Lessons I’ve learned through the school of hard knocks. This is my catch-all, miscellaneous category if you will, where I address topics that don’t quite fit into the other categories.
Okay, so I’ve had my iPhone for about two months now and I haven’t dropped it in the toilet yet. I really love it! I use it to check the weather, read my e-mail, take pictures, show pictures to my friends, listen to music, read blogs, use GPS to find my destination, send e-mail, and I occasionally use it as a phone. I think I’ve only talked on the phone for about twenty minutes so far.
I’m really not much of a phone person. That’s what I always hated about cell phones. They weren’t ergonomically designed. I mean, have you ever tried to hold a conversation with the cell phone between your ear and your shoulder? For me it’s impossible. It keeps sliding out. What I really like about the iPhone is that it’s a lot like a computer. Yes, also it has the very same quirks as a computer. It freezes occasionally and I must restart it. The original version of the operating system had a lot of bugs in it and my battery would die too fast. Luckily, Apple came out with an update and my iPhone works fine now.
They call me The Great Procrastinator because I’m always putting things off. I started writing this post this morning and now it’s ten hours later and I’m only on the second sentence. A lot has happened since I started it. Studs Terkel died since I started. He was also a great procrastinator. He postponed his death until today and died at the age of ninety-six. I guess I would like to emulate him. I better keep writing so I finish this post before I turn ninety-six–or die.
But there is one thing that I won’t put off: The End.
Immaculate Heart of Mary, Back of the Yards, Chicago, Illinois
I don’t often go to church, but when I don’t, I don’t feel guilty at all. When I was in grade school at Holy Cross Church, I went to church at least six times per week. We attended mass before going to our classroom on Monday through Friday. So, now, I don’t feel any real need to attend church.
If I average out my church attendance over the span of my life, I’ve gone to mass more times than many people who claim to be Catholic. Of course, I still go several times a year. This year, I’ve gone every time my son Alex went to mass before his football game. Last spring, I went to my second cousin’s confirmation. Last week, I went to my cousin Shirley’s funeral. But other than that, I haven’t gone to church. I’m not against going to church, but I never think of going on my own without any compelling reason for going.
I suppose the real question for me to answer is, “Do I believe in God?” Well, the answer is, “Once upon a time, I used to.” I was baptized a Catholic and I was confirmed by the time I was three months old. At one time when I was about twelve, I believed in God so much that I really wanted to become a priest. But then I saw the light. I realized that many Catholics were hypocrites, clergy included, and my faith in God was shaken.
When I was in the Marines, I used to go talk to the Catholic chaplain on a regular basis. I’ll be honest: I went to get out of my work detail, rather than discussing any true critical religious crisis. So I figured I had better make it good. I told the chaplain that I no longer believed in God. Which I didn’t at the time. And I still don’t. But I still feel Catholic. Since I was baptized and raised a Catholic, I plan to remain a Catholic and I will never convert to another religion. I’ve known Catholics who converted and became fanatical about their new religion.
I even baptized my sons as Catholics and sent them to a Catholic school. I’ve had friends ask me why I would do that if I’m not really Catholic. I like the sense of tradition. Two of my friends from Spain once grilled me about my Catholicism. “Are you Catholic?” “Yes.” “Do you go to church every Sunday?” “No.” “Then you’re not Catholic!” “I was baptized a Catholic!” “Are your sons Catholic?” “They were baptized Catholic.” “But you’re not Catholic! Why did you baptize them?” “If nothing else, we have something in common.” They were dumbfounded by my logic.
This morning I took my son Alex to his football mass at Most Holy Redeemer Church. I remembered most of the prayers, but there were some new ones. My mind drifted away from the mass several times. I recalled how mass used to be when I was a boy. Things were so different then. When I was an altar boy, only males were allowed near the altar during mass. Back then, there were no altar girls. Only altar boys. And about half of the Eucharist ministers today are women. And the dress code is no longer the stringent dress shirt with a tie and dress pants for males and nice dresses for females with their heads covered. I was shocked to see worshipers coming to mass wearing jeans, shorts, gym shoes, flip flops, and t-shirts. On the other hand, the church was fairly full and most people participated in the prayers and hymns. Overall, I got the feeling that they were true believers.
I have had several readers comment on the blog pics. Or to put it better, the lack of pictures in my blog. For some strange reason unbeknownst only to me, readers would like to see pictures on my blog. Well, I’ve been slowly, but surely been taking pictures and gathering them in order to post them fastly and furiously. But give me time. I now have thousands of pics, but I have to decide which are truly worthy enough to be posted. You shall soon see the results. But don’t rush me and don’t get your hopes up too high.
El Gallo de Oro Mexican restaurant, Chicago, Illinois.
Well, now it can be told. First, you must admit that you have a problem before you can solve it. My problem? I like to retrace my steps all the way back to my youth.
So tonight, I went to El Gallo de Oro, bought a steak burrito, and parked in Marquette Park by the Rose Garden to eat it, as I am wont to do. I used to do it all the time, but tonight I compared scenarios.
The first time I bought a burrito at El Gallo de Oro, I lived down the block at 3006 W. 64th Street and I only paid $2.25 with tax. But that was twenty-seven years ago. Today, I paid $6.06 with tax. Today, I barely finished my burrito, but twenty-seven years ago, I would also order two or three tacos or tostadas on the side. I would practically inhale all this food and I only weighed 140 pounds, compared to my 180 or so today.
And Marquette Park isn’t the same, either. No one cruises through the park like in days of old. This used to be the place to hang out, to see and be seen by everyone. I don’t think anyone even noticed I was there tonight. Not even the police car that drove past me driving the wrong way.
On the plus side? I felt very safe there in my solitude reminiscing about my days of old when I was young and naïve and didn’t realize that the grease from the burrito had dripped on my shirt until the person I was trying to impress would point out the grease stain. Okay, I don’t miss the dripping grease all that much. I’m much older and wiser now.
