 11 originally was meant as a day to be “dedicated to the cause of world peace.” I think remembering those veterans who served during peace time is a good way to include that original meaning into the holiday.

Certainly, we should and need to continue to honor those who have shown their bravery during conflict. They put their lives on the line for their country. That is a great deed that must be honored. But by also remembering those who did not have to fight on Veterans Day, we remember the ideal – world peace, a country without conflict, what world leaders were so hopeful for after World War I only to see the rest of the century devolve into constant battles.

One day, I hope to see more veterans like my dad – veterans who were ready to fight, who were willing to fight, but didn’t have to.

I have no desire to debate whether getting into the current conflicts was right or wrong. I simply wish for the conflicts to end and for all of our soldiers to come home. And in the future, I hope we become better at preventing wars and conflicts rather than fighting them.

One day, though it will be long after I’ve gone, I hope there will be a Veterans Day when all of the veterans in attendance will be like my father. Ready to serve. Willing to serve. But unused in conflict. Then it will be a day of not only remembrance and recognition, but also of celebration.

How baby-making fun will save America (and maybe Illinois)

2011-11-08T08:34:00.000-08:00

Nobody can be predict the future, but, boy, is it fun to try.

Sometimes it's easy, such as "Herman Cain will not be the next president of the United States."

Sometimes it's hard, such as "The Chicago Cubs will win the World Series at least once in the next century."

But what about the future of the United States and, more specifically, Illinois? Author Joel Kotkin had messages for both at a discussion last week hosted by the Illinois Policy Institute.

• To the U.S.: The future is bright!

• To Illinois: Eh, you have some work to do. Unless, of course, you want Indianapolis laughing in your face in 20 years.

Kotkin, author of the "The Next Hundred Million: American in 2050," posited during the discussion and in his book that population trends have the United States in a good position to succeed in the next few decades.

In Europe and Asia – America's biggest competitors on the global scene – population trends are pointing down. At the discussion, Kotkin said that at the current pace, in 2050, 60 percent of Italians will have no experience as a brother, sister, uncle, aunt, or cousin. (They will, however, continue to despise the "Jersey Shore" cast for coming to their country.)

The U.S., however, is the sole advanced country projected to have a large, growing population, Kotkin said. It also still has plenty of natural resources, especially when it comes to fresh water. The Great Lakes essentially are our pot of gold at the end of the Rust Belt.

Natural gas could be the game-changer for the United States, Kotkin said. And while the U.S. share of manufacturing world output is declining, but stable, it's starting to come back, he added.

But population growth is the key.

"I don't think it's possible to have prosperous economy without a prosperous population," Kotkin said. "What happened in Japan is a warning of what happens long-term. Their economy has no energy to it at all."

In his book, Kotkin writes that population trends show that the U.S. should have one hundred million more people by 2050. And that influx of people brings with it ingenuity and growth.

Despite Kotkin's rosy outlook for America, though, Illinois and Chicago have some work to do. There are lots of states in this country that are doing things right, he said. Illinois is not one of them.
One of the problems, Kotkin said, is that Chicago wants to be New York.

"Being a New Yorker," Kotkin said, "I will say, forget about it. … Chicago is and should be the heart of this huge heartland. You competition is not New York. Your competition is Dallas and Houston."

The City of the Big Shoulders has become the City of the Shrinking Expectations. But population and job trends have brought us to this future. As Kotkin rattled through slides and slides of statistics, nothing looked particularly good for Illinois and Chicago. Illinois has lost the highest percentage of high-tech jobs in the country. Job growth in Chicago from 2008 to 2011 is doing worse than the U.S. as a whole. More people are moving out of Illinois and Chicago than moving in. It was just bad news after bad news.

The migration rate is especially alarming. Illinois is gaining residents from just Michigan, Ohio and New Jersey, Kotkin said. It's losing people to Indiana and Wisconsin at an alarming rate. While the native Hoosier in me can't help but feel a bit of pride in this, the current Illinois resident in me is thinking, "Seriously, you're getting your butt kicked by Indiana. Have you seen their football teams?"
Kotkin also listed off some possible competitors for Chicago in the next 40 years, places such as Minneapolis, Fargo, Sioux Falls, Omaha and Des Moines. Yes, he said Sioux Falls. I honestly didn't even know what state Sioux Falls is in. I had to look it up. I was slightly suspicious that it was imaginary.

"Your competition is becoming very different," Kotkin said. I'll say. Who knew we would be competing against imaginary cities. What's next? Katmandu?

And then there's THE threat.

"The city of Indianapolis is a major threat to Chicago longterm," Kotkin said. "Indiana is coming on in a big way."

Nooooooooooooo!

"They're eating your lunch," Kotkin said.

Obviously, something is amiss in Illinois and Chicago. We're not creating enough jobs. We're losing people. And we're not gaining enough people. Even immigrants are starting to stay away from Illinois, Kotkin said. And while some might think that's a good thing, it's a terrible reflection on the economic state of Illinois. Immigrants are smart. They don't go to places where there are no jobs.

I don't know what Illinois needs to do to turn things around. I'm fairly sure our politicians don't either.

I just hope we get our butts into gear before the states and cities around us really start doing it for us.

Oh, and keep having those babies. For America.

• For a better understanding of Kotkin's research, pick up his book, "The Next Hundred Million: America in 2050."

An NBA fan reflects on what should have, could have been

2011-11-02T09:46:00.001-07:00

I visited the Yahoo! Sports page this morning – a morning routine of sorts – and was greeted by something I had never seen before in the schedule part in the top right corner.

"Your Magic should have been playing today …"

Thank you, Yahoo! Sports. Thank you for making my morning a little less sunny. I suppose it could have been worse:

"Your Magic should have been playing today … oh, and you should have been finished with your novel by now – you know, the one you left your steady job to write. And the Cubs still suck even with Theo. Bwahahahaha!"

(Sadly, this probably is the future of the Internet. I see it getting meaner and meaner as it grows older. Soon, it will be impossible to differentiate the Internet from Maxine, the tyrannical elderly Hallmark lady. But instead of telling us to get off its lawn, it will take our property and sell it to carnies. And then the Internet will have won.)

But, yes, Yahoo! Sports is correct. My Magic, the Orlando Magic, should have been playing today.

But they're not. Because there's no NBA. Because there's a lockout. Because the owners greedily want more money and the players union remarkably is taking the stance that it's willing to give up more in a lost year than it could win on the bargaining table. And instead of watching the opening-night Magic game to kick off what was supposed to be a great year of NBA watching, possibly the last year my team has Dwight Howard, the most dominant center in the game, I'll be attending a discussion on what Chicago and Illinois might look like in 2050. Sigh.

I have followed this lockout closely.

I've read just about every story published on ESPN.com, SI.com and Yahoo! about the lockout. It's the owners' fault. It's union chief Billy Hunter's fault. It's players' rep Derek Fisher's fault. It's Buddha's fault.

And everyone seems united on what will happen in the end. The players will take the 50/50 split of basketball-related income and the season will continue. The owners will have won and nobody will even remember all of this in a year.

This must be what Alice felt like sitting at the Mad Hatter's table. Craziness. Craziness. Craziness.

We're all waiting for the inevitable. And yet the inevitable is taking its sweet time to arrive.

And meanwhile, I'm forced to do adult, responsible things such as think about the future rather than rooting for my team in a fairly meaningless November game. And that's just not fair.

I'm one of the few hardcore NBA fans among my friends, maybe the only hardcore NBA fan among my friends. Most have responded with a resounding "meh" about the lockout. They'll respond with a "meh" when the lockout ends.

But me, I'll be continuing to wait impatiently at the Mad Hatter's table for the players to agree to the owners' patently unfair offer because – well, that's the way this will play out.

I don't blame the players for holding out. I'd probably do the same thing in their shoes. But they can't and won't win this fight with the owners. And eventually they'll sign this year. And I'll get my NBA back.

Or they'll hold out this year. And I won't.

But I'll be back no matter what because I love basketball and the NBA and will happily embrace my prodigal league when it returns. I'm just not sure how many people will be there with me, arms open wide.

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Trip abroad means some basic French and a $6 soda

2011-10-28T09:26:00.000-07:00

In the past week, I’ve run into Tampa Bay Buccaneers players at the Tower of London, paid at least $6 for a bottle of soda in Paris and essentially walked the length of the United States while touring the two European cities.

Ah, being abroad.

The wife and I had talked about going to Europe for years, and we finally made the trip last week.

It was an exciting journey, especially because it was my first time abroad. (I’ve been to Canada and Mexico, but those don’t count. I’ve also been to Jamaica on a missionary trip, but that ended with us holed up inside a school wrongly afraid that the villagers were about to attack us. Let’s just move on.)

The first three days were spent in London, the land of “chip, chip, cheerio” and unlikely food items tossed willy nilly into pies. (We had a pie with goat cheese in it. Seriously, goat cheese. It was actually pretty good.)

We visited the normal tourist sites – the British Museum, Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s Cathedral, Big Ben and the Tower of London, where we ran into the Buccaneers who were in town early getting ready to face the Chicago Bears on Sunday. It turns out examining torture devices and various suits of armor does not help you win football games.

And I got to eat fish and chips in London, which was my main goal. Final result, they taste like fish and chips in America. Oh, well.

From there, it was on to four days in Paris.

Fortunately, my wife speaks some French. Unfortunately, the extent of my French is randomly yelling the names of French actors and fictional characters. (Gerard Depardieu! Jean Reno! Jean-Luc Picard!) This is not the way to make friends with the French.

My wife took pity on me, though, and taught me a few basic French phrases on the train ride to Paris. I was now able to say, “I’m sorry, but I don’t speak French” and “I would like a Coca-Cola.” Sadly, I would get my words mixed up sometimes and end up apologizing for not being able to speak Coca-Cola. It’s a tough language.

Despite not understanding much of what was being said around me, Paris was great. We walked everywhere – to Notre Dame, to the Louvre, to the shopping areas (my wife’s choice). I walked more in those seven days than I had in maybe the entire year. And the food was spectacular. Overpriced generally, but spectacular.

We complain a lot about the price of things here in the Chicago area. We have nothing to complain about. Just about everything is more expensive in London and Paris. A bottled soda can cost $6. Finding a “good deal” on bottled soda means you paid about $3. Meals cost more. Clothes cost more. Museums cost more. It was like being at Disney World for seven straight days.

By the time the week was over, I was ready to go back home. I was tired of trying to pronounce French. I was tired of $6 sodas. And I was just tired. My feet were killing me and – in the French tradition – were about ready to go on strike.

It was a great trip, but I was thrilled to be back home when the plane landed. No, I did not kiss the ground. One of my personal rules is that I do not kiss the floors of dirty airports. But I did smile. And I bought a soda for $1.50. God bless America.

The mystery behind why people run marathons

2011-10-14T05:46:00.000-07:00

On Sunday, I watched my wife run in the Chicago Marathon.

A few weeks ago, the Fox Valley Marathon had people trekking through St. Charles, Geneva and Batavia for the second year in a row.

And according to Running USA's annual marathon report, there were 507,000 finishers in the U.S. in 2010 compared with 353,000 in 2000; 224,000 in 1990; and just 25,000 in 1976. In about 35 years, the sports has grown from the size of Geneva to the size of New Orleans. It's astounding.

What I don't understand – what I can't understand – is why.

A marathon is 26.2 miles long – a ridiculous distance if you pause to really think about it. That's the equivalent of running from St. Charles to Arlington Heights as the crow flies and then – upon reaching Arlington Heights – being told you need to run six additional miles. That's insane.

I've watched my wife run in five Chicago Marathons as well as a few other marathons. Not once have I felt the urge to join in the fun. Just biking after her during training runs is enough to make me yearn for the comforts of a couch and a TV remote. But I'm obviously being left behind here as thousands of additional souls decide to run a marathon every year.

So, wanting to get some insight into this phenomenon, I called the co-organizers of the Fox Valley Marathon, Dave Sheble and Craig Bixler.

Sheble and I in particular have something in common. For years, he watched his wife run while he stood on the sidelines just like me.

"My wife did them for years," Sheble said, "and I was like, 'You've got to be out of your mind; there's no way.' "

Sheble ultimately decided to get on the course himself, though, running his first marathon in 2004 in Chicago. When he set out to do it, he planned on being part of the fabled "one and done" club.

"Here we are seven years later, though, and my how things have changed," he said. Sheble has run a number of marathons along with helping others achieve their marathon goals through his involvement with the Fox Valley Marathon.

But, why? I still don't understand why.

"Some people have described it as the ultimate challenge," Sheble said. "You just have to have the commitment. There is a reason they call this an endurance sport. You have to endure the race. … It's controllable. In today's environment, how many things are really controllable? But running is."

Bixler, the other co-organizer of the Fox Valley Marathon, agreed with this idea.

"Times are tough and people need to feel good about themselves," Bixler said. "They're having life-changing events and they need to get a handle of themselves and their lives and have something to feel good about. … It doesn't matter whether you run it in two and a half hours or six and a half hours, you still did it."

Bixler, who has been running marathons since his first one while in college in 1980, still remembers finishing his first marathon.

"It was an internal challenge," he said. " 'Hey, can I go out there and do this?' Whenever you set your mind out to do something and you accomplish it, you always feel great.

Setting a tough goal. Accomplishing it. Being in control of that accomplishment. What can beat that? So few things are in our control. The economy is not in our control. Our health is only so much in our control. But when out on a marathon course, barring injury, you're in control. You decide whether to stop and give up or to finish the race, to finish the seemingly impossible 26.2 miles.

"The hardest thing is to make the commitment to do it," Sheble said. "The miracle is not that I finished; it's that I had the courage to start."

Both Sheble and Bixler said just about anybody could do a marathon. You don't need to be an athlete. You don't need to be in the prime of your life. You just need to have the commitment. You just need to have the desire to control this one thing in your life.

I've never seen myself running a marathon. In all honesty, I still can't. I remember running a 5K and thinking to myself during the race, "This is the worst thing in the world. I paid to do this? Am I insane?" A marathon is eight 5Ks run consecutively and then a little more.

But then again, I also remember finishing the 5K. That sense of accomplishment at having finished something I set out to do. Outkicking the 9-year-old girl down the stretch so I didn't lose all my pride. And finishing a marathon, well, I suppose I would have to multiply that feeling by eight.

And maybe, just maybe, that's a goal worth striving for.

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Home is where the heart is

2011-10-06T11:48:00.000-07:00

I don't think I ever completely understood what "home is where the heart is" meant until my current trip to my birthplace of Evansville, Ind.

I came down to visit family and friends. I grew up here and didn't leave until my junior year of college when I transferred to Indiana University.

It has always been home. When I spent summers in Florida with my dad. When I went off to college. When I first moved to northern Illinois for my first job out of college. Always.

But I'm not so sure anymore. This is the first whole week I've spent in Evansville since getting married three years ago, and the feeling is different this time. Not bad, but different.

I've lived in northern Illinois since November 2003, starting out in La Salle and slowly making my way closer and closer to Chicago before finally landing in the Lakeview neighborhood late this summer. And while I certainly can't claim that Chicago feels like home yet, southern Indiana doesn't anymore either.

I love seeing family and friends, and I'm thoroughly enjoying my stay, but it no longer feels like I'm coming home. It's more like paying a visit to an old haunt – a place etched deep in your heart, but untethered to your soul.

Where exactly is home then? Maybe someplace in between? (Hopefully not on one of those central Indiana wind farms, though. Those places would give me the creeps at night. And home should not give you the creeps at night unless you're in a bad movie starring Daniel Craig and a weird house.)

So, no, that's not the answer.

Perhaps the better question is where my heart resides. And my heart resides where my life is. And my life, simply put, is wherever my wife and I are. And for now, that's in Chicago.

I've led a nomadic life most of my 30 years. The longest I've ever lived in one place is probably three years or so. Eventually, my wife and I will want a house. Maybe in Chicago. Maybe in the suburbs. Maybe in some other city neither of us have ever considered. And when we do move, that place will be home.

For some, home will always be the place where they grew up. But I can't live that way. For me, home is where the heart is. And, believe me, I know this sounds hokey, but my heart is with my life and my wife. (It's okay. Feel free to gag. I'm even doing so a little bit.)

It's been a nice trip to Evansville – and as with all trips, I'm sure it will end a few days too soon – but when it's done, when I board that Amtrak train back to Chicago – I'll also be looking forward to coming home. Home, sweet home, Chicago.

Red rum, muppets and pizza – welcome to Pie Hole

2011-09-30T10:44:00.001-07:00

For our date night on Saturday, the wife and I kept it simple and opted for slices of pizza at Pie Hole Pizza Joint, 3477 N. Broadway, Chicago.

It's a nicely decorated place, though seating is limited, which I'm beginning to learn is fairly par for the course along restaurant row on Broadway. But it's welcoming and the staff is friendly.

The menu is fun, with names such as Cher and Cher Alike, Lasagnizza and Barbie Q and plenty of asides in describing the items. The winner of best menu item name, however, must go to the Snuffle Greekupagus Salad. No, it doesn't make any sense. Large mastadon-shaped muppets and Greeks salads typically don't go together. But it's just fun to say.

They also do desserts, such as baked-to-order brownie bites, home-baked chocolate chip cookies, toffee pizza and – what tempts me most – "red rum" velvet cake. Red velvet cake batter flavored with Bacardi rum, baked and then smothered in homemade cream cheese frosting. It says on the menu that Paula Deen would love it. I don't disagree. It sounds delicious. And terribly unhealthy. This is not something I should ever order.

But while there are plenty of whole pizza specialities, salads and appetizers – including pie holes, "made-to-order poppable balls of pizza crust coated with basil pesto sauce or olive oil and parmesan and baked golden brown" – we decided to keep it simple and go for individual slices.

I'm a big fan of pizza slices. A whole pizza is too much food for one setting unless I'm with a group, and I really don't need to be eating leftover pizza for three days.

And Pie Hole makes individual slices made-to-order, something I have very rarely seen at other pizza joints that sell slices. At many of these places, if the name of the slice you want doesn't start and end with pepperoni, sausage or cheese, you're out of luck.

At Pie Hole, however, you have plenty of choices. At a price, of course – 50 cents each for most toppings, though a few are half-priced. The base price is $2.99.

They do just about every type of pizza cheese you can think of, and even some you wouldn't normally think of, such as feta and vegan cheese. They have all of the basic meat toppings, as well as anchovies (which are half-priced if you dare). And the "vegetational options" are expansive, with unique treats such as portobello mushrooms, Kalamata olives, pineapple, and my personal favorite – mini marshmallows.

Of course, after listing all these wonderful toppings, I must admit that I went with the basic plain cheese slice. When it comes to pizza, I prefer simple. Sometimes I'll go with black olives, but that's about it. Of course, I'll eat any type of pizza put in front of me – including one with mini marshmallows – but if I'm ordering, I like plain cheese.

It was good, though. Tasty and not too greasy. I didn't feel like I had to use a napkin after every bite. And the crust was ever so slightly burnt, which I love. The size was just right, as well. Two slices are good for dinner, but one slice would be plenty for lunch.

We live fairly close to Pie Hole, so I'm sure I'll be back. Just keep me away from that "red rum" velvet cake.

Scarecrows, zombies and the harvest

2011-09-30T05:54:00.000-07:00

Harvest time has always been a time for celebration. It's a tradition that continues today. Across the nation, cities and organizations host fall and harvest festivals in October in which people wander around, eat copious amounts of unhealthy food and go on whirling, twirling carnival rides – just as our ancestors would have wanted.

But as we move further away from our agricultural roots, we tend to forget the origins of October festivals.

In St. Charles, there is Scarecrow Fest – also known as "The Original Illinois Scarecrow Festival," just in case, you know, some other city tries to hone in on its girl – which will be held from Oct. 7-9 in the downtown area. It will host more than 150 scarecrows decorated in all kinds of crazy costumes. And, of course, there will be the usual festival fare such as a carnival, food and arts and crafts.

Scarecrows at least have a tie to farming. Historically, they have been used to either scare crows from eating up all the crops (hence the name) or to help guide Dorothy down the yellow brick road. Helpful creatures, those scarecrows.

Then we have Batfest in Batavia, which will be held on Oct. 22 on the Batavia Riverwalk.

While I understand why it's called BatFest, I still don't like the mental imagery of thousands of bats descending upon the city to wreak havoc. There's simply not much harvest symbolism in naming a festival after the winged, scary part of a city's name (thought I suppose it's better than AviaFest), but the best thing about it this year will be the zombie walk, which costs $10 to participate in, also known as money well spent. A fall festival celebrating the undead? I love it! You want to make a name for yourself, Batavia? Next year, change the name from BatFest to ZombieFest and watch as people pour in. (This is probably why I don't work in marketing.)

If you are looking for something a little more harvest-y, though, there is the appropriately named Harvest Days, which will be held from 10:30 a.m. to 4 p.m. Oct. 2 at Garfield Farm Museum, 3N016 Garfield Road, Campton Hills.

"We're reflecting when the harvest was a significant event among communities," said Jerome Johnson, executive director of Garfield Farm. "What we show with various demonstrations is how it took a lot of work to produce your daily bread and everyone was very dependent on that system to work and work well."

Harvest Days is all about learning the realities of rural life as seen through the eyes of an 1840s working farm. With many fall festivals focused on things such as scarecrows and zombies, it can be easy to forget what celebrating the harvest really is about. Essentially, it's about survival. (Okay, celebrating zombies is about survival, as well, but more in a sawed-off shotgun kind of way.)

Our ancestors went nuts celebrating the harvest because it meant they had a better chance of surviving the winter. That's hard to comprehend in today's America where grocery stores sometimes are located across the street from each other and food is omnipresent for most. And while the harvest remains important to farmers, the average American simply doesn't think about it.

But, if you're looking for a reminder, watching wheat be run through a fanning mill at Harvest Days isn't a bad start. Sure, it's not as fancy or probably as interesting as dressed-up scarecrows and zombies, but sometimes it's important to remember our heritage and how thankful we should be that we aren't so dependent on an individual harvest anymore.

"The good news is we're able to produce large parts of food … in part due to science and technology," Johnson said. "But it also means that the harvest doesn't have the same role it once did when you could actually see the results of your hard work throughout the years."

Kane County is on the edge of the rural/suburban divide and Garfield Farm lies as close to the current dividing line as you can get. Johnson grew up just a mile and a half from the museum and has seen the area transform more and more each year from rural to suburban. But even he is two generations removed from farming. Today's children, even more so. I think it's especially important for children to get a sense of the harvest – that is does not just mean putting a few quarters in a machine and having a Kit Kat bar pop out. There might be an ancient celebration for that type of harvest, but it would probably be terrifying.

"Any child growing up on a farm, when they bring an egg in from the hen house and place it on the kitchen table, they can see how they are contributing to the family's welfare," Johnson said. "Here, you have this opportunity to expose young people to things they might not see anymore. You have a lot of suburban children where their whole experience is a cookie-cutter suburban lifestyle."

There's nothing wrong with the suburban lifestyle. I have certainly enjoyed it. But it's important to remember our agricultural past. So, this year, when you're munching on fair food, hanging out at Garfield Farm, walking through costumed scarecrows or – maybe best yet – traipsing through Batavia dressed up as a zombie, take some time to reflect on and celebrate how thankful we should be that food is as plentiful as it is. While it's no longer the 1840s – as the zombie parade surely can attest to – even in 2011 we remain thankful for the bountiful harvest around us.

A Cubs fan says farewell to Ozzie

2011-09-27T07:53:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been fun Ozzie Guillen.

Plenty of White Sox fans have an opinion on the longtime skipper who led them to a World Series title and announced yesterday he was leaving, most likely for warmer waters in Florida. Some are happy.

Others are sad. Many have mixed feelings.

As a Cubs fan, it's more like saying farewell to the crazy distant uncle whose antics you could enjoy from after, admiring all he accomplished while also kind of glad you haven't had to live with him. We had our own crazy uncle in Lou Piniella for a few years, but without the World Series trophy to go with it, and that makes all the difference.

I have a bobblehead doll of Ozzie Guillen that I received when I attended a White Sox game with my wife and her family. (All of whom are huge White Sox fans. I feel like a Montague among Capulets at times.) For some reason, I decided to keep it despite liking more than half of the American League better than the White Sox. (American League teams I like less: Yankees, Orioles, Blue Jays, Mariners.

I am glad the White Sox beat Houston in the World Series, though.) What can I say? It was fun to make the doll's head bobble while imagining Ozzie saying crazy things at a press conference. I don't know what I'll do with it now. It'll probably end up in a Goodwill bag in the coming year, which seems appropriate on a couple of levels.

Chicago certainly will be more boring without Ozzie. He singlehandedly made the White Sox interesting for this Cubs fan. Because let's face it, without Ozzie, the White Sox simply aren't that interesting of a team.

From the national perspective, nobody really stands out on the White Sox. The biggest personality on the team probably belongs to A.J. Pierzynski, who is about as enjoyable to a Cubs fan as barbed wire.

Their most consistent player has been Mark Buehrle, who seems like a really nice guy, but certainly doesn't make you ooh and ahh with his pitching. And the rest of the team seems to be composed of an odd mix of underachievers (Adam Dunn, Alex Rios, etc.) and grindy overachievers. Buehrle seems to be the only guy who plays to his mean.

But then you add in Ozzie and suddenly you have crazy quotes and rants coming from an inexhaustible supply somewhere deep in his soul.

His Monday announcement was filled with these, such as one of the reasons he needed to leave was to make more money so that he could keep his boat and its captain. Seriously, his boat and his captain. I mean, where else can you find that kind of honesty and inanity in one place? He's like that third-party political candidate who sometimes make sense, but also sounds nuts, and despite kind of liking the candidate, you just can't bring yourself to vote for him or her.

The White Sox probably will be better off without Ozzie. They have a talented team that just hasn't been able to put it together the last few years. Sometime a new voice can go a long way. And it's always more fun in Chicago when either the White Sox or the Cubs are good. (And I'm not holding out too much hope for the Cubs next year.)

From an entertainment aspect, though, it will be sad to see him go. So, as a Cubs fan, I bid you a fond adieu, Ozzie Guillen. Your antics had the curious affect of helping me to forget the woes on the north side, even if just for a bit. And for that, I am grateful.

A lifelong Cubs fan moves near Wrigley

2011-09-20T07:51:00.000-07:00

Last night, I walked to Wrigley Field from my home to catch a Cubs game.

If 10-year-old Joe Grace knew this one day would be a possibility, he would be jumping up and down and clapping excitedly. (Ten-year-old Joe Grace has an odd way of celebrating. I blame his youth.)

While I grew up in southern Indiana hundreds of miles from Chicago – Cardinals country, really – I was a Cubs fan from the beginning.

1. They were my great-grandfather's favorite team, and I got to watch them on WGN when I visited as he smoked his pipe and called the players unflattering names. (In southern Indiana, we call this bonding time.)

2. I started watching baseball around 1989, the rookie year of Mark Grace. How could I not root for a team sporting what very well could have been my long-lost uncle. Sadly, this turned out not to be true, though when other kids asked me whether we were related, I simply would shrug my shoulders as if to say, "Who knows? Stranger things have happened."

And I've stuck with the Cubs ever since through thin and thinner.

• Through the loss to the Giants in the 1989 playoffs and the subsequent loss of Greg Maddux.

• Through Mark Grace's departure to the Arizona Diamondbacks. (I did bandwagon with them during that time and got to feel somewhat what it's like for your team to win a World Series. Not quite the same thing, more like the Chicago Taste version, but delicious nonetheless.)

• Through when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named got in the way of a foul ball during the 2003 playoffs and then You-Know-Who botched an easy double play soon after that and then – let's just say their names – Mark Prior and Kyle Farnsworth collectively decided, "You know what? Let's just go ahead and implode now."

• Through the none-and-done playoff runs during the Lou Piniella era.

• Through the current year in which the Cubs are in a tight race with the Pirates for fourth place in the division.

I'm a Cubs fan and always will be.

Despite a below-average team and little hope for the next few years, it's still magical for a lifelong Cubs fan to live so close to Wrigley Field that he can look out his window and see it from his home.

And last night's game was wonderful. A win as Geovany Soto decided driving in runs might make him more popular than striking out. Pizza and a soda, my ultimate Wrigley Field treat. And, for one night, keeping the division out of the Brewers' hands.

If he were still alive, my great-grandfather would have appreciated the game, too, from his recliner, pipe in tow. He might even have refrained from calling any of the players unflattering names. Well, maybe not, but it would have given him hope for the 2012 season. And as every true Cubs fan knows, there's always next year.

The Counter and build-your-own-regret

2011-09-19T07:48:00.000-07:00

I wrote in an earlier column that one of the things I was looking forward to as a newbie Chicagoan is trying out the many restaurants the city is known for.

After sticking with a place we've gone to a few times before in Cozy Noodles & Rice our first time out since moving in, my wife and I tried someplace new in The Counter, 666 W. Diversey, our next time.
The Counter is a chain restaurant with more than 30 locations (though the Chicago one is the sole location in the Midwest) and must be cool because it says on the website that it was "anti-established" in 2003. This seems silly because I can't even imagine anyone – even the characters in "SLC Punk" – saying he or she was anti-born in so-and-so year, but so be it. It is an anti-establishment.

It is an anti-establishment, however, that my wife had heard good things about. And since this would be one of the few burgers I allow myself to enjoy during the course of the year, it had better be.
Its main concept is build-your-own burger.

I've been to a few places where it is encouraged to customize your burger, such as Tom and Eddie's or Urban Grille in suburban Geneva, but I'm always up for a new challenge.

And, yes, building your own burger is a challenge. At least it is for me. I can be indecisive when it comes to ordering off of a menu. Everything usually looks good, and in a perfect world I'd tell the waiter a few things I don't like and then have the kitchen surprise me with my dish. Picking between 20 or so items is tough enough. But building your own burgers brings its own unique challenge, especially when presented with many choices. According to The Counter's website, there are more than 312,000 combinations for its burgers. In other words, I could have a burger every day for 800 years and still not have tried every combination. (Not a recipe for living past 800, by the way.)

Let's go ahead and run through the options:

Step 1: Choose a burger.

Your options are beef, chicken, turkey or veggie. OK. Easy enough.

Step 2: Choose a cheese

Now, we start to have some fun. The option are Danish Blue, feta, Gruyére, herb goat cheese spread, horseradish cheddar, imported Swiss, sharp Provolone, soft ripened Brie, Tillamook cheddar and yellow American. Whew.

But then it gets worse. Far worse.

Step 3: Choose up to four toppings

For time sake, I won't list them all, but some of the possibilities include dried cranberries, hard-boiled eggs, roasted red peppers, cucumbers and roasted corn and black bean salsa. This is before we get into the premium topping that cost $1 each such as applewood-smoked bacon, chili, guacamole, Black Forest ham and fried eggs. (Yes, frying the egg instead of hard boiling it costs a dollar. Don't ask me why.)

And as soon as I think I'm out of the woods, having finally decided on four toppings, here comes the sauces.

Step 4: Choose a sauce

There are 20 sauces. 20?!? For a hamburger? I'm not eating wings here. And we certainly have some interesting choices such as apricot sauce (made with real apricots, I presume), peanut sauce (made with real peanuts, I presume), and Russian dressing (made with real Russians, in my nightmares). Oh, and hot wing sauce, of course.

Now, I've got to be done with choosing.

Nope.

Step 5: Choose a bun

Luckily, there are fewer choice here. Hamburger bun, multigrain bun (for those who want to make their burger with bacon, ham and fried egg healthier), English muffin and onion bun.

My head hurt at the end of it as I eventually settled on beef, Tillamook cheddar, grilled onions, lettuce blend, roasted red peppers, tomatoes, tzatziki (why not?) and a hamburger bun.

The burger, though, was delicious. The tzatziki was put on the side (as are all their sauces) so I could try the concoction without worrying about ruining the burger. It worked surprisingly well. The burger was cooked perfectly and the toppings were top-notch. I wanted to lick my plate clean at the end of it. (I didn't. That would have been really gross. And possibly grounds for divorce.)

But as good as the burger was, I'm now wondering about all of the toppings and sauces I didn't choose. I can't go back and try a new one every day. As good as it was, that would wreak havoc on my health.

So, here I am stuck with build-your-own regret.

Build-your-own regret is more common than you might think, especially since the build-your-own phenomenon is not limited to hamburgers. Mongolian barbecues have been presenting multiple options since Genghis Khan couldn't decide what country he wanted to invade and ended up just pillaging all of them. You can build bears. You can build lives via games like "The Sims." You could build your own football or baseball team through fantasy sports. The options are limitless. And therein lies the problem. The options for not getting it quite right also are limitless.

My problem with build-your-own stuff is rooted in Platonic idealism. The Greek philosopher Plato posited that all things have a perfect form. You might remember it from class when you read about the Allegory of the Cave. I always worry that there is a perfect burger or a perfect stir-fry combination somewhere in the back of that cave that I just can't hit upon. I had the same issue with Choose Your Own Adventure books as a youth. While the books give you multiple endings, I always believed that one of the endings was the real one and it frustrated me that I didn't know. Likewise, little ticks me off more than directors who provide an alternate ending, thus confusing me as to what is the real ending to the fictional story.

Yet, with all that being said, I chose to build my own burger rather that to choose one of The Counter's suggestions. One of my favorite styles of restaurants are Mongolian barbecues. Maybe it's the pursuit of perfection that keeps me going back. It's doubtful I'll ever hit up a burger's perfect form, but there's nothing wrong with trying.

At least I didn't have to worry about picking the wrong kind of fries at The Counter. The kind waiter allowed us to mix the Parmesan fries and the sweet-potato fries since we were first-time customers. Bless him.

Though, perhaps we should have gone with the regular fries.

Chicago and my new love for parking spaces

2011-09-14T11:14:00.000-07:00

The car has been rendered useless.

Just one full week into living in Chicago and I've already discovered what the most precious resource in this city is – a parking space close to where you live.

Unfortunately, once you have that space – which on average takes about 30 to 45 minutes of driving around in a circle to achieve – the thought of driving away and giving up that space seems horribly unfair, Steve Bartman-like unfair – thus rendering the point of the car – to take you from point A to point B in a timely fashion – useless.

I suppose I'll be doing a lot of walking as a Chicagoan.

Not that this will be a problem. I enjoy walking. I walk to Starbucks. I walk to the grocery store. I walk to the hardware store. My wife and I walk to dinner. It feels just like college again. I love it. (Let's see how I feel about it in the winter.)

I'm still getting used to the amount of people out and about when walking through the city, though. People are EVERYWHERE. My guess is they are as reluctant to give up their parking spaces as I am. I don't blame them. I've developed an emotional attachment with my latest parking space. It will be a sad, sad day when I have to send it to the farm/flush it down the toilet.

I lived in downtown Huntley in the far, far, western suburbs for two years and would walk around occasionally, very rarely seeing another person outdoors. In the part of Chicago where I live, very rarely do you find yourself alone on a block during daytime hours. And since I'm still not terribly comfortable walking around by myself at night – you never know, Chicago might have a vampire problem – that means I'm constantly walking past people throughout the day. Again, just like college. If I had homework to ignore, I might think that I was back at Indiana University.

Also, everybody seems healthier here. Maybe that's because you see the people who are running (my wife) and not the people who are sitting on the couch watching TV (me), but it sure does make it seem like Chicago is healthier than it is. (It's in the middle of the pack, according to the American College of Sports Medicine.) It's nice to see so many people exercising. It's inspiring. One day, I might even join the ranks of the running. One day. Definitely not tomorrow. Probably not this month. But one day.

It feels good not driving the car everywhere. I'm walking more. I'm doing my part for the environment. I'm saving gas money. Except for the ridiculously long walk to and from the farmers market, I've not missed the car one bit. My wife and I have even talked about getting rid of it, but, hey, let's not go crazy here. I like having it available. I like having it in a close parking space even more.

I know I'll eventually have to give up the parking space. Even if I choose not to drive, the city of Chicago deems it important to clean the streets once a month and I'll have to give up the parking space then. But I'll enjoy it while it lasts. Just like college.

The truth about journalism: It's not your fault

2011-09-07T07:42:00.000-07:00

"No. Listen to me, son. It's not your fault."

Mihir Zaveri, a student at the University of California-Berkeley and a member of its student newspaper, the Daily Californian, wrote a column recently that was passed around the Internet after being posted on Jim Romenesko's blog. In the column, Zaveri generously took the blame for journalism's recent woes by claiming that it was his (and other journalists') fault because he and others have not done a good enough job.

"I want to write a column, I think," he writes. "I want to write a column that will tell the truth about the Daily Cal, about newspapers and about journalism. I want to tell the truth that nobody wants to say."

I also want to tell a truth, Mihir Zaveri.

It's not your fault.

• • •

"It's our fault," Zaveri writes. "Our job was to report the news, and we did that. But we got complacent, and we stopped evolving, and soon the concept of a news article became far removed from what you, as a person, valued. Now we find ourselves in an awkward position where an indispensable component of democracy is slipping away, and we’re scrambling."

No. Listen to me, son. It's not your fault.

A journalists' job was and is to report the news. We continue to do that. We have not become complacent. We are continually evolving as technology changes, learning online databases, social media, video and any other technological beast that steps onto our path. As journalism evolves, so are journalists.

What exactly is it that a person values when it comes to a news article? The truth, certainly. Exploring multiple sides of an issue, sure. Giving people an opportunity to respond when attacked, yes. I don't think these have gone away. Certainly, there are fewer stories in some communities, and yes, fewer of the in-depth investigative pieces I'm assuming Zaveri is referring to. But that is the fault of circumstance rather than journalists as we'll get to later.

And then there's the whole democracy thing.

Sigh.

Zaveri is a college journalist. I was a college journalist once, too. I wasn't a very good college journalist. I mostly wrote an immature humor column for the student paper. But I was a college journalist nonetheless. I went to the classes. I listened as I was told how we were the last barrier between democracy and nihilism – the pen-wielding Spartans between the rest of Greece and the Persian horde, if you will.

It's just not true.

We are a profession. We are paid to provide a service. It is people who maintain a democracy, people who are willing to pay others to investigate and keep tabs government – our service. We are a tool of those people certainly, but it is not our duty to maintain democracy. It is the citizens' duty. It is an important distinction to make.

Perhaps that is why I, unlike a few of my compatriots, am not freaking out about the IMPENDING END OF JOURNALISM (AND DEMOCRACY) AS WE KNOW IT.

People are interested in knowing where their taxes are going and why they pay what they do. As long as that remains true, journalism (and democracy) has nothing to worry about.

• • •

"It’s clear to me that a number of people are out of touch with the core of journalism," Zaveri writes. "Journalism isn’t a business, and a news article isn’t a product. Sure, advertising is a business, and it has been so intertwined with newspapers over the last century that it’s hard to think of journalism without advertising. But journalism isn’t advertising."

It's not your fault.

First, and let's make this clear, journalism is a business and its perceived woes are business woes more so than journalism woes. And as much as it might offend Zaveri's journalistic sensitivities, a news article is a product.

Not a business, really? Tell that to the thousands of journalist who depend upon their companies making a profit to keep their jobs that journalism is not a business.

Journalists are service providers – just like a mechanic or a dentist or a teacher. It is a profession. It is what we do to make our living. Our products are the news articles we provide. If we cannot persuade advertisers to associate with that product or people to pay for that product, then we cannot make that living. Our foremost role is not to be the defender of democracy, as much as that thought might make us feel all warm and rosy inside. It is to provide a service for those who are willing to pay to receive it or to be associated with it. Luckily for us, it just so happens that defending democracy is something many people are willing to pay for.

When people want better journalism, they'll pay for it. That's how capitalism works. That's how journalism works.

For journalism to be healthy, we need the business to be healthy. It's that simple.

• • •

"Journalism is in a dark time," Zaveri writes. "But we can’t give up. We have to fight for relevance in your lives. We need to gain back your trust that what we’re doing is worth keeping alive, one way or another, and we can’t do that by writing fluff."

It's not your fault.

Journalism probably has seen better days, I'll give Zaveri that.

We've seen newsroom cuts across the nation. Less journalists equals less journalism. This is not journalists' fault. They did not volunteer to be cut. It's not even media companies' fault. They did what they had to do to maintain profits to remain viable in the future.

As weak as it might sound, and I know it's much more fun to blame somebody, it's the fault of circumstance. We are in the midst of a digital revolution, and few have been caught more in the middle than media companies, especially newspapers. Some advertisers (such as auto and employment) quickly decided to use the web. Others (such as local businesses) have been more reluctant. Some people quickly decided they wanted to get their information by using the web. Others continue to want the print product. The business side of journalism has become torn trying to serve both masters. Print products are more expensive to create and deliver, but most of the revenue still comes from them.

More people are calling for online journalism, but that profit model is just now beginning to take shape.

This is the position we find ourselves in as we wait for the digital revolution to complete its cycle. It is a tough time certainly, but it will get better. And as the online profit model improves, more journalists will be hired, and with more journalists comes better journalism. It's a solution that requires patience.

You can only do so much with less, and less is the option we have right now. It won't always be the option. As people turn more toward digital ways of reading news, as advertisers turn more toward digital ways of reaching customers, the profits will turn around and journalism will flourish. This will happen naturally, though it certainly can be sped up through innovate owners and publishers.

And here's another truth for you. Some people want to read fluff, and as information providers it's our job to provide it. Journalism is not about saving democracy all the time. Some people buy cereal that is good for them. Some people buy sugar-laced cereals with cartoon figures on the box. Cereal companies make both kinds. Journalists provide both kinds of information. We are a jack-of-all-trades when it comes to providing information.

Less fluff, more hard news is not a solution. More journalists is. We cater to all in journalism. That is worth remembering.

• • •

"That’s what I think we’ve lost:" Zaveri writes, "sight of our responsibility and the bigger picture."

It's not your fault.

I was the editor of a daily newspaper for three years before leaving to focus on writing. I worked my tail off for those three years. I worked my tail off for the five years before that to become an editor of a daily newspaper.

And one thing I can tell you about journalists having being one and managed a number of them is that almost all work their tails off. While dealing with financial and family matters most college students aren't even aware of. Most, Mihir Zaveri, don't have time to sit down, have three BridgePort Kingpin Double Red Ales and ponder journalism and the universe.

I am so proud of all the journalists who have continued to do their best during a time when many have seen the numbers around them dwindle. We are doing enough. Can we do better? Sure. Should we continue to innovate and inspire? Absolutely. But there is a difference between complacency and exhaustion. We have not become complacent. We have become tired as we try to do more with less as we wait for the profit model to evolve.

Call me an an apologist for journalism and my fellow journalists if you will, but I know firsthand what it is like to work in a newsroom in today's economic climate. I know what it means to try everyday to provide good, useful information to people with fewer resources. And one thing I never did was to call out my reporters for being lazy and not doing enough. I expected my reporters to do the absolute best jobs they could in the time allotted to them by the company and they came through for me time after time. I did not make them work more hours under the table. It is not their job to work hours they are not being paid for to make better journalism. When a company decides better journalism is necessary to keep its competitive edge and provide better profits, it will spend more on journalists. That day will happen as the profit model evolves. I cannot see how journalists are responsible for that decision and working more hours for free is not an acceptable answer for a professional.

And, as I wrote earlier, journalists at the moment are serving two masters.

The print product needs to come out. It's what most newspapers make a majority of their profits with. Profitable companies are what keep journalists employed. That print product needs to have relevant content in it. That relevant content must be produced using the resources that can be provided while maintaing the profit line that ownership deems acceptable for its future. At the same time, we must continue to confront how to provide information through other media that more and more people are turning to. That is the situation we find ourselves. It's certainly not our fault that this exists. A lot of time is spent on filling those daily holes for the product. It is necessary at this time.

There is your issue. It's not shoddy journalism on the part of fewer journalists. It's not too many fluff stories and not enough investigative pieces. It is a business model in flux.

It will turn around. The business model will be figured out. But Zaveri is yelling wolf, and in this case your wolves are a bunch of tired, hard-working journalists, many who have seen their pay remain stagnant or decrease in the past few years. I don't think there is much in the way of sharp teeth there tearing through the fabric of good journalism. I am proud of all of my fellow journalists who have continued to do their jobs well during this time. This is not their fault.

• • •

"I don’t have all the answers," Zaveri writes. "I just have too much angst and now finally a public outlet for it in the form of this column. What I can tell you now is it isn’t anyone’s fault but our own that we find ourselves in journalism’s epic predicament."

It's not your fault. It's not your fault.

What we are suffering from is too much angst and too little patience. Zaveri's "epic predicament" will turn around. This digital revolution will complete its cycle. Media companies will improve the profit model. It's already starting to happen if the New York Times paywall is any indication. People will realize our services are worth a certain amount again as we begin to charge them in more innovate ways for it.

For people whose profession it is to uncover the facts and not to jump to conclusions, we have trouble doing that with our own livelihood. Journalism is getting worse! We're all about to lose our jobs! Democracy will be destroyed!

Let's all calm down here, please.

We do the work we can do as well as we can do it and leave it at that. When the American auto industry falls on hard times, do people blame the line workers? Of course not.

Zaveri should be proud of the work his fellow journalists are doing rather than calling them out for not doing enough. Yes, we'll miss a story here or there during this transitional time. Stories have been missed in America since its inception. Journalism (and democracy) has never collapsed as a result.

Yes, we need to continue to do learn to do our jobs better as all professionals must. Not because it will save journalism, but because it is the right thing to do. It is not journalism that will save the business.

In the end, it will be the business that saves journalism. And as such, we must continue to push our
publishers and owners to be innovative in pushing forward new ways to get people to pay for our journalism. I believe they are up to the task.

It will take time and we will need to be patient while doing the best we can. And that is all we can do.

Taking care of the windows to the soul

2011-08-30T07:57:00.000-07:00

It is said that the eyes are the windows to the soul.

In that case, my soul is in serious need of a professional window cleaner.

I've had issues with my eyes during the past two months and on Monday I made my third trip to the eye doctor in that time after my eyes took a turn for the worse after a few weeks of working properly.

During the past week, the first thing I do when I wake up is remove the gunk from my eyes so that I can actually open then. It is a terribly gross way to start the morning. My eyes are red, puffy and swollen. It looks like I am auditioning for "The Hangover Part III."

Because of this, I've not been able to wear contacts the last few months, which I suppose doesn't bother me. I probably prefer glasses at this point in my life. They are less of a hassle and the original reason for switching to contacts in high school – the unfounded hope that it would help me get a girlfriend – has not applied for almost a decade. (In hindsight, I should have realized that contacts do not hide acne or braces, nor do they make one confident. Romantic comedies in which the guy or girl takes off his or her glasses and become popular should be outlawed.)

Plus, glasses go well with the whole I'm-a-writer-now thing. All I need is a pink bathrobe, an ugly hat and gray hair and I could pull of the Michael Douglass in "Wonder Boys" look. (Christmas ideas!)

So, it's off to the eye doctor again.

While I fear most doctors, I'm generally cool with ophthalmologists.

I don't get lectured if my eyes aren't perfectly clean. I don't worry as much about something terrible being found. And I like looking at the eye charts.

I do, however, hate the eye puffer machine (actually called a tonometer, but I like calling it an eye puffer machine better). I feel like blowing back into its face and seeing how it likes it. "That's what I thought, Mr. Eye Puffer Machine."

But the rest of it is OK. I don't even mind getting my eyes dilated.

And I still remember my first trip to the eye doctor in elementary school. I was asked to read the first few letter on the eye chart, and I responded, "Circle, circle, dot, dot." I did not, however, finish the legendary rhyme, "Now you have a cootie shot!" Typically not what you want to tell the eye doctor. Needless to say, glasses were recommended since neither circles nor dots are in the English alphabet.

As for Monday's trip, it went well. The doctor gave me some antibiotic drops for my eyes, and this latest infection should be cleared up in a few days.

I certainly hope so. Maybe I'll start to wear contacts again. Because nobody really wants to look like Michael Douglas in a pink bathrobe. Even those who are married.

• Joe Grace is a freelance writer who has worked for various newspapers throughout the Chicago suburbs. You can write to him at joewriter81@gmail.com.

NEXT COLUMN WILL BE PUBLISHED NEXT WEEK AFTER THE BIG MOVE TO CHICAGO

Welcome to the world of online banking

2011-08-26T06:05:00.000-07:00

For years, I resisted online banking.

It was too impersonal, too seemingly risky, too new. I like writing checks, I told people. If it was good enough for cavemen, it was good enough for me. I saw no reason to change something that was working perfectly fine.

However, with my upcoming move to Chicago, I finally had to change banks since the bank I had been using for the past few years is seemingly afraid of the Chicago suburbs, much less Chicago. The closest branch from our new home would be at least an hour away if not more. It is the country mouse of Chicagoland banks.

While changing banks, the person who helped me with the transition gave me a tour of its online banking system.

And, well, it seemed OK. Paying bills looked like it might be doable for me. It sure would be nice to be able to track my transactions. This is particularly true now that I'm freelancing and must keep a much closer look at my finances.

What the heck, I thought, I'll give this newfangled method of banking a try. So I went home, went online, figured out the system and paid my first bill.

It was ridiculously easy. I suppose there goes my column about the complexity of online banking.

In fact, I loved everything about it.

I didn't have to taste a stamp. I didn't have to scribble my name and address on an envelope, a process that – because of my terrible handwriting – inevitably results in a surprised financial person on the other end wondering whether a 4-year-old is trying to pay a college student loan bill. I didn't have to forget to send it out for a few days until I ended up with a late fee.

Hello 21st century. Nice to meet you. You're not nearly as terrifying as I thought you might be. (Note to single readers: This typically is a bad way to start a first date.)

So, after finally breaking down and buying a smart phone earlier this year, buying Christmas presents online for the first time in December and now switching to online banking, I might finally be catching up with technology.

But you still won't find me going near a tablet. Those are just silly. (At least they will be until I buy one next year.)

• Joe Grace is a freelance writer who has worked for various newspapers throughout the Chicago suburbs. You can write to him at joewriter81@gmail.com.

NEXT COLUMN WILL BE PUBLISHED ON TUESDAY

Just another fantasy

2011-08-24T12:00:00.000-07:00

Another year. Another season of fantasy football.

At the end of every fantasy football season, I try to convince myself that it will be my last season.

"This is silly," I reason to myself. "It makes watching football no fun when you're rooting for players to score touchdowns rather than for teams to win."

When one of my fantasy players scores a touchdown against my Buffalo Bills (which happens A LOT), it allows me to rationalize that, well, at least my fantasy team has more points.

That is insane.

There should be nothing rational about being a football fan. It has always been an irrational sport for irrational fans and that is how it should have stayed. But now we have fantasy football where players are mixed and matched and rooting interest in a game can sway with how many points you're behind or ahead in your fantasy league.

Yet, as always, I find myself in another fantasy football league this season. I suppose I could draft all Buffalo Bills players, but that would just seem cruel to do – even to a fantasy team. So I'll mix and match my players like everyone else.

I used to be really crazy about fantasy leagues. I would research the players and read long columns about whether to start Player A or Player B. I'd even listen to an early morning radio show in which callers would list a number of players and ask the hosts which ones they should start. Yes, these shows do exist. Yes, I wanted to be one of the hosts.

But as the fantasy seasons piled up, I became bored. It was tedious to think about who should start and who should sit each week. It seemed way too ambulance chaserish to keep constant vigil on Sundays for injured players so you could sweep in and grab their replacement off the waiver wires.

I still play – it's something to talk about at the water cooler (now called the sink since I work at home) – and it helps a friend fill up their league, but I don't pay much attention to it. I'll pick up a few players here or there and I'll make sure that guys are benched during their bye weeks, but that's about it. If I spend more than five minutes a day on my team, I've spent too much time.

I have a weak spot for fantasy. I've built pretend computer civilizations that conquered the world. I've managed video game football and baseball teams to multiple championships. I've had 40-hour Playstation adventures carrying a huge, unwieldy sword twice my size that probably would be completely useless in a real fight.

I don't regret these things. I enjoyed the time spent on these games. But as I get older, time becomes more precious and I realize maybe more time should be spent in reality, talking with friends and family, visiting new places, having my own real-life adventures (minus the huge, unwieldy sword, of course). There's a time and place for games, but for me, those times and places have diminished as I have gotten older and probably will continue to do so.

As I head into another fantasy football season, I do so as the disinterested owner, much more interested in the game on the field than the one in my computer. And even the game on the field doesn't interest me as much as it once did, though that might have more to do with being a Buffalo Bills fan.

Perhaps I'll even spend a Sunday or two outdoors rather than in front of the TV watching football.

(OK, now that's irrational.)

• Joe Grace is a freelance writer who has worked for various newspapers throughout the Chicago suburbs. You can write to him at joewriter81@gmail.com.

NEXT COLUMN WILL BE PUBLISHED ON FRIDAY

Stuck in two-wheel drive

2011-08-22T16:49:00.000-07:00

Sunday was a beautiful day to go biking. Not too hot. Not too cold. As Goldilocks would have said during her crime spree of trespassing, stealing and damage to property, "It was just right."

So I decided to take advantage of the weather and hit the trails with my wife.

The problem was that I couldn't keep up with her while riding my bike. I just couldn't do it. I made it to the finish line (also known as Starbucks) probably about 10 to 15 minutes after her.

The bigger problem was that she was on foot.

"Now," you might say, "Joe, don't be too hard on yourself. Your wife is training for the Chicago marathon in October. You're training to sit on your derriere while watching the NFL in October. Your most significant Sunday workout will consist of going into the kitchen for chips."

"Yes," I might respond. "Those are all valid point. But if I might remind you, I WAS ON A BIKE!"

Looking back through the annals of history you might recall that the wheel was invented to help us get from Point A to Point B faster and easier than we would be able to without said wheel. Bicycles have two wheels. The human foot, last time I checked, has none.

I was able to somewhat keep up with her for the first 12 miles of her 15-mile training run, but after that it was just not happening. My calves mutinied and decided they no longer wished to pedal the HMS Joe Grace along. If there were a tropical island somewhere close to the trail, I doubt I ever would have seen them again. As it was, I had to get off the bike and walk until I thought I could pedal again. I mixed riding the bike and walking the bike for the last three miles. It was a strange sight for passersby. It looked like I had a flat tire that reinflated itself every few minutes.

I wouldn't have had this problem a few years ago. I was in shape, playing basketball for hours a day, even running decent 5Ks with no training runs in between.

Then, I lost my pick-up basketball games after moving from one town with great games to another with none to be found. And it's been downhill ever since.

As recently as earlier this year, I was playing two-on-two basketball with my brother while visiting him in Florida and we ended up playing a zone defense so I could just stand under the basket while he guarded the entire perimeter. Mind you, this was two-on-two basketball. It might have been the only zone defense in the history of two-on-two games.

I've known for awhile that I needed to get into an exercise routine and this past week was my first real step toward that goal. I worked out on the elliptical every day last week – the first time I've worked out Monday through Friday in years – but as I found out on Sunday, a week's worth of exercise does not make up for years of non-exercise. I'll get back on the elliptical tonight.

It will take me a long time to get back into shape. But Sunday showed me why it's going to be worth it.

Not keeping up with my wife while on two wheels was embarrassing enough. Having to follow her around on four wheels instead would be worse.

• Joe Grace is a freelance writer who has worked for various newspapers throughout the Chicago suburbs. You can write to him at joewriter81@gmail.com.

NEXT COLUMN WILL BE PUBLISHED ON WEDNESDAY

The greatest things between birth and death

2011-08-19T17:37:00.000-07:00

I was a pallbearer for the second time this summer on Thursday.

The first time was in July for my stepgrandmother. On Thursday, I was a pallbearer at the funeral of my wife's grandfather.

I only knew Don Schindel for about eight years, but he was very generous and kind toward me from the first time we met at a family Fourth of July party after I had been dating his granddaughter for just a few weeks to our final barbecue dinner together a month ago. He always had a warm smile and a firm handshake ready for me when we were in the same room, and I enjoyed his company thoroughly. He was a great man. I was happy to have known him.

At the visitation and briefly at the funeral, mourners talked about how frustrated he was near the end of his life that he no longer could be productive like he once was, no longer could live his life as he had the decades and decades before.

One of the hardest parts about getting older is watching those you love get older around you.

For the most part, I – like many people – choose not to think about it. I choose to forget that both my parents are now in their 50s, that my remaining grandparents are all in their 70s or older. I prefer to think of them as I knew them in my youth – in their 20s and 40s with the thought of 50 nowhere to be seen.

As much I choose not to think about it, however, the truth is always around us.

We get older. We break down. And in the end, we die. This is life.

I was watching a clip of "Conan" earlier today in which comedian du jour Louis C.K. said something that caught my attention.

"After you're born, the only thing you really have coming to you is death."

What's important, really, is what happens in between.

Don Schindel did many great things in his life. He was a World War II veteran. He worked hard for Illinois Bell for more than 30 years after he came back from the war. He raised a wonderful family, which eventually led to his beautiful granddaughter who became my wife.

My stepgrandmother also did many great things in her life. Raised a wonderful family. Made many a glorious Southern meal. More importantly, made my grandfather happy.

We all have great things to do in life. You might not think of them as great, but the simplest things in the world such as loving each other and being there for one another also are the greatest things we can do in our lives. Both Don and my stepgrandmother accomplished these things. I plan on doing so, as well.

After writing this column, I will continue to not think about getting older and death. There are too many great things to do between now and then to spend time worrying about the inevitable and I intend to do them.

Then, when I die, as we all must, I will go having loved, having been loved and having filled my life with as many wonderful people and things as possible.

And in the end, I think that's all we can hope for.

• Joe Grace is a freelance writer who has worked for various newspapers throughout the Chicago suburbs. You can write to him at joewriter81@gmail.com.

NEXT COLUMN WILL BE PUBLISHED ON MONDAY

The clothes make the man

2011-08-17T13:03:00.000-07:00

My wife, as usual, was right.

She told me I couldn't just go anywhere and buy a new pair of suit pants to go with my suit jacket. My previous pair of suit pants had frayed and become thread-bare to the point where it would have been illegal in 46 states to wear them.

I pooh, poohed her. Of course I could. That's just silly that you can't buy a pair of suit pants without buying a suit jacket with them.

After going to a few stores and trying on a few suit pants, I came to the realization that my wife, as usual, was right. None of the pants looked right with the jacket. Oh, what a bitter pill to swallow.

Now, if I had the time and will, I'm sure I could find the maker of my jacket and locate a similar pair of pants, but as I have neither, I will be shopping for a full suit instead.

Luckily, this shouldn't take too long as my current fashion philosophy of "whatever fits" typically makes for a quick trip through a store. My entire goal when shopping for new clothes is to make the process as painless and as quick as possible.

This is the polar opposite of my wife, who somehow is able to look at one rack of clothes for upwards of two days without water. She loves to shop – to her, it is a task to be treasured and enjoyed like fine food – and the few times we have gone together to find something for me, I'm sure my blitzkrieg approach to finding clothes bothers her as much as it would a top chef to watch his fine cuisine wolfed down by a bunch of hungry kids in a matter of seconds.

As for me, I can go through a rack of clothes in the time it takes my eyes to go from one side of the rack to the other. If nothing immediately jumps out at me, well then there's nothing there to see. I would have made a horrible explorer in the late 1400s. I would have looked across the ocean from my perch in Spain and immediately decided there was nothing out there to bother with. I'm going to go watch the game instead, I would have told my shipmates. I'll see you later.

So, for me, it's now off to the store to go find a suit. If I'm not back in a few hours, send a search party. Put my wife in charge.

• Joe Grace is a freelance writer who has worked for various newspapers throughout the Chicago suburbs. You can write to him at joewriter81@gmail.com.

COMING FRIDAY: Another column, yet to be determined

Excerpt from Chapter 1 of "Johnny Madison"

2011-08-17T06:52:00.000-07:00

The following is an excerpt from the first chapter of a book I'm working on about a boy who discovers life is not so bad through a run for class president.

The recess bell rang and Johnny got out of his seat and trudged toward the door. It was going to be another day of sitting on a bench watching other kids playfully run around the grounds. Playing kickball. Playing tag. Playing playing. He wouldn’t be alone on the bench, though. Joining him, as always, would be Turtle, the smallest – and smartest – kid in his class.

“You wouldn’t believe what I’ve discovered Johnny Madison,” Turtle said as he meticulously tore the crust of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Turtle was Johnny Madison best friend … by default of being his only friend. He was OK, but Turtle always came off being a bit strange. And he was named Turtle. That was his actual name. Turtle Smith. His parents were slightly eccentric. Being eccentric, Johnny knew, was when you did strange things like name your children Turtle. The other kids mostly just left them both alone, not even deigning to pick on them.

“I’ve figured out how you can talk to Rose,” Turtle continued. Johnny had made the huge mistake of telling him about Rose and it had become Turtle's favorite subject to pester him about. “You simply have to walk up there and talk to her! How easy is that?”

Johnny took a bologna sandwich out of his paper sack. Yuck. Always bologna. Why couldn’t it ever be ham or peanut butter or even tuna for a nice change once in awhile?

“You could just walk up there and say hi and she would say hi back and you could tell her a joke like the one about the chicken and the weather balloon and she would laugh and it would be great! Have you heard the one about the chicken and the weather balloon? It’s a great joke!”

Johnny lifted the bologna out from its hiding place between two slices of bread and stared at it while Turtle told him the joke about the weather balloon and the chicken.

But Johnny wasn't listening as he continued to stare at the bologna. Why did the bologna torment him? Why couldn’t it transform into a piece of salami or a piece of cheese or even a rabbit just out of the hat? He sighed and slipped the piece of bologna back into its place. Turtle by this time had finished the joke and had continued talking to Johnny about how he could talk to Rose.

Finally, the school bell rang, effectively ending their conversation, and Johnny stood up and trudged back to school holding a bologna sandwich dejectedly by his side.

• • •

Nobody was home as Johnny opened the front door. He was used to that. His mother had to work long hours in order to support them. He closed the front door, walked to his room and flopped into bed. He knew the world would be the same once he woke up from his nice long nap, but for those two hours asleep, at least he wouldn’t have to live in it.

Johnny woke up suddenly. Something felt different. Maybe the world HAD changed while he was asleep. He groggily got out of bed, opened his bedroom door and regarded the main room, which sadly had not changed for the better. How much Johnny wished for a television so that he could watch cartoons like normal kids. His mother said they were too expensive, but Johnny knew they weren’t that bad. He had a sneaky feeling it had to do more with not filling his mind with junk. Johnny Madison wanted to be a normal kid with his head filled with junk.

“Well, I guess stuff like that only happens in stories,” Johnny said aloud to himself.

He sighed for the umpteenth time that day and decided to walk to the neighborhood park a block over – the only place his mother would let him go when she was out – and hope that his favorite swing set was free. It never was, but maybe this time. Johnny never gave up hope. What little hope he had he clung to like a sweet tooth to jelly beans.

The park was full of children. Happy children. Playing children. Happy, playing children. Even playing, happy children. And, yes, the swing sets were all taken. That wonderful ride of sky-high thrills and downward rushes, not to mention delightful crash landings when the opportune time came was always taken. But Johnny was patient. He knew that if he waited, one of the swings would finally open up, allowing him the chance to start walking over there, only to have it be taken over by a more aggressive little boy or girl. So, he waited.

He watched as the swings began their wonderful upward motion, some even daring to nearly go over the very bars that supported them. He then watched as they began their equally wonderful downward stroke, slashing through the air and hurtling the occupant toward the ground before rising back up into the sky. What that must have felt like Johnny Madison could only guess at since he had never actually been lucky enough to get on the swings, but it was still his favorite ride ever. Ah, the wonderful mystery of the unknown.

Johnny resigned himself to his fate and trudged over to the not-so-good slide. It was a rusty old thing, and on a hot day, the metal would surely burn your behind on the way down. The older kids called it Tetanus Hill. The younger kids simply avoided it. Johnny climbed to the top of the slide, up menacingly skinny metal steps, and just sat on top of Tetanus Hill as he liked to do sometime. He had a good view from up here, and since all the rest of the kids slid down the new plastic twisting slide put in a few years ago, he was never bothered. Johnny Madison liked to pretend this was a good thing.

Johnny watched as a group of four kids ran around and around a merry-go-round before jumping on and screaming delightedly as the device whipped them around and around and their hair blew every which way but the way gravity wished.

He watched as a boy and girl teeter-tottered their hearts out on an old wooden teeter-totter, still a park favorite despite its age. He watched as the boy sat squarely on the ground, arms folded proudly across his chest as the girl pleaded with him from her perch a good six feet away and three feet higher than him to let her down. But he just sat there, slightly grinning to himself, flirting the only way young boys know how: torture. If he really liked her, he’d pull her hair as they walked away from the teeter-totter that day. Johnny Madison would have given anything to trade places with that boy. Even his beloved pirate ship.

“What are you doing up there Johnny Madison,” a voice called from below. It was Turtle, of course.

“Just watching the sunset,” Johnny lied.

“Yes, it is a nice sunset, isn’t it? They say those that love sunsets are dreamers. Are you a dreamer, Johnny Madison?”

“I suppose I am,” Johnny said as he relinquished his hold on the handle bars and slid treacherously down Tetanus Hill.

COMING AT 3 P.M. TODAY: Column on buying suit pants and shopping for clothes in general

Me and lists: A love story

2011-08-16T07:55:00.000-07:00

I love lists.

This might seem like a silly thing to love, but I just can't help myself. I adore lists.

At my last job, I would write down everything I needed to do for the day and check them off as the tasks were accomplished. As expected, I also adore checking things off. Each task checked off is another accomplishment for that day, even when it's something as trivial as "answer e-mails."

But as I have transitioned from full-time employment to all-day novel and column writing, sticking to the task at hand has proven to be difficult. I can write for an hour or two at a time, but then I need a break. And that break somehow turns into a nap. And that nap turns into lunch. And that lunch turns into another nap. And then my wife comes home.

Needless to say, this is not conducive toward finishing a book and a daily column, which is why I left full-time employment. Not to mention picking up freelance writing and editing assignments, which is how I plan to stay financially afloat during this time. If I do not pick up the pace, I will find myself looking for full-time work again much sooner than I had hoped.

So, it's time to kick it up a notch. But I need some advice from someone with experience. So I picked up an interesting-looking book from the library, "Booklife" by Jeff Vandermeer. It sells "strategies and survival tips for the 21st-century writer." Hey, I'm a writer. And I live in the 21-century. This thing was made for me!

And, whoa, the first chapter is about creating and managing goals. The first piece of advice then deals with my old, great friend: the list.

The list! How could I have forgotten my old friend so quickly? It was time to bring back the list.

So I did.

Here's the list that I was working on Monday:

• Write a column

• Edit chapters 1-5 of "Johnny Madison"

• Buy boxes for packing. Pack up smaller items

• Buy milk, other groceries – DONE

• Start new checking account with bank with offices in Chicago – DONE

• Exercise – DONE

• Return books to library – DONE

• Finish Chapter 1 of book life – DONE

• Do load of laundry – DONE

• Floss – DONE

• Go to Goodwill with donation items – DONE

There's probably a few things you noticed:

1. He hasn't started packing for his move in less than three weeks? He hasn't even bought boxes yet? (I bought them last night after starting this column. And I packed one box of books. About 20 more boxes to go. I'm hitting my pace. No worries.)

2. He has to remind himself to floss? Ew. (Yes, I know. But it's the only way to make sure I do it. My dentist approves. You should, too.)

3. Milk and "other groceries"? (Yes, that is a standard grocery list for me.)

What's probably a little more frightening is that I did all of my other tasks before I finished my writing tasks and I still have those chapters to edit after writing this column. The books recommends doing creative stuff first, and I need to get better at that. (What, flossing and doing a load of laundry is not creative?)

The book also recommends making monthly, quarterly, yearly and 5-year plans. I've not created those lists yet, but will soon. It's on my list.

I, like many people do, require structure to my day. I took poetry in college and my best poems always were the ones that I had to fit into a structured style, such as a villanelle or a sonnet. Some people can get stuff done without structure. I'm not one of those people.

So, it looks like lists and I are back to being friends again. Now, it's time to create the list for today. (And yes, I will remind myself to floss again.)

• Joe Grace is a freelance writer who has worked for various newspapers throughout the Chicago suburbs. You can write to him at joewriter81@gmail.com.

COMING WEDNESDAY: An excerpt from "Johnny Madison" and another column on a topic Joe hasn't determined yet (surprise, surprise)

Of the Windy City and turkey testicles

2011-08-12T11:41:00.000-07:00

I swore over and over again that I would never move to Chicago.

Like much of what comes out of the mouth of Windy City politicians, it was all bluster.

But it must have been convincing because most of what I've heard as my wife and I prepare to move in a few weeks is whether I'll be OK living in the big city.

Yes, mom, I'll be OK. Yes, mother-in-law, I'll be OK. I'm 30 years old and I survived living in an attic for two years in a city that has an annual turkey testicle festival. Compared to that, this will be a cool breeze off the lake.

I've actually come around to living in the city over the past few months despite my earlier protestations. I'm one of those people who loves change, loves to move and loves new places. I lived in at least eight different places before middle school and have never minded being uprooted. I would live anywhere in the United States or abroad. And this Chicago move is just another adventure. And one with at least three unique aspects I'm particularly looking forward to:

• Fantastic restaurants – Like thousands of other people, chef shows and the Food Network in general has turned me into a faux foodie. This is slightly unbelievable knowing that my stomach-approved food pyramid as a child consisted of macaroni and cheese, fish sticks, canned green beans, buttered bread and chocolate. Anything out of that pyramid was deemed toxic. But now, bring it on and I'll try it. Except for hamburger casserole. Still toxic. Oh, and turkey testicles. No, thank you, I'll pass. In any case, I love to try new foods and cool restaurants, and Chicago has plenty of both.

• Access to water – Part of the reason I'm so excited about the upcoming move is that my wife and I will be living on Lake Shore Drive with the north side of the lake in full view from our windows. As 50 might say, "I love water like a fat kid loves cake." I'm just a better person when I'm around water. I get most of my best writing done when near water as opposed to getting most of my best procrastination done when near home. It will be interesting to see what happens when we mix the two. And while the nearest access to the lake probably will be about a 30-minute walk away, I'll be happier just knowing it's there. Kind of like chocolate cake in the refrigerator. I don't necessarily need to eat it, but life is better knowing that it's near.

• Free events – I love going to events. But do you know what I love more than going to events? Not having to pay for them. And Chicago has plenty of them throughout the year, which is good because I still haven't made any money yet as a freelance writer and selling a book is a lengthy and unlikely process. Free is very good.

I'm sure there will be other positive aspects to Chicago, but let's start small, OK? I thought about putting being somewhat close to Wrigley Field on there as well, but I'm not sure whether that's a positive anymore. This will probably my first baseball season that I've not watched an entire game. Ah, the joys of being a Cubs fan.

Is it a little scary moving from the suburbs to the big city? Sure. It will be a big change, and the closest thing I can compare it to is living near downtown Orlando during the summer months when I was teenager, except that's like comparing swimming in a lake to swimming in the ocean.

But you know what? I love swimming in the ocean, and I'll come to love Chicago, as well. It certainly could be worse. Attics and turkey testicles. Just saying.

• Joe Grace is a freelance writer who has worked for various newspapers throughout the Chicago suburbs. You can write to him at joewriter81@gmail.com.

You might want to hold off on that obituary notice

2011-08-09T12:44:00.000-07:00

For our date night last weekend, the wife and I decided to see "Page One: Inside the New York Times" after my initial suggestions of "Captain America" or "Cowboys and Aliens" brought strange looks upon her face, neither of which I would describe as agreeable or pleasant, and her suggestion of "Crazy, Stupid, Love" made me audibly gag.

The movie supposedly was to give us an inside look of the New York Times, but focused more on David Carr (the delightfully cranky media columnist for the paper, not the delightfully crappy backup quarterback for the New York Giants) and the state of journalism.

The underlying question of the movie was clear. IS THE NEW YORK TIMES (and all other newspapers along with it) GOING TO PERISH?!?

Having worked full-time for newspapers from 2003 until two weeks ago, I have heard variations of the "death of newspapers" question throughout my career.

I had to determine the fate of newspapers once again just last week when I was at the eye doctor's office talking to her about how I recently left my job as editor of the local newspaper.

"So, do you think newspapers are going away then," she asked.

The short answer is no. I did not leave full-time journalism because I believe all the newspaper companies are going to fold. I left because I wanted to write and had moved high enough up the ladder that I could no longer reach down to my pen with consistency.

Unlike many, I see a bright future for the newspaper industry, especially once it gets through the transition from paper to digital.

"So, you are saying that newspapers are going to die then?"

Again, no. Will the printed product go away one day? I believe so. Could be a few years; could be 50 years. Who knows? (I lean more toward 50.) But readers and advertisers will decide that, not newspapers. Media companies provide information. Readers and advertisers determine how they want to receive or be associated with that information. And I think we have enough evidence that the tide is slowly turning away from print and toward digital. What we don't know is how long it will take for that tide to fully come in. Today's youth will be homeowners and property-tax payers one day (the general time when people start caring more about local government decisions) and I have a hard time imagining they will switch how they receive information at that time simply because of a tax bill.

Yes, we'll probably start using a term other than "newspaper," but the basic concept and idea behind the product will remain the same. That crisp (or slightly soggy on a rainy day) paper you hold in your hands isn't what newspapers really are in any case. Newsprint is just a storage case. It's what's inside that's important.

"But if there are no 'newspapers,' how can media companies exist? How will they make money?"

Seriously? This is a question? (Granted, I asked the question of myself. This is happening way too frequently as of late. I no longer have co-workers and talk with nobody from the time my wife goes to work to when she gets back. I consider myself fortunate that I'm not doing one-man performances of "Hamlet" yet.)

To answer my own question, I have no doubts that media companies will continue to make money off of the information they provide. If there is one thing businesses historically are good at, it's figuring out how to get people to pay for things that they want. Nothing evolves faster than ways to get money out of desire.

People want more TV shows. They pay for them. People want better cell phones. They pay for them. People want information. They'll pay for it.

"Why will people pay for something they currently get for free. How about citizen journalists?"

Citizen journalism? Bah. I'm not going to pay for what my neighbor thought of the city council meeting. I will, however, pay for what a trained reporter lets me know about what happened at the city council meeting and what it might mean for me. I will pay for analysis, which is what good reporting should focus on.

I believe people will continue to pay for solid journalism. I believe advertisers will continue to pay to be associated with solid journalism.

As for the whole free thing, yes, many newspapers give out their information for free through websites. This is subsidized through subscriptions to the print product and advertisements in the print product. As readers and advertisers turn more toward digital, this will become an increasingly untenable situation and the subsidization of free online information will disappear. It's a natural progression and costs will naturally change with this. Some companies will handle this transition well and thrive. Others won't and might not make it through the transition. Evolution, baby.

It's already started. The New York Times paywall is off to a roaring start and others will follow.

According to Forbes mixed media columnist Jeff Bercovici, the New York Times already has racked up 224,000 online-only subscribers, my wife included among the midst. I'm sure I'll subscribe soon. People will pay for content they want to receive when they can't get it for free.

And where readers go, advertisers will follow. Maybe I'm an eternal optimist, but the future is a business where the incredible cost to print and deliver a newspaper eventually fades away, hopefully freeing up some of that money for better journalism. Certainly there will be those in the printing and circulation side who will be hurt by this, and that will be unfortunate. I know those who work in both. Nothing ever works perfectly for everyone.

But my hope is at the end of this we see a return to quality journalism. I agree with those who say that the quality of journalism throughout the nation has declined. Too many stories. Too few reporters. You simply can't get more with less. The only thing you get with less is – and yes, this might come as a surprise to some – less.

My hope is that the transition from print to digital will lead to more and even-better journalists. It will need to. People will become much more selective of information that they are required to pay for. Information that doesn't cut it will be information that isn't bought. The most successful media companies will be those that can provide quantity and quality.

And quantity and quality costs money. More people. Incentivized people. And it's my hope that the future of journalism will see that come to fruition.

I no longer work full-time for a newspaper. I don't know whether I will again. But my answer remains the same as when I was a newspaper employee: newspapers won't die. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not in my lifetime. But they will transform. And with any luck, that transformation will be for the better.

• Joe Grace is a freelance writer in the Chicago suburbs. Write to him at joewriter81@gmail.com.

Making the world your buffet

2011-08-06T07:16:00.000-07:00

I think it's important to do something new every day.

It could be something as easy as switching up from your regular order at a fast-food restaurant to catching a new movie. Or it could be something as hard as circumnavigating the world. Choose your own adventure, friends.

One of my goals of the past week was do something new every day. Some of them were by my choosing. At least one of them was not. (The stinky one, as you'll find out.)

On Monday, I tried my first Chick-fil-A Chick-n-Mini after discovering I had a free coupon for three of them. I thought I had a great love for all things Chick-fil-A. Chick-n-Minis showed me how wrong I was about the "all things" part. In fact, I'm just going to pretend they no longer exist as a food item. It will make me happier and will allow me to continue to love and respect Chick-fil-A as a young man should.

On Tuesday, I fixed a leaky faucet for the first time ever. (It later started leaking again so I didn't fix it so much as I pretended to fix it. But still, it was the first time I pretended to fix a leaky faucet. I also pretended to fix a broken sink drain stopper on Tuesday, so, all in all, I batted 1.000 in pretending to fix things that day. I was en fuego.)

On Wednesday, I tried a vanilla cherry coke for the first time ever while having lunch with friends at Five Guys. Heavenly. Simply heavenly. I love Cherry Coke. I love Vanilla Coke even more. The combination seemed like it was poised to be a lesson on what happens when you get too much of a good thing. Well, the lesson in this case was that too much of a good thing leads to a fantastic thing. I have a new favorite drink, ladies and gentlemen.

On Thursday, I set up a large color printer that would work with my MacBook for the first time ever. I spent at least 15 minutes looking through the Joe Grace Big Box of Random Wires and Other Electrical Thingies (that will be trademarked soon) looking for the right piece to complete the setup. It probably speaks to my day that the best thing that happened that day was finally finding the right wire.

And yesterday, on Friday, I cleaned up a poopy diaper for the first time ever while baby-sitting my 1-year-old goddaughter-in-law. (Yes, I know there's no such term. She's my wife's goddaughter. I just like calling myself the godfather-in-law. Makes me sound classy.) It was as gross as I imagined it. Blech. I was hoping the child would hold off on making her deposit until my wife arrived from work, but – alas – the poopy diaper gods were much too impatient. I described it to my wife as a poop volcano. She asked me to never use that term again. Let's move on, shall we?

Today, well, the day has just started. But I'm sure I'll find some first thing ever to do. I might even actually fix a leaky faucet for the first time ever. Or I'll break down and call the apartment maintenance guy. (That will not be a first time ever.)

You get one shot at this world – one shot to try the many wonderful things that humanity offers. Sometimes it's pleasant like vanilla cherry coke. Sometimes it's not like leaky faucets and leakier babies. But that recognition of the new and the pursuit of it is one of the things that delights me most about being human.

So, try something new today. Switch up your food order. Catch that new movie. Circumnavigate the world. Some say to make the world your oyster. I say to make it your buffet. And there's so, so much to choose from.

• Joe Grace is a freelance writer based in the Chicago suburbs. You can email him at joewriter81@gmail.com.