Tony Fitzpatrick and Spring

Last night I attended part of a Words+Music event at the Empty Bottle. Unexpectedly, the event seemed to had started on time, so I missed readings by JR Nelson and Jim DeRogatis. But I did see Jessica Hopper read her review of Miley Cyrus's Bangerz, and manage to hear the illuminant Tony Fitzpatrick read some recent articles of his that will appear in the forthcoming book Dime Stories that collects his column from New City over the past few years.

I've seen Fitzpatrick read at one of these events before, and have seen him perform elsewhere. He is a Chicago writer through and through: Nelson Algren and Mike Royko have undeniably left their mark on Fitzpatrick. If, as Ernest Hemingway states, "you should not read [Algren] if you cannot take a punch," then know that Algren's protege is an even more formidable wielder of the written word. His vulgar wit and sardonic humor are instantly recognizable, and have little match in the ring of literature.

And yet, Fitzpatrick seemed a little off his game this evening, as if the gloves weren't on as tight as usual. True to form, he was conscious of this unlikely wavering in his reading. He reminded the audience of his heart surgery a few months ago before reading a post-surgery reflection on life (appropriately titled, It's Spring).

The piece he read aloud has been on my mind since I first read it a few weeks back. The main point of it is to not let the little bullshit of life stack up and distract you from what you want to accomplish. This doesn't mean over-worry yourself with work however. For Tony, it means going to more baseball games, spending more time with his family, going for more walks, enjoying every breeze, the flowers, the birds; "put your cell phone in a drawer." It's a transition for Tony, even so late in life, from hanging up the gloves to finding more poetic ways to reassert how necessary it is to stop and smell the cliche roses; a lover yet still a fighter.

For my part, I've been creating a list of new places - restaurants, art galleries, bars, cultural institutions, old buildings - that I want to explore in and around the city, in neighborhoods I'm already familiar with and ones I've never stepped foot in. It's easy to get comfortable going to the same bars, seeing the same bands, biking down the same boulevards and streets, seeing the same people, eating the same things. This easiness leads to routine, and routine will make your life pass by quicker than you intend to. I'm 27 and I already know that. You can't have new thoughts and new feelings if you don't go to new places.

Of course, here's the dilemma. Routine, repetition, schedules - these don't necessarily lead to stagnation of the mind. These can lead to strong community building, whether that community is in a neighborhood, in artistic, or business. But the best way to help strengthen that community is inevitably to get outside of it, to introduce an outside perspective, and perhaps even bond your own community to another one. This is called growth.

So this year, I'm going to new places and new spaces, to get to know this city even more outside of the bubble I've grown familiar in. Yesterday, this included: a visit to Open Books in River North before they move to the West Loop next week; a small tour of the Midwest Buddhist Temple in Old Town, hosted by Jesse; hanging out at Oz Park in Old Town listening to a trombonist practice his scales and dog-watching; buying even more books at Bookworks in Wrigleyville; hanging out on the patio at Sheffield's than catching the first half of Reading Under the Influence; and then not something new but something always enjoyable, the aforementioned Words+Music at the Empty Bottle.

Onward to spring, and to life.



(note: this wasn't my exact route, but changing things on Google can be such a pain in the ass)

Algren, Allen, Baudelaire

"Yet once you've come to be part of this particular patch, you'll never love another. Like loving a woman with a broken nose, you may well find lovlier lovlies. But never a lovely so real."

- Nelson Algren, Chicago: City on the Make (pg. 23)


"Then a kid came along to offer a hand
But before she had time to accept it
Hits her over the head, doesn't care if she's dead
Cause he's got all her jewelery and wallet

You might laugh you might frown
Walkin' round London town

Sun is in the sky oh why oh why?
Would I wanna be anywhere else"

- Lily Allen, 'LDN'

Why yes, I did just put a Nelson Algren quote and Lily Allen lyrics side by side. Something about them makes sense though. Both of their civic pride stems from things people generally hate about cities. There's a grittiness to the city that each tries to capture. Ok, so Allen has been accused of inauthenticity about the people she's describing since her dad is rich and famous (which Algren was neither the former and still isn't the latter). Perhaps its both's understanding of irony that makes me equate one with the other. Going even further back, Baudelaire, about Paris, as quoted in the intro to Algren:

"I love thee, infamous city! Harlots and
Hunted have pleasures of their own to give,
The vulgar herd can never understand. "           (from 'Epilogue')

This attraction is odd. Because I feel it too. Maybe it's because I grew up in the suburbs, but I like living in a city that has a rough reputation. Of course, it doesn't even have to be as ugly as all that. Looking at the 10 day forecast, the temperature doesn't ever reach above freezing, and it's been like that consistently for months. Why the actual fuck do so many of us live here? "The Cubs suck." "The trains suck." "The politicians are corrupt." The city is demonstrably and demon-ously segregated. There's little support for artists. That's why even Algren moved away!

So obviously there's great things about the city. The food is great. The music is great. The parks are great. The coffee is great. Malort is great. The skyline and architecture are phenomenal. I walked into the Silver Cloud alone last night and left feeling better. I met drunks that argued about music and started conversation before introducing themselves.

Everyone that lives in this city has a broken nose. If they don't, they move to New York (but something else is probably broken inside of them). I take my broken nose and I stare right at you and make you look at it, and the city does the same. LOOK AT ME the Sears Tower demands. LOOK AT ME the El train roars. LOOK AT ME the South Side pleads. LOOK AT ME the city sings in unison.

Why oh why would I want to live anywhere else?