With 40-mph gusts driving the wind chill well below freezing, I found summer-like solace amid the flourishing cacti in the greenhouses at the Chicago Botanic Gardens.
Let there be lights
The jack-o’-lantern has collapsed on itself, signaling the beginning of the holiday season in our household.
I’m the anti-Clark Griswold in that I’ve never felt the urge to put up outdoor lights for the holidays. I appreciate looking at a festively illuminated yard as much as the next person; my opposition to hanging exterior lights has more to do with my fear of heights and electrocution.
Nonetheless, this year I cast my fear aside and, in an effort to please my daughter and wife and avoid being the neighborhood Scrooge, strung multi-colored lights in an inverted-V shape across the roofline of our home. It required an act of derring-do, as I had to stand on the topmost rung of an extension ladder and use grilling tongs to affix the lights to a hook at the roof’s apex. And I fully expected to get a high-voltage shock when I plugged in the three connected extension cords that were required to reach our home’s one exterior outlet. But I emerged from the task unscathed, neither falling from the ladder nor getting electrocuted.
It’s a modest display of lights — so modest that I’m not going to embarrass myself by sharing a photo of my work (instead I’ve included a photo of my favorite Christmas tree ornament).
Perhaps next year, with my young daughter reaching an age when she’s able to not just recognize lights but also judge their merits, I’ll strive for a more ambitious and artful display. As for this year, the task is done and I’m moving on to gift buying and card writing.
You! Me! Dancing!
My wife and I celebrated our wedding anniversary yesterday, and the occasion motivated me to consider the many-numbered reasons why I’m thankful to have Pam as my partner.
Among the top reasons, I’m semi-ashamed to admit, is her willingness to tolerate — and sometimes even participate in — my half-baked schemes.
I’ve included the image at left as visual evidence of my wife’s good-sportedness. (Click on the image to view a larger version in a separate window.) For a project connected to my grad studies at DePaul, I needed to create a concert poster for a Los Campesinos concert at The Empty Bottle in Chicago. I had it in my head that I wanted the poster to feature a woman striking an empowered pose, so I asked Pam if she’d be willing to don sunglasses and a tank-top and be photographed while pulling back the string on an imaginary archer’s bow.
She’s a strong-willed and highly intelligent person, but she neither paused nor groused when I made this peculiar request. Pam went along with it, and it ended up being a fun and memorable experience for both of us. She didn’t even complain when I Photoshopped “You! Me! Dancing!” — the title of one of the band’s more popular songs — on her arm.
Is the poster representative of great design work? No. But it is an excellent visual representation of my wife’s willingness to humor me.
Thanks for tolerating and participating, Pam. And happy anniversary.
Thank you, Houston Oilers, for conditioning me to shrug off defeats
I spent last Saturday afternoon watching my undergrad alma mater, North Central College, blow a 21-point fourth-quarter lead to Wabash College, losing 29-28 in the second round of the Division III football playoffs. Wabash secured the win in the game’s final minute on a flukey two-point conversion pass that deflected off the outstretched hands of a Little Giant into the arms of a teammate who stood an inch or two inbounds in the corner of the end zone.
It was a disappointing defeat, as well as a stunning one. North Central’s defense had surrendered a mere 34 points through seven conference games and had held Wabash scoreless through 30 minutes of play. I couldn’t fathom that same defense surrendering 22 points in a single quarter — particularly to a team that was playing with its second-string quarterback.
As a longtime fan of the Houston Oilers/Tennessee Titans, I’ve endured countless disappointing and stunning defeats. Most memorably, there’s “The Comeback” game of January 1993 in which the Oilers pummeled the Buffalo Bills through two-plus quarters of play, taking a seemingly insurmountable lead of 35-3 after safety Bubba McDowell intercepted a Frank Reich pass and took it to the house. I remember calling my brother after that pick six, both of us gleeful, confident that the our team would prevail, even talking about meeting up in Pittsburgh the following weekend for the Oilers’ next playoff game.
Of course, it wasn’t to be. Houston fell apart on both sides of the ball, losing 41-38 in overtime to a Buffalo team that, like Wabash, was led by its backup quarterback. Point-wise, it marked the largest blown loss in NFL history.
There is a silver lining to the debacle in Buffalo. When your favored football team blows a 32-point lead in a playoff game, all future losses pale in comparison. It’s like I’ve been immunized against crushing sports heartbreak. Sure, I’m often disappointed by the outcomes of games, but they all pale in comparison to the Oilers’ historic collapse. Thanks to the Oilers, I’ve been conditioned to shrug off defeats.
I took photos at the North Central-Wabash game and have posted them on Flickr. The images are a bit grainy, as I was seated far from the field of play in the top row of the bleachers. Also, photo-unfriendly clouds loomed low in the sky, casting a gray pall across the field — particularly in the fourth quarter.
Sidenote I: Pete Metzelaars, a star tight end for the Buffalo Bills from 1985 to 1994, graduated from (drumroll, please…) Wabash.
Sidenote II: In 2001 Wabash defeated DePauw University — then coached by my father-in-law, Nick Mourouzis — on a Hail Mary pass that bounced off the helmet of a Little Giant into the hands of a teammate.
Tough mudding in small-town Indiana
NUVO published my preview of Tough Mudder Indiana late last week. I eagerly signed up for this writing and photography assignment, in part because the event was being held in Attica, a short drive from my family’s farm. I’ve been traveling through Attica, a town of 2,400 denizens, since childhood, and it’s a community that, for better and worse, largely has remained unchanged over the course of my lifetime.
An estimated 15,000 participants registered for Tough Mudder, and I wondered how well Attica would be able to absorb an influx of visitors six times its population. The town appeared to be up to the challenge. As I drove through the community yesterday, it seemed like any other Saturday, with light traffic on the main drag. The 700-acre event host, Badlands Off-Road Park, effectively swallowed up the many thousands of participants and spectators, keeping them out of sight on the edge of town.
A mohawked Mudder nears the finish line
I spent three hours taking photos at Tough Mudder. You can check out the images on Flickr. I’ll share high-resolution photos from the event here at DeStewart in a week or two.
I won’t be joining the ranks of Mudders anytime soon, but I now have a better understanding of the event’s appeal. As one of my interviewee’s put it, Tough Mudder is “one part triathlon, one part UFC, and one part Woodstock.” The setting had a post-apocalyptic feel about it, like a scene out of a Cormac McCarthy novel. But the spirit of camaraderie prevailed. Tough Mudder isn’t about winning; it’s about finishing — and about somehow, between barbed-wire pricks to the back and jolts of electricity to the neck and fire and ice underfoot, having fun in the process.
Update: NUVO has posted a sampling of my Tough Mudder photos.
Art in odd places
What to do with latex paint that I never intend to use again? That’s the question I faced with a half-empty gallon of Tea Light, an unremarkable hue from Benjamin Moore, occupying a square foot of space in my cramped basement.
I’m not sure what I ever saw in Tea Light. Even on the sunniest days, it has a gloomy cast about it. Honestly, getting its remaining ounces out of the house had less to do with clearing up space and more to do with expunging the memory of it ever appearing on my guest bathroom’s walls (it was quickly covered over with Hawthorne Yellow).
Tea Light paint reflecting overhead clouds
As much as I loathed Tea Light, I wanted to dispose of it in an eco-responsible manner. So I Googled my way to a solution: line a cardboard box with plastic and pour a thin layer of paint in the box; after it dries, add another thin layer; repeat until the can is empty, and then throw out the paint-caked box.
I should have paid greater attention to the “thin” part of the process. My first layer was far too thick and took more than a week to dry. Around day three of the drying process, I took the photo shown here. Though I was frustrated by the painstakingly long time it took this layer of Tea Light to dry, I found the unmixed, semi-dry paint to be far more aesthetically appealing — artful, even — than the well-stirred and carefully applied paint that I’d once applied to my bathroom’s walls.
Enthusiasm, a prereq for greatness
Coach Nick shown leading DePauw against Wabash in 2003
Thirty years ago today, my father-in-law — Nick Mourouzis — led DePauw to a 21-14 triumph over archrival Wabash. The game marked Nick’s first Monon Bell experience as head coach of the Tigers. He went on to become the university’s winningest football coach, compiling 138 victories over his 23 years at the helm.
Not every man has a good relationship with his father-in-law, but I can say, in all honesty, that Nick is not only a beloved family member, he’s also one of my dearest friends. An eternal optimist possessing boundless energy and graciousness, he is simply a joy to be around. Countless others share my high opinion of Nick. Spend an afternoon with him walking around Indianapolis, and you’re bound to be interrupted a half-dozen times by shouts of “Coach Nick!” from friends and acquaintances who recognize him on the street.
Nick is fond of reciting quotes, particularly those of the motivational variety. One of his favorites, originally penned by Ralph Waldo Emerson, is this: “Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm.”
I’ve never met anyone who’s as consistently enthusiastic as Nick — whether it’s eating Greek food or playing with his grandchildren or doing something as seemingly mundane as cleaning out a garage, he engages the moment with gusto. And it is through this enthusiasm that he has achieved greatness, both on the field and off.
Urban Indy examines a neighborhood’s demise
Urban Indy, a collaborative blog focused on urban design in Indianapolis, features an excellent post this week on a residential neighborhood that was wiped off the map by the construction of Interstate 65. The author, Chris Corr, uses aerial photos archived by the city — and easily accessible online — to show how a neighborhood nestled along Fall Creek and adjacent to Boulevard Place (the street on which my wife and I bought our first home) was transformed from tree-lined rows of homes to a blah blend of concrete and vacant spaces.
Not to decry the Eisenhower Interstate System, the benefits of which are significant. But Corr’s piece is valuable in that it forces you to consider that the mobility we enjoy is not without its costs. In this case, accessibility to Fall Creek was rendered challenging if not impossible, perfectly livable homes were razed, and, most importantly, families were forced to leave a seemingly scenic and pleasant neighborhood conveniently situated near downtown Indianapolis.
The neighborhood in 1962
The neighborhood in 1972, after the construction of I-65