I’ve been using Facebook for about three years now. I’m not really sure how I joined, but I did. Of course, I had no Facebook friends at the time. One day, my friend Vito asked me to be his Facebook friend. So, for the longest time, I only had one friend on Facebook. Now that I think of it, I haven’t seen Vito since we became friends on Facebook. Little by little, I accumulated friends. And now I really like Facebook.
I like it because I can keep up with my friends without having to actually see them in person. Not that I don’t want to see them, but some of them live so far away. We grew up in Chicago, but everyone seemed to move out to the suburbs. I stayed put because I love Chicago so much.
My friends think that I spend way too much time on Facebook, but I don’t. It only seems like I do because I only spend a few minutes per day, but I am very efficient. Facebook sends me a message when someone has commented on one of my comments or pics, and I immediately respond. I strike immediately and then immediately crawl back under my rock. You just never know how I may respond. As they say, leave sleeping dogs lie. (Whoops, dogs don’t sleep under rocks!)
So, anyway, Facebook is a great way to keep in touch with friends I avoid in real life! Would you like to be my friend on Facebook?
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.
So, after I read The Jungle by Upton Sinclair, I read some of the ancillary material at the end of the Norton Critical Edition that added to my understanding of the novel. I read an interesting statement from Wages and Family Budgets in the Chicago Stockyards District: “The Lithuanians, Poles, and Slovaks will work for wages which would seem small to the average American workingman. The standards of living of these workers are comparatively low and over half of them are boarders without families to support, so they can easily underbid Americans, Germans, and Bohemians.” In the novel, we see Jurgis and many other Lithuanians working for low wages that take away jobs from Americans. And they live in deplorable conditions. Well, this accurately describes today’s immigrants, regardless of their origin.
I also read a very interesting book that researched the places described in The Jungle: Upton Sinclair: The Lithuanian Jungle by Giedrius Subacius, whom I met since he is a professor at the University of Illinois at Chicago. This book simply enthralled me because I remembered the areas Subacius describes. When I met him, I had not yet read his book. He described how he went and spoke to people from Back of the Yards. The book has recent pictures of the neighborhood and some from the archives for places that no longer exist. After speaking to him, I tried checking out the book from the UIC Richard J. Daley Library, but it was constantly checked out. I finally checked it out over the summer when no one was using it for class. This book is a must-read for any Chicago history buff.
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.
Chicago USA 