CHICAGO CARLESS

Yesterday, the Sun-Times published my response to a December 6th Commentary piece on the debate over the right of downtown Chicago residents to demand noise controls on street musicians.

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He won’t admit it, but it had to happen sooner or later. The great modernist boyfriend, cool to a fault and no friend to commercialism, is getting into our upcoming trip to Disneyland. No, Disneyland. Yes, that Disneyland.

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(Sears in-store display for “Holiday Trees”.)

Is it just me, or is it a little incongruous for there to be an enormous “Holiday Tree” in Daley Plaza next to a life-size manger? Never one to hew to politically correct “values”, and certainly nothing more than a recovering Catholic and not a practicing one, but I’ve just about had it with the PC-ization of Christmas. Judging by an article in this week’s Crain’s Chicago Business, I’m not alone.

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More or less. Chicagoist columinst Amy Hart ridiculed Downtown Chicago 42nd Ward Alderman Burt Natarus for wanting to put a stop to non-permitted street drummers who have lately accosted downtown visitors and residents with a panoply of obnoxious and illegal “music” to accompany their illegal panhandling. In this Chicagoist entry, Amy Hart tells downtown residents to deal with it as the price of living downtown. (Previous expletive deleted when a cooler head prevailed). Um, excuse me?

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It’s official. I’ve morphed into Betty Crocker. When I was in dire financial straits during 2004, I realized that the surest way to financial solvency was to abandon my take-away ways. In place of delivery, pick-up, and Mickey D meals, I began a brave but fruitful journey…into my own kitchen.

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It struck me today how I feel like a suburbanite transplanted into the city. In one way, anyway. Suburbanites who move into civilization always marvel at how well they can get around without their cars. Not that they all give them up; old habits die hard in the Midwest, after all.

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