West Side Stories

I’m not usually one to stand out in a crowd. Although I enjoy attention, I don’t go out of my way to get it, especially with my clothing choices.

Friday, on the lakefront, I stood out like a sore thumb. Me, with my Bermuda shorts, plain t-shirt and boring sandals. You’d think I was walking around naked. Seriously, people stared. Why? Well, I guess because I wasn’t wearing the requisite leather vest and tattoos.

Honestly, I’ve never felt more out of place. (Wait, there was that middle-school dance I chaperoned where I made the poor choice to go out on the dance floor. Never again.)

Anyway, my husband and I were the recipients of tickets to the Harley-Davidson 105^th Anniversary Celebration. We took Friday afternoon off to wander the Summerfest grounds and soak in some of the festivities.

I have to say, it was an impressive sight. I thought the 100^th was a big deal. I do think this may be way bigger. It took us an hour to get downtown and find parking. Again, our four-wheel transportation looked odd and awkward.

We were there pretty early in the afternoon, so I think we were a bit premature for the party. But I have to say, it was outstanding people-watching. It was fun to read the t-shirts which served as sort of personal license plates, labeling riders with their home states.

The best part, for me, was that unlike Summerfest, my love handles were definitely in style. Harley riders are very inclusive of the “middle-age spread." You gotta love that!

We wandered along the lakefront and over to Veterans’ Park. The contrast of bikes against the Calatrava was awesome to see:

We checked out the “Roadhouse at the Lakefront” where Harley will make amends for Elton by bringing in The Boss. The stage reminded me of the monolith from 2001 - A Space Odyssey:

And here’s the thing that attracted the most attention of all. A large crowd was gathered along the lake looking down at this:

That’s right, a tiny little fox foraging for scraps of food. Like me, it looked a little out of place too.

Well, it’s not currently red, but I have to say, it’s looking better than ever.

The other day, my husband and I wandered by Wauwatosa’s Little Red Store. Although it’s far from finished, it’s obvious that someone has spent some significant time on our quaint little landmark. (Darn those vandals that broke one of the windows!)

And it’s not a minute too soon, or so it seems based on this article I found on www.WauwatosaNOW.com. On September 10^th, the Milwaukee County Landmarks Committee will meet to determine whether The Little Red Store and two other sites should be designated as Official Milwaukee County Landmarks.

If you’re interested in contributing to the restoration of The Little Red Store, click here.

In the meantime, I’d be interested to hear what you think should be done with this darling little building. It sounds like the Wauwatosa Historical Society would like to make it a visitors’ center. I’m not sure how I feel about that, given its hard-to-find location. I'm also not sure if the long-term use of the Little Red Store is up for debate.

But let's talk about it anyway. Would it be better as a commercial business housed in a historic building? I’m thinking that may be a more reliable way to keep an important structure healthy and viable. Located just off a well-traveled bike path, some people have suggested a candy store or a bike rental shop? Why stop at bikes? Why not cross-country skis and Segways?!

What do you think?

It seems like everyone I know has Olympic fever. They’re watching and talking about the Olympics more than ever before. And how could you not watch them non-stop? They’re everywhere. I mean, really. They’re on NBC, USA Network, Oxygen, MSNBC, Universal HD and of course, online all the time.

Count me among the folks that are just a little bit befuddled by this Olympic experience. I think the problem is that I missed the opening ceremonies, a.k.a. the gateway to Olympic addiction. I was out that night and forgot to record it. I tuned in as the guy lighting the torch was walking along the top of the Bird’s Nest. Let me tell you, Peter Pan’s got nothing on that guy.

Since then, I’ve tried to watch the Olympics, many times. But every time I tune in, I either get boxing (which hurts me to watch), a water polo match, (a ridiculously hard sport that's pretty boring to watch) or a replay of a sport where the results have been splashed all over the internet. Or, I get all excited about an event, only to find that I’m watching a HEAT. Sorry, but nothing could be less exciting to me than a heat. Sort of like pre-season football or spring training. (I know it counts more, but if the athletes don’t care about finishing first, then I don’t either.)

I’m a huge sports fan, but in this day and age of instant information, it’s incredibly tough to get engaged in a medal competition when I can walk over to my computer and find out who won. I just don’t have that much self-control.

And NBC has tried their darnedest to ratchet up the drama. They’ve done background mini-documentaries, complete with tear-jerking music, on virtually every U.S. athlete. Perhaps that’s the problem for me. They over-prepared. Rather than allowing us to experience the real drama as it unfolded, they had to spoon-feed it to us until we practically gagged on it.

Then there’s the big kahuna - Michael Phelps. It’s not his fault. There’s no denying the fact that he’s one of the most amazing athletes of all time and I congratulate him and wish him the very best. I just wish they could have dialed down the over-the-top hysteria and just let us see it as it happened - without the anatomical diagrams explaining why his giant feet and short legs make him such an uber-athlete. I’m going to say this and it might be un-American: I’m Phelps-ed out.

In defense of NBC, how else do you fill HOURS of prime-time television? The time difference of 13 hours makes it unrealistic to show anything in real time. I guess they just crossed their fingers and hoped that people were OK with seeing their sporting events on tape delay. I can’t explain why I’m not. Perhaps it’s just the cynic in me.

Maybe the problem isn’t so much the viewing as it is the listening. I imagine Al Trautwig, Tim Daggett and Rowdy Gaines clutching their NBC-issued Official Glossary of Adjectives as they attempt to explain to us how a seemingly small mistake is really “disastrous” or “catastrophic.” Meanwhile, Bela Karolyi, whose wife coaches the U.S. Women’s gymnasts, makes absolutely no attempt to appear unbiased in his commentary. I guess that’s OK, because I’m rooting for the U.S. women too, but perhaps he shouldn’t be a regular “fixture” in the studio.

Bob Costas, who I usually like a lot, has really disappointed me this time in his role as NBC’s Olympic ring-master. I have never seen a more awkward moment on television than the split triple screen with Costas, Phelps and Mark Spitz. Rather than asking Spitz something mildly compelling like: “How does it feel to no longer be THE Olympic guy?”, he lobbed softballs and instead went for: “Mark, what do you think of what Michael has done?” Gee Bob, what did you think he was going to say? It was all just so painfully predictable as the two multi-medalists practically wrenched their shoulders patting each other on the back.

Now that I’ve totally rained on the Olympic parade, I’ll say that the other day I was brought to tears by the Olympics. It was the medal ceremony for the 55 kilogram wrestling weight class. The gold medal winner was Henry Cejudo of the U.S. who was apparently a surprise medalist. As our national anthem played, the announcers deftly explained that Cejudo is the son of illegal immigrants who had never slept in his own bed until he arrived at Olympic training camp. At that moment, I choked up and beamed with American pride as both Cejudo and his father had tears in their eyes.

Now that’s the kind of Olympic moment that I love.

The other day was garbage day. I went through my usual routine – picking up garbage throughout the house and bringing it out to our garbage can. And then, because it was recycling week, I made extra sure to find all of the used magazines and papers and cans and bottles that needed to be recycled.

And then a funny thing happened. Just as I was about to roll my garbage and recycling carts to the curb, I looked into them one last time. At that moment I realized that my garbage cart was only half-full and my recycling cart was absolutely packed.

Imagine that. Even here, in our house, where we seem to generate more garbage per person than the average household, recycling works. Who knew?

OK, this part is not about trash (or maybe you’ll think it is.) It’s just sort of a fun little “bonus” to this post. Here’s a music video of a song written by a Tosa college kid. (Yeah, it’s that one.) It will take you exactly 3 minutes and 23 seconds to decide whether it’s trash. I know, I’m shameless.

(Oh, and no, that's not that kid in the video.)

I’m sorry, but it’s just too early. I don’t care what you say...it is.

In fact, I would argue that being this early will mean that some things around your house will be stale...really stale.

What am I talking about? OK, so on Sunday August 10^th, we were wandering the aisles of Sentry, picking up a few essentials.

Suddenly, just northeast of the produce department, we ran into a GIGANTIC display. I could NOT believe it. I was so stunned that I took a photo with my cell phone. Here it is:

Please forgive the quality, but what you see there is an enormous display of Halloween candy. That’s right, I said Halloween candy. On August 10^th. Exactly 82 days before Halloween.

It's not enough that every neighborhood has multiple dates for Halloween. Now we have to think about those multiple dates nearly three months before they arrive!!!

Like I said, it’s just too early.

Who says Brett Favre is the only Diva in town these days?!

Judging by the hordes of females roaming the Village on Tuesday night, there are a LOT of Divas right here in Tosa. They were there en masse to participate in Diva Night in the Village.

Diva night was an evening of shopping, wine and summer desserts hosted by several village merchants. The first Diva night was held in February. Tuesday’s glorious summer weather was the perfect backdrop for this semi-annual girls’ night out.

A couple of weeks ago, my friend sent an e-mail to a few of us asking who wanted to be a Diva for a night. Honestly, I didn’t expect very much. For me, it was a good excuse for a night out with my friends. Throw in the fact that it was within walking distance of my house and that sealed the deal.

We met at Vino 100 at around 6:30 pm and the placed was PACKED. We snagged a coveted patio table and caught up on news and such with each other. Honestly, we considered foregoing the Diva "walk," where you carried a card and visited 8 of 14 stores for an opportunity to enter your name in a drawing for prizes. But curiosity prevailed and we hit the streets with cards in hand.

Village merchants that participated in Diva Night included: Vino 100, Magnolia & Co., French Country Pine & Design, Underwood Gallery, Oro di Oliva, Magpie Jewelry, Little Read Book, Juxt Home and Baby, Blue Lapin, Jilly and George, Urban Laundry, and Salamander. (Sorry - I knew that I missed a few!)

All of the merchants opened their doors, displayed their wares and offered food and drinks. Although I live very close to some of these retailers, there were several I had never visited. Diva Night was a great opportunity to check out some new places like Oro di Oliva and some old places that were new to me – Magpie Jewelry.

Judging by the conversations that were floating through the streets and businesses, Diva Night was a great success. Many women commented on how they will definitely be returning to these establishments when they have a little more time to shop. Now that’s music to the ears of any business!

Bravo to the organizers of Diva Night and especially to Vino 100, which served as the event headquarters both before and after the walk. Here’s hoping there will be many more Diva Nights to come!

Next time, I think we’ll just do lunch.

It all started about a year ago. My grade school friend, Margie, and I were trading e-mails at the end of the 2007 baseball season.

“Tell the Brewers to stop winning!” she pleaded.

“Not a chance,” I replied.

“Next summer, we should go to a game in Milwaukee,” she suggested.

At that point, I should have politely declined and offered to meet her at Six Flags. I hate roller coasters, but even that would have been more fun than yesterday.

Thursday afternoon, I took Margie to the Brewers’ game. I refuse to call it a Cubs’ game even though the crowd was at least 80% Chicago fans. (It was a day game. Don’t these people have jobs?!)

A month ago, this outing seemed like a very bad idea.

Last weekend, it seemed like a great idea.

Monday – less great.

Tuesday – um, well….

Wednesday – oh no!

Still, this was my old friend who I hadn’t seen in a long time. We grew up together on the north side of Chicago. We wore the same ugly plaid uniforms at St. Mary of the Woods grade school. We sat at our high school lunch table together. Back then, Margie made green Rice Krispy treats for everyone’s birthday. We’d catch up on old times and she’d make it fun, right?

When we entered Miller Park, Margie and I apparently looked like an odd couple. She in her Cubs’ t-shirt and hat and me in my really cool Brewers’ jersey. (I now hate the fact that this jersey just happens to be Cubbie blue. Dang it!) The Miller Park employees and vendors shot me pitiful glances, as if to say: “I’m sorry. Did you lose a bet or something?”

I knew it would be tough, but I never expected the force and number of Cubs’ fans that I encountered at Thursday’s game. I felt like the proverbial salmon swimming upstream against the tide of giant “Cs” and Chicago apparel. But I hung on to the hope that MY home team could send them back to Illinois, crestfallen and sorely disappointed. Alas, that was not to be.

At first the game looked like it could be a fair contest, until the home runs started…the Cubs’ home runs. Margie would clap loudly, stand up and then bend over and say: “I’m sorry!” “No you’re not,” I’d reply with a false grin hiding my grim demeanor.

And then the text messages started rolling in. First it was Margie’s sister: “Hey! The Brewers just traded CC and Sheets for Santo! Edmunds rocks!” Then it was our grade school friend, Liz, who sat with a bus-full of flatlanders in the nosebleed section. “Sorry for the delay in my response to your last message. I was distracted by the GRAND SLAM!”

Man, this was a very bad idea.

In the middle of the 8^th inning, when I could no longer sit and watch the massacre, I suggested that we wander up to visit Liz and her friends. Great idea, right? How much worse could things get?

My jersey and I walked up the steep steps into their section and I was greeted by a rousing chorus of boos and jeers as I valiantly waved my newly acquired Brewers’ car flag. This emboldened group, fueled by victory and alcohol, questioned my allegiances, my heritage and my ability to cheer for a team from Milwaukee.

“The Cubs never did anything for me when I lived there,” I started.

“I’ve lived here longer than I lived in Chicago,” I continued.

“They built me a stadium!,” I finally added, somewhat desperately. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” They agreed and said they really, really liked Miller Park. I would too if I were them.

Then they made feeble attempts to console me: “Karen, this will be great. The Cubs will win the division. The Brewers will win the wild card and then the Cubs will win the World Series. Everybody’s happy!” Um, sure. You did well in logic class in college, didn’t you pal?

Finally, it ended. Margie and I waded through the Cubs’ merchandise, the stupid Cubs’ victory songs and the “W” flags (apparently their fans need single-letter explanations for the outcome of a game – perhaps the Tribune sports page is too complicated?) And of course there were the brooms. Yes, we know. You swept us. Now go home. Your mommy needs to clean up the kitchen.

In the end, I’m a die-hard Brewers’ fan. There’s no turning back. The truth is, I’m jealous of their over-the-top euphoria. I’d like to think that we Milwaukeeans would handle it a little less obnoxiously, but I don’t really know that. All I really do know is that there’s only one way to stop this humiliation – just win baby.

In the meantime, Margie and I will stick to lunch….or roller coasters.