The Ride Home

There were numerous things to talk about today. There was a huge fire in Lakeview that burned down a Dominick's grocery store. There was a ton of sunshine and pleasantly warm temperatures. There's the fact that I am still suffering from some sort of cold or allergies or something that is making everything miserable. And there was the long six-hour rehearsal that I went to for CGMC, which officially kicks off "Hell Week" for our show "World Tour." That's all well and good, but what happened after all of that, during the ride home, trumped all of it. Exhausted after a six-hour day in the sweltering basement hall of the church at which we rehearse, I made my way home. Usually I join some of the boys at North End for a drink, but I was beat, and since I was still not feeling 100% great, I figured it'd be better for me to just relax. Driving north on Broadway Avenue is nothing exciting. There isn't a whole lot to see. It's just the ride home. Nothing special. Traffic was moving along at a perfectly fine clip, and in just a few minutes, I would be safe at home. As I approached Irving Park Road, about ten blocks from the church, I suddenly saw a man dash out from a taco stand at the right side of the street. He seemed to be running away from something, or to something... I couldn't really tell. But instead of stopping at the street and waiting for traffic, he continued, full speed, directly into the street. And that's when it happened. The car in front of me barely had time to stop. In fact, I am almost sure it didn't. The man dashed past the parked cars and directly in front of the car in front of me. Both were going at their full speed, and the reaction was instantaneous. The man was clipped at the arm by the car's driver side mirror. He flipped over two, maybe three times, and landed at the side of the road, crumpled by the fire hydrant. The mirror shattered and sprayed all over the street. Had I been looking down, or off to the side, I would have missed it, but for some reason my eyes watched every waking second of this event. Dumbstruck, I of course shouted "Oh My God!" pulled over and immediately called 911. After giving the fire department all of the information, I turned my car around and parked it. The car that hit the man had pulled over by the intersection. I could see the hood was crumpled and the mirror was gone. The windshield was smashed. The driver and a girl came out of the car. The girl was crying hysterically. She was on the phone, I assume trying to call 911. I told her I had already called. She kept crying and didn't hang up. I walked over to the man on the ground. He was surrounded by his friends and other witnesses. His arm was definitely broken. I was suprised it was even attached to his body. There was blood pooling at the curb. I couldn't look for long. It was gruesome. The police were the first to arrive, then the fire department and the paramedics. I gave my statement to the police as they gingerly tended to the man at the curb. Everyone gave pretty much the same account of the event. The man darted out, the driver didn't see him, and they hit. I couldn't tell if the driver was going too fast, but in hindsight I really believe he was going at about the rate of speed as the rest of the traffic. And then I said to the officer, "If I had been in the driver's position, I wouldn't have seen him either. It just happened so fast." And then it hit me. It could have been me. I could have hit this man. If the timing were just a second off, or if there was nobody in front of me and I was driving just a little bit faster, it could have been me. But thank God it wasn't. The man was responsive, and alert. He's going to be OK, but he's going to be in a LOT of pain. It could have been worse-- MUCH worse. I have never seen anything like this, and I hope to heaven I never will again. As the ambulance took off, the crowd began to disperse. I walked back to my car and took one last look at the car that hit the man. It could have been me. But thank God it wasn't. And then I finished the ride home.

Fantasy Soon to be Reality! (?)

It's looking like my fantasy of a new home for my ramblings is taking steps closer to reality! Thanks to Feisty Girl and Scott-O-Rama, and possibly a few others who may be recruited (I know who you are!), things are progressing! It may not look EXACTLY like what you see to the right... but it will hopefully look somewhat like it. I've just about abandoned the WordPress idea though. I can't seem to find anyone that knows how to set up a template, and when I tried to do it myself, the results were disastrous to say the least. So I think we're just going to start all over again and see what comes up. In the meantime, RcktRamblings is what it is, and will stay that way for a while. And if you are handy with coding sites like this, and want to help out, do drop me a line and let me know. Your help would be most greatly appreciated!

Why I hate to answer the phone

***RING*** Me: Hello? Annoying Sales Guy: Hello, is this Richard Ayelyeo? Me: Aiello, yes. Annoying Sales Guy: How do I pronounce it? Me: (louder) AIELLO.... (pronouncing) I-L-O. Annoying Sales Guy: Oh I'm sorry Mr. Aylelo, I'm calling from Vonage phone service, have you heard of us? Me: Yes, I have, but I am not interested, thank you. Annoying Sales Guy: Well sir, I am calling today to offer you.... Me: I'm sorry, but I already said I am not interested.... Annoying Sales Guy: $24.95 a month, sir. Me: Look, I've told you twice already.... Annoying Sales Guy: You have to admit that's a great.... Me: (sternly) Listen, sir, I have told you more than enough times that I am not interested, and I am not going to change my mind. Please do not call me again! ***CLICK*** I've gotta get on that "Do Not Call" list once and for all.

Michael Jackson - Not Guilty

I can't say I'm shocked. But I am disappointed. Yeah, ok, innocent until proven guilty. I know. But still... how could he not have done any of those things? I'll say this much... don't expect him to be touring the world or moonwalking anytime soon. That is, of course, unless his back miraculously heals. Which you know it will. Tomorrow. Ah, yes... the wonder of the American justice system.

The Verdict is Coming! The Verdict is Coming!

....so if he's guilty, is the smoke black or white?

Flashbacks

Even though I try not to anymore, I found myself sitting here just now, wondering what to write about. I've come to the conclusion as of late that if I ever have that feeling, I'm simply not going to write. There isn't any reason why I MUST post something every single day of the week. There is no rule that says this is so. So why force myself? It isn't worth the strained effort, and the end result is usually not worth reading anyway. So I closed the "Compose" window and started reading some blogs. I started with Joe.My.God., who, I must confess, I haven't read for a while. It's funny how blogging goes in cycles-- both in terms of writing and reading. I have a long list of "blogs I read," yet I am embarrassed to say that I haven't read many of them in quite some time. It's not intentional, and I feel badly about that. So I was reading Joe.My.God. and he was telling a story about clubs and people in the early to mid-90's, and I was reminded of the days and the times when I first came out, drenching myself in too much cheesy cologne, driving from Kenosha to Chicago, and hitting the clubs. This past Monday, I attended a special event that was co-hosted by my Chorus and the cast of Wicked. It was a "Broadway Cares" event to raise funds for various HIV/AIDS charities as well as the Chorus. I, along with 11 other members of the Chorus, was chosen to sing a few numbers for the crowd in a show that also featured members of the "Wicked" cast. It was a great event, tons of fun, and it raised a heck of a lot of money for all the groups. Attending this event was an old friend... someone I haven't seen in a couple of years, but I have known for well over ten years. We were AOL chat buddies, bar pals, and even roommates for the first year that I lived in the city. Seeing him brought back a flood of memories. When I first met him, I had a huge crush on him. Which wasn't uncommon, as everyone seemed to develop a crush on him the first time they met him. He was fun-loving, carefree and a bit naieve in those days, having fairly recently come out. His windswept hair and icy green eyes laughed about as much as he himself did-- which was almost all of the time. My crush on him almost ruined our friendship. I remember vividly a party where I became insanely jealous when he disappeared with another friend of mine for a few hours. I wanted so desperately to disappear with him myself, but never had the courage to make it happen. But eventually, I got over my obsession with him, and somehow we became friends. We'd talk on the phone, chat on AOL, go out to bars, and just have a great time. Then he moved to Philadelphia. I was sad to see him go, but glad that we could at least keep in touch via Email. When he returned to Chicago a couple years later, we started hanging out again. He got an apartment in Boystown, which became my crashing spot after many a night on the town. We became closer friends in those years, and I was glad that my crazy antics from a few years prior hadn't ruined our friendship. When I got the job that would move me to Chicago, he brought up the possibility of being roommates. So we did the roommate thing for a year. That whole story is told in the "Old Journal" which you can start reading here. I won't go into all that again. So he and I had a close bond for many years, and had a great time together. But in recent years, as we both moved on with our own lives, we drifted apart. And even though, as many people do, we tried to keep in touch... we just didn't. But seeing him again at the event was really great. We caught up on things, and shared a couple drinks. I'm thinking we should do dinner sometime and just reconnect. It'd be great to have an old friend back in my life.

It's not sweat... I'm GLOWING

It's hot. I'm not just saying that because it's been cold up until a few days ago. It's just plain hot. As in heat and humidity. As in sweat. Lots of sweat. Yep... summer has arrived early in Chicago. And my apartment, which is outfitted with two air conditioning units, is sweltering. Oh sure, they'd be doing a great job... if they COULD do the job they were supposed to be doing. One of my A/C units is a monster thing that saps enough energy to cause the second coming of the eastern seaboard blackouts of 2003. I had to run downstairs four times yesterday to switch one of my measley 15 amp circuits back on because it kept tripping it. When I moved in here, I had only the smaller unit, which I kept in my bedroom. It worked great, but the rest of the place was uninhabitable. I don't think I used my living room until winter arrived. Last spring, I purchased the larger unit, and put it in the living room. But when I started using both of the units, I realized that I had to move one of them, because they were both on the same circuit, and would trip the circuit as soon as I turned them both on. So I took the small one out of my bedroom and moved it to the dining room which adjoins it. This seemed to work OK last summer, but my bedroom never got very cool. And I like it cool. VERY cool. So this year, when they installed my new windows, I switched the units-- the smaller one went in the living room, and the larger one went in the dining room/office. I figured this would work great-- the big unit could easily cool both the dining room/office and my bedroom, and the smaller one would cool the living room. Wrong. I seemed to forget that the circuit being used in the dining room/office also operates everything in the kitchen (including the refrigerator) and my computer (which as you can imagine is just chock full of stuff that saps electricity). So when things heat up, and big mama starts wanting to cool things down, trip goes the circuit. So I've moved the small unit back into my bedroom, and the big one is just kind of sitting here. Doing nothing. And my apartment is hot. VERY hot. All this makes me ponder this bit of trivia... if you have a three-floor apartment building, and are outfitting said three-floor apartment building with electricity (as well you should, in this day and age), would you put the higher-amp circuits on the bottom floors, which don't get nearly as hot in the summertime and therefore don't require as much electricity to keep cool, or put them on the top floor apartments? Apparently, my landlord wasn't thinking about this when she (or he, whoever does the electrical work in this joint) put 20-amp circuits in all the 1st and 2nd floor apartments, but 15-amp circuits in all the 3rd floor apartments. Now, I will admit, I know nothing about electricity. In fact, I had to browse Google just to understand what the hell I was talking about in the above paragraph. (What did we ever do before Google?) But I do know that you need higher-capacity circuits in order to run things that need more power. Believe me. I know this. Because I've run down into that nasty, dusty, spider-infested basement more times than I care to remember in the last three years to turn my power back on. And I'm getting sick of it. I've asked my landlord to upgrade my circuits many times, but nothing has been done. Is there any way (short of bribery and/or begging) that I can make her do it? Or do I just have to suffer until I move (which, since I just signed a new lease in May, isn't anytime soon.) It's gonna be a looooong summer, folks.

Lactivists

This fun article was posted on the news section of my Firm's intranet today. And I had to laugh. It contains what I believe will be the best new word of the year. I wanna be a lactivist too. And on another note... do they really pay these people to talk about this stuff? I want their job.

Nursing moms protest 'The View' comments NEW YORK, June 7 (UPI) -- About 150 "lactivists" nursed their babies outside ABC's New York City studios to protest comments made by the women of "The View." Barbara Walters had said she and a companion felt awkward sitting next to a nursing mother on an airplane, the New York Daily News said. "It made me very nervous," Walters said on the May 17 show. "She didn't cover the baby with a blanket. It made us uncomfortable." Co-host Elisabeth Hasselbeck, who is nursing her daughter, Grace, said she was "uncomfortable breast-feeding in general." Then the hosts appeared to celebrate when Hasselbeck said her daughter had her first bottle of formula, sparking nurse-in protests in four cities, the Daily News said. Women protesting in New York Monday said they feared the comments may keep some mothers from nursing and some even demanded an on-air apology. Walters said she was surprised by all the fuss and said all the hosts of "The View" support breast-feeding.

I Have Been Changed For Good

I'm flying high, defying gravity tonight. That's right... I saw "Wicked" tonight. And I loved it. Every. Single. Moment.

So call me a dork, call me a musical junkie, call me a gayboy, call me whatever you want. I loved it and I am not ashamed to say it. Everyone's entitled to their opinions, right? Right.

I never got to see Wicked in New York... in fact, I have never seen a Broadway show ON Broadway. (It's time I change that, don't you think?)

But fortunately for me, Chicago has a pretty decent stream of Broadway-bound shows that premiere here, as well as well-known Broadway hits, such as "Wicked," that play either short or extended runs here.

We're really lucky with "Wicked," because after this current cast, which is a touring production based on the Broadway show, we are going to get our own, permanent cast (starring, interestingly enough, Ana Gasteyer from "Saturday Night Live" as Elphaba) that is going to say for an open run. Needless to say, the city is abuzz.

The current cast is not represented on the poster displayed here... that, of course, is the original Broadway cast that everyone knows. But this cast was really superb. Stephanie J. Block (Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West) was simply outstanding. She easily gives Idina Menzel a run for her money. And Kendra Kassebaum (Galinda/Glinda) was also fantastic, maybe not as vocally strong as Kristin Chenowith, but every ounce as perky and entertaining. Other strong performers were David Garrison as the Wizard, who you may remember playing Steve, Marcy's first husband on "Married, With Children;" Barbara Tirrell, who was the understudy for Carol Kane in the role of Madame Morrible, and Jenna Leigh Green as Nessarose.

My only disappointment was with Fiyero, played by Derrick Williams. He was a little cardboard in his presence, and at times I wasn't happy with his voice... but when he and Stephanie Block dueted on "As Long As You're Mine," it was pretty electric.

But the show belonged to the leads... and they were wonderful. There wasn't a dry eye in the house during "For Good," the final duet between them. And when Elphaba lept and flew above the stage during "Defying Gravity," the audience was stunned.

Stephen Schwartz, who wrote the music and lyrics to "Wicked" has long been one of my favorite composers. Ever since I sang "All Good Gifts" during a production of "Godspell" in my sophomore year of high school, I've been hooked. Hell, my cat's name is Pippin... you don't think I named him after the former Chicago Bulls star, do you? ;-)

Some say this isn't his best score, but I say it is. There are some downright gorgeous songs in this show. And one of them-- probably my favorite of all-- is "For Good." The words are as moving as the melody. And they fit so many different situations, and mean so many different things to so many people.

So I am sharing some of them with you. Because they express how I feel about many of you out there... and I just want to thank you for all you've done for me in the last year. (Can you believe it's almost been a year since I started this blog?)

Of course, these are copyright of Mr. Schwartz, so I must give credit to him here... so please visit his website at www.stephenschwartz.com.

For Good from "Wicked" I’ve heard it said That people come into our lives for a reason Bringing something we must learn And we are led To those who help us most to grow If we let them And we help them in return Well, I don’t know if I believe that’s true But I know I’m who I am today Because I knew you... Like a comet pulled from orbit As it passes a sun Like a stream that meets a boulder Halfway through the wood Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better? But because I knew you I have been changed for good … It well may be That we will never meet again In this lifetime So let me say before we part So much of me Is made of what I learned from you You’ll be with me Like a handprint on my heart And now whatever way our stories end I know you have re-written mine By being my friend... Like a ship blown from its mooring By a wind off the sea Like a seed dropped by a skybird In a distant wood Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better? But because I knew you... Because I knew you... I have been changed for good... And just to clear the air I ask forgiveness For the things I’ve done you blame me for But then, I guess we know There’s blame to share And none of it seems to matter anymore

For the full set of lyrics and other good stuff about "Wicked," visit this link: http://www.musicalschwartz.com/wicked-lyrics.htm

Springtime

Lily of the Valley
Originally uploaded by RcktManIL.

I took this photo of a single lily of the valley at my Mom and Dad's a couple weeks ago. It's my favorite picture so far.

Essay in Cubdom

Today I received an Email from the Chicago Cubs telling me about an essay contest they were holding with Swedish Covenant Hospital, one of the zillions of hospitals in the city of Chicago. The instructions were to write a 250-word or less essay about an unforgettable moment that made me a Cubs fan forever. The Grand Prize winner gets to throw out a ceremonial pitch on "Swedish Covenant Hospital Day," July 15, 2005 at Wrigley Field; Four tickets to the game; a tour the Press Box; and their winning essay published in the Chicago Tribune. I bit. Here it is. Wish me luck! Growing up in Kenosha, Wisconsin in the 1970s, my allegiance to baseball teams could easily have gone in any number of directions, but my father made it easy. He told me that I could either be a Cubs fan and get presents from Santa at Christmastime, or be a White Sox or Brewers fan and get coal. I quickly chose the Cubs. I was no fool. My first trip to glorious Wrigley Field was on a sunny August 22, 1977. The Cubs were playing the Giants. Rick Reuschel was pitching against Jim Barr. I remember this clearly because I distinctly remember a plane flying overhead with a banner attached, saying “GO JIM BARR AND GIANTS,” and thinking, even at the ripe young age of 6, how strange it was for someone to be cheering on the Giants at Wrigley Field. My hero at the time was Bobby Murcer, who was having a miraculous first year with the team. He ended up being the team leader in Home Runs with 27 (which seems like small potatoes when compared to the Sammy Sosa years). My hero Murcer was also the game’s hero that day when he hit a home run and solidified the 3-2 win in the 8th inning. After that first visit to Wrigley Field, witnessing my first Cubs home run, and my first Cubs win, I never again had to choose my favorite baseball team. I was a Cubs fan from head to toe, and nothing would ever change that.

The Coming of Summer

Summertime.... and the livin' is easy.... So goes the old tune. But that was a long time ago. In these days of hustle and bustle, there is never any time for 'living easy'... every day is hard work and a struggle to get by (unless you're fabulously wealthy, in which case you have nothing to worry about in the first place.) As a kid, summertime meant walks to the public swimming pool. Dad's backyard full of rose bushes and green spongy grass to play upon. Music playing from the AM radio that dad installed on our garage. Bike rides and sandboxes and Matchbox cars. "Mother May I" and "Kick the Can" and "Red Light Green Light." Swinging on the the swingset. That's when the living was easy. As I approach my 35th summer on our fair planet, I can't help but recall, once again, what it was like to run outside of my parents' back door and know that the world expected nothing more of me but to play. And play I did. My dad put a swingset at the far south end of our backyard when I was about three years old. It was one of those wonderful metal sets, the kind you can't get anymore, since everyone now fears them tipping over or rusting and falling apart on the little ones. It never happened -- save for one time when I was standing on a crossbar and slipped. I landed in a not-so-comfy spot. If you know what I mean. We had two swings, a teeter-totter, and a swinging horse. A couple of years later, Dad added a slide. Each morning, my sister, Beth (when she was old enough) and I would wolf down our breakfasts and burst out the back door for a day of fun. The backyard, and moreso the swingset, was where every day started. After a while of swinging and jumping and pumping the set til it nearly tipped over, (Dad had put anchors into to ground at each post, which was actually fruitless, since they only anchored into the soil and not into any type of concrete), we would decide what to do next. There were no schedules. no hours, no appointment books or daily planners. We just made everything up as we went along. Most days involved running next door to see if our friend Becky could play. Of course, she always did. Becky was one year younger than me, and one year older than Beth. The three of us were inseparable. We did everything together. If we built a fort, Becky was there with us. If we played wiffle ball, Becky joined in. If we rode bikes, we always did it together. It was almost like I had two sisters. Of course, that probably explained a lot about my toy preferences. I never much cared for G.I. Joe dolls or smash-em-up cars or anything extremely boyish. I played with Barbies and Little People, just as often as I played with Tonka trucks and Matchbox cars, because Beth and Becky liked to play with those, too. Fortunately for me, Beth and Becky weren't girly-girls. They liked to play rough. They got their fingers dirty. They scuffed their knees. There weren't many boys my age in my neighborhood. The closest was a boy named Brian who lived a few houses away from me. He was a year older than me, and although a Super 8 film shows that we were friends once upon a time, as long as I can remember, he and I were at odds. He teased me about anything and everything, and I retaliated by slugging him. That pretty much ended any chance of a friendship. There was another boy named Mike who lived a few more houses away. He was also a year older, but he was closer to Brian than anyone else, and whatever Brian did, he did too. Kitty-corner from where Mike lived was where Timmy and JoAnne lived. Timmy and JoAnne were the youngest in a fairly large Italian family and were often at our house, and we were often at theirs. We went to the same Catholic school, and carpooled with their mom in the mornings, and our mom afterward. Their mom was the neighborhood busybody. She knew everything about everyone and wasn't shy about it. My mom never liked her much. She always said "If Yolanda could print a newspaper, she'd make a killing." As we all got older, I eventually befriended Mike, and suddenly my sister and I were invited to play games with all the neighborhood kids. This usually involved a game like "Kick the Can" or "Stuck in the Mud" or some other variance of "Tag"... but it was always so much fun. The neighborhood kids all got along fine for a couple years, and then one day, it all stopped. Beth got into a huge fight with JoAnne about something -- what it was, to this day, I still have no idea-- and JoAnne went home crying to her mother. From that day forward, Timmy and JoAnne were forbidden to come to our house, and upon hearing that, our parents likewise forbade us to go to theirs. A rift was started, and we never played with most of the neighborhood kids again. Becky remained our friend. We switched Catholic schools when I was in 6th grade and started going to the same one as Becky. We carpooled with her just as we had done with Timmy and JoAnne before. And as grade school progressed to high school, the swingset, that was always the center of everything for us, finally was taken down. The worn spots where our feet dragged in the dirt were filled in, and we planted a crabapple tree for my mom that following Mothers' Day. Life was changing, and summers would never be the same again. When I wander through my parents' backyard today, and I see the grand tree that has grown where the swingset once stood, I can still hear us laughing, and playing, and enjoying the precious summertime. I can still smell my dad's roses blooming, still hear the music playing from the garage speaker. I can still see the sheets and towels drying in the summer breeze on my mom's clothesline, and I can smell the freshness of the dried fabrics after an afternoon of soaking in all those wonderful rays and smells. And I'm reminded of those summers as a kid, when the biggest drama in life was whether or not to play in the sandbox, or to take a bike ride. When my greatest concern was whether the kids would play a game or we would go swimming. Everything changes, and we all grow up. But memories of when "livin' was easy" will never escape us.