A news story to mourn the loss of Gary Fisher, my bike

Greetings friends,

Working together, my classmates Becki Brandt and Shea Whittle and I wrote an article for our journalism class yesterday. We were assigned to cover crime in the Edgewater and Andersonville neighborhoods of Chicago, and decided to focus our reporting on bike theft (isn't that fitting considering what happened to me Tuesday?).

For those of you who are wondering why reporting on bike theft would be fitting, check out my previous blog. Someone snatched my bike in the middle of the day while I was in class. (Tear, sniff, tear). Fortunately, friends and family have been supportive: My girlfriend's dad even offered to fix up her old bike so I can use it! How kind of an offer is that?


Windy City Bike Thefts

Be on alert for bike burglars. Chicago is the No. 2 city in America most susceptible to bike theft, according to a 2009 study by bike lock manufacturer Kryptonite Corp.

George Vrechek, a member of the Chicago Cycling Club for nine years, says though he lives in a safe neighborhood, he worries about bike theft.

“I don’t lock [my bike] up, I keep it between my legs,” Vrechek said. “If I’m on top of it, it can’t disappear.”

Since 2006, there has been an increase annually in the number of bike thefts in the 20th District, which covers Edgewater and Andersonville. Last year, the highest number of stolen bikes was reported in the beat 2013, which comprises the area between Clarke and Sheridan, and Lawrence and Peterson, according to 20th District Beat Team Sgt. Jeffrey Sacks.

Bike thefts traditionally go up in the summer, Sacks said. The 20th District receives the highest number of reported bike thefts during the months of June, July and August.

“[Bike thieves] just drive around in vans and do it in broad daylight,” Sacks said, referring to how easy it is for bikes to get stolen.

Chicago residents who have their bike stolen can report it to the Chicago Stolen Bike Registry online. Since its 2004 launch, the registry has managed 1440 bike theft reports from city residents. Of those bikes reported, 1.18 percent of them were recovered.

Police can only return a stolen bike if the owner has properly registered the bike with local authorities---providing a detailed description of the bike is not sufficient. Bikes can be registered with the National Bike Registry and the Chicago Police online and by mail.

Organizations around Chicago are taking a more active role to prevent bicycle theft by providing bike valet services. Wrigley Field has a free valet program, as well some local festivals such as this year’s Pitchfork Music Festival and Movies at the Park.

Other major cities are also making efforts to roll back the trend of increasing bike thefts. According to a recent NY Times report, Boston and San Francisco are among cities implementing new technology to try and curb bicycle thefts. Police mount concealed transmitters on bikes and catch burglars using the GPS device. Also, bicyclists are using social networking sites like Twitter and Facebook to alert friends of a stolen bike.

However, the most effective way to prevent bike theft is to secure your bike and register it with the city.

peace and take care friends,

your friend bob.

I want to ride my bicycle (but can't)

Greetings friends,

I’m back to being a bipedal commuter, for the time being. That’s because some nimrod(s) decided to steal my bike Tuesday. Recently, I had found the right gear pedaling to my journalism classes at Northwestern and listening to podcasts from media magnificos like the British Broadcasting Company, the Wall Street Journal and National Public Radio. While I still have my earphones and iPod nano, I have been stripped of enjoying the pairing of pedaling and podcast. My bike ride north to class provided me with much needed exercise and also a picturesque scene of Lake Michigan en route to Evanston. Now I will be stuck on a Chicago Transit Authority train with angry, tired commuters who don’t really want to make eye contact for fear they might have to make small talk before the workday begins. I don’t blame them really. My bike ride offered an escape from the awkwardness that is a CTA train at 8 a.m. in the morning, a mass transit of men and women wearing mostly suits and business attire. Thanks to bike buccaneers, I will be alongside business people riding to real jobs, in my sophisticated...err...sloppy wardrobe.

On my bike rides, I had time to breath and feel the wind and pedal and catch up with news. Now, I’ll be feeling the breath of the stranger close to me on a train that is probably overcrowded due to the city’s cutback in the train schedule.

But there is hope that my bike will live on. It had a name. Gary Fischer. It had a distinct color: blue. Finally, it had really amazing tires that rolled whenever I pedaled. Gary Fischer was a traveling companion, a friend who accompanied me to Northwestern, waited for me at the bike rack, and then, suddenly, good ole’ Gary vanished.

I hope whoever stole Gary reads this blog and feels bad enough to return my bike to me. Hoodlums have hearts---I pray they look inside and realize that stealing is bad for their soul. Just ask St. Augustine. The dude felt terrible after stealing a peach when he was a child. I feel bad even when I steal something as simple as cereal from my roommates. When I got home the night of the bike theft, I felt obliged to notify my roommate Arthur that I was going to steal his Frosted Flakes (Side note: they were Grrrreat). My justification for pouring a bowl: it was a family size box, and we belong to a little family of four in our four-person apartment. The cereal-steal is probably not the most relevant detail to include in this story---what is probably more amusing to you is that my bike was stolen.

There are several ironic correlations between what is going on in my life and the bike theft. An hour before I realized my bike was stolen I had signed up to run the 2010 Chicago Marathon. So perhaps, I reasoned, the bike theft is a sign that I ought to just start training the old fashioned way: by running everywhere.

The second, probably more comical ironic twist: Wednesday my class assignment is to write a 500-word article on crime in an assigned Chicago neighborhood. My group was assigned Andersonville, a neighborhood just south of my neighborhood, Edgewater. Had the assignment been a more general piece on crime in the area, I could have whipped up a little feature on having your bike stolen on a private university in the middle of the day.
(However, this blog is already nearly 600 words, so I would have already failed the assignment and received what my journalism school, Medill, calls the dreaded ‘Medill F’).

Oh well…the moral of the story is clear enough: purchase a solid bike lock (mine was shoddy at best, and sometimes didn’t lock properly).

Also, be flexible and open to change. Every person (just like my personified bike Gary) is a gift-on-loan. We value his or her company but we also realize that there might come a point when he or she is no longer with us. While this final part of my story really does spin (pun intended) in a different direction, it is not an absolute wipe out. If 17th century Dutch Jewish philosopher Baruch Spinoza is right, then we are all One, and maybe even Gary is hanging out on a thief-proof bike rack in Heaven, waiting for me to have a chance to climb the saddle once more. I only hope that his seat has a feather-soft cushion and his tires are a bit more inflated. Then I know I will have reached Heaven.

peace and keep pedaling,

your friend bob.

Brewing a Dream

There is this coffee shop near my apartment that, effective July 1, will offer free Wi-Fi to its faithful customers. I am ecstatic, and if you could see me now you would see a Sarah Palin smile waiting to sip a cup of Joe while wassailing on the World Wide Web at this local coffee shop.

I would give the name of the java joint I'm referring to, but it is probably irrelevant, especially if you do not live in the Edgewater neighborhood of Chicago. But, as a budding journalism student, I feel inclined to write a story that includes detail. Plus, I might as well give you the name of the place, in case you ever, for some strange reason, find yourself in my neighborhood. The coffee shop is named "Starbucks," after a Mr. Starbuck, from what I understand.

Starbucks is a few blocks north of where I live and thus just outside Edgewater’s boundaries. In fact, it is located in the diverse and lively Rogers Park neighborhood, or “Mr. Roger’s neighborhood,” as I call it when I am feeling especially pun-happy. I spent three years embedded in Rogers Park as a student of Loyola University Chicago, as well as a frequent customer at Starbucks. The staff---collectively known as baristas---is generally friendly enough, serving me a house blend called “Pike Place Roast.” Digression---I sometimes mix up the name of the roast, calling it “Pike’s Peak Roast,” for some strange reason pluralizing Pike---as if it is the name of some guy---and then substituting “Peak” for “Place” because the phrase “Pike’s Peak” comes to mind before “Pike Place.” End of stream of conscious digression. This is, of course, neither here nor there for you if you have never visited Rogers Park and the coffee shop I am talking about, Starbucks.

On the eve of Starbuck’s Wi-Fi unveiling, I plotted an awesome article where I plant myself firmly in Starbucks the morning of July 1 and partake in the party before biking north to Northwestern for my 9 a.m. journalism class. But nothing happens in this future story---I just sit and surf the web and invest in Starbuck’s future, sip by sip. I do hope the owners of Starbucks considers opening other locations so that people reading this who don’t live near Rogers Park can still enjoy the luxury of free Wi-Fi and a latte from Starbucks. It is a gem of an offer from a coffee shop that provides pleasant coffee 85% of the time, a solid atmosphere, and cards that offer customers a free music download on iTunes (though I have yet to find out how to actually access a Starbucks free music download---if only Starbucks was a chain coffee shop with more corporate organization and advertising I could maybe take advantage of its promotions. Oh well---there is always time for Starbucks to establish itself as a corporation).

If Starbucks does ever decide to go big, I think it should really go for it. This coffee shop thing might just make it here in the states. I suggest Mr. Starbuck should not just limit himself to opening up a few more branches on the north side of Chicago---no, no, no. Starbucks has more stars in its future than that. What I envision is a really powerful coffee shop. With the right business model, Starbucks could operate a dozen locations throughout Chicago by the end of next year. By 2015, if Starbucks plays its cards right, I think it could spread its brew throughout the Midwest. Don’t laugh---but by 2020, I think Starbucks could even open up an International storefront. I am not suggesting that Starbucks be so bold as to express its espresso in Italy or France or Brazil---it would be way too difficult for the Rogers Park coffee shop to compete in countries where coffee is a religion.

Starbucks should probably start small and branch out to Toronto or another Canadian city. I would say Starbucks could try its luck in Vancouver (British Columbia is beautiful and trendy I hear), but that would require it to have an established base in the Northwest already. Seattle has enough coffee shops---for instance, think of how popular Seattle’s Best Coffee is (the blend served in Subways during the breakfast sandwich time of the day). With a name that includes “Best,” it would be damn near impossible for Starbucks to compete. On name alone, I would certainly choose Seattle’s Best Coffee over Starbucks. Sometimes I even think I should say something to the owner of Starbucks and tell him the name of his coffee shop is not catchy enough to mocha money (make money). But I don’t want to make the guy feel bad---I am sure he is way too busy trying to run a little business to listen to the two cents of a college student who barely tips the baristas two cents after they optimistically pour him a Pike’s Peak…I mean "Pike Place Roast." (Mr. Starbuck found a way to trademark his brew, which is a brilliant, forward-thinking move for an entrepreneur to make).

On second thought, you can keep the name of your store as is, Mr. Starbuck. You actually have a pretty original last name. Maybe one day your coffee shop will be a star that indeed turns a profit, making you a buck or two.

My final word of advice for Starbucks is to look at every small growth as a victory for the company. Do not dream too vast a dream, thinking you can open up 5,886 stores worldwide anytime in the near future. I like to dream to, but I understand it is generally slow growth that marks real progress. Also, try to stay clear of illusions of Wall Street, and a company volume of 17 million (that would be staggering for a coffee shop, wouldn't it?). Instead, set your sites on a realistic goal. Go for the gold you can get---brew ten lattes an hour and make enough money to hire an extra barista. I know Mr. Starbucks, from the little I do know about you, you are a philanthropist at heart. That's noble, but before you give an extensive portion of your earnings to charities or developing countries, or establish some kind of Starbucks Foundation (a theoretical non-profit organization you want to establish), first aim to make enough money per month to pay rent to your grouchy Rogers Park landlord.

I can’t wait until Starbucks finally has enough capital to open up more locations. It would be grande to return to my hometown of Milwaukee and enjoy a cup of Starbucks while surfing the web for free. What’s next? After a cup of coffee and a pleasant morning buzz, anything seems possible.

Alas, here is the real deal on Starbucks plan to offer free Wi-Fi and other features to stoke up customers (the joke is officially over):

NY TIMES STARBUCKS ARTICLE

My Labor Story Abridged

It’s my birthday I can blog if I want to.

Greetings friends,

I turn twenty-two years old at approximately 3 pm central standard time today. Currently, I’m gliding back to Chicago on an Amtrak train; we are approaching the station (I only have about five minutes to spit out a blurb before I am no longer able to say I’m on the train…and I really want this blog to be genuine. Inevitably though, by the time I actually post this, I will have already excited the train and train station, making the content of this blog archaic). If only I had Wi-Fi EVERYWHERE I go.

Searching my mind for a story with spirit…nothing jumps out immediately. Perhaps I should share a short anecdote about the day I was born. This is approximately (but not really) how my mother tells the story:

She was in labor. She knew I was kicking and screaming to make my way into this world---I had apparently had it with my nine month stint in her womb. My mom called her doctor June 18 1988 in the morning, but I guess he had the day off. Her doctor told her that the contractions probably didn’t mean that I would come that day---he said to wait on it and that I would come out later in the week. Plus, the doctor apparently had to mow his lawn (to this day I like mowing lawns…connection?).

Anyways, it is now midday June 18 1988 in this story. My mother and father rush to the hospital; my brother stays with our Aunt Pearl who conveniently lived next door to my parents at the time and welcomed the idea of babysitting seven year old Bill. I am still in the womb (though somehow typing on a blog twenty-two years later, reflecting on this day). From this point on, the story becomes a blur. I escape the womb and start screaming and feeling all gooey. A nurse holds me and presents me to my mom. I am still crying---maybe I smile a bit?---but I am free! Still, when my mother clutches me in her arms and rocks me back and forth, I know that I am loved. Thanks for putting up with incredible labor pains mom! And thanks for the care you will provide for me (remember it is still June 18, 1988).

This story is finished because I have arrived at Union Station in Chicago. I hope you enjoyed this little ramble from me to you.

Wishing you peace within and without today,

Bob.

Stanley Cup Spirit in Chicago

Greetings friends,

After watching a spirit-filled World Cup match between South Africa and Mexico at ING Direct Café near Chicago Ave and State Street, I casually sauntered south toward Michigan and Wacker later Friday morning. My girlfriend had informed me earlier of the massive Blackhawks parade that would swamp the city (she didn’t tell me it would swamp the city). Liberal estimates put the crowd at nearly two million–––at the very least, hundreds of thousands of fans made it out to the parade. Some people were rowdy, others were more mild and reserved, but almost everyone in attendance was star struck, captivated by a group of talented young men who earn a living playing hockey and making so many Chicagoans ecstatic.

From my view across the river outside the Tribune tower I stood a block and a river away from the main attractions, the Blackhawks and Stanley Cup. Over a million Blackhawks fans joined me, crowding the streets near Michigan and Wacker and extending a radius from at least several blocks in all directions and hundreds of feet high. I'm referring to those fans who stuck their heads out of local office buildings and apartment high rises to witness the parade.

The weather cooperated insofar as the rain held off–––but the humidity pestered the standing crowd. I overheard one fan say, “It’s beastly out here.”

Still fans wanted a piece of the action and were willing to endure the muggy, sticky-hot conditions for a chance to see their favorite NHL team hoist the Stanley Cup.

“If the Stanley Cup goes by here, I’m not gonna miss it this time,” a middle-aged man said while holding his manual focus camera over his head to gain a better view.

People used various photo taking devices to capture the moment. Some people snapped pictures with cell phones, others created images using wallet-sized digital cameras, and still others utilized more traditional manual focus cameras–––the type of camera that seem to most intimately capture photographic moments.

When the city busted out the tickertape, I knew we were in for a special celebration circa old black and white footage of World War II veterans returning from Europe to a sea of screaming loved ones. From Towes to Chelios to Kane to Seabrook, people in the streets advertised nearly every Blackhawks player.

Climactic, Batman-esque music echoed north my way from the stage on Michigan and Wacker. For a second I thought I was sitting in line waiting for a rollercoaster ride at Six Flags theme park. A loud boat horn bombed our eardrums right after the singing of our national anthem. The horn sounded like the post-goal horn that floods the United Center during Blackhawks games.

During the presentation part of the parade, a man tried to make a mad dash down the Michigan Avenue Bridge. Cops immediately handcuffed the excessive fan.

I interviewed a man while standing in a smaller crowd watching from a distance the conclusion of the parade ceremony. The middle-aged, Hawks-jersey wearing man, Don More, was markedly passionate about his Blackhawks and about the potential effect they might have on young people. Don was only seven-years-old the last time the Stanley Cup came to Chicago. He remembers the victory inspired him and many of his friends to take up hockey as a hobby. The 1961 Blackhawks victory “encouraged even more kids to play hockey,” More said.

More praised the young Blackhawks team for keeping their cool and staying focused enough to “get the job done” during the often tense moments of Stanley Cup finals play.

He hopes that more people will be able to watch future Blackhawks games. Currently, home games are blacked out. He sees this as detrimental to maintaining a sizable fan base.

More offered a “Field of Dreams” kind of philosophy for controlling access to Blackhawks games: “Open it up to people and people will come,” More said.

There has been talk among avid National Hockey League commentators and fans alike that this young Blackhawks team could form a Bulls-like dynasty for years to come if they stay together and continue to skate and shoot in harmony. “I’d like to see them build a dynasty,” More said.

But More did voice one concern: “The only thing holding them back is the salary cap,” More said. If the players decide that a dynasty is what they desire, More thinks it is not inconceivable to see all or most of them cooperate and take small salary cuts to keep together a unit that won the 2010 Stanley Cup in an impressive six games.

Here is an article from Chicago Now that considers how the Blackhawks can keep enough of their players to continue contending for years to come.

After talking with More, I wandered around a little bit to look for someone else to interview. My wandering proved unsuccessful. Still, I managed to get one dedicated fan’s perspective on the Blackhawks.

Before my downtown parading ended, I, along with the rest of the crowd, received a final surprise ending to the festivities: fireworks soared through the air and sounded as loud as canons; they were lit a short distance from where I stood near the Michigan Ave. bridge.

The playing of “Chelsea Dagger,” a song written and performed by the British band called The Fratelli’s cued me that it was time to leave the parade. The song became a theme song for the Hawks this season (read more from ESPN.com). I heard a man on the street sarcastically humming the song as I walked down Michigan Ave. Though the song was catchy after the first hundred or so listens, I could not help but chuckle to myself, agreeing with the sarcastic man on the street: I hope the Blackhawks choose a different theme in their quest for the 2011 Stanley Cup.

peace and Go Hawks!

bob.

Mandela Message, World Cup Begins

Greetings friends,

Football fans and players are kicking and screaming in Johannesburg and around the world. The World Cup is underway!

(image from BBC Sports)

I found a link on BBC Sports this morning of a video featuring Nelson Mandela's voice dubbed over music and video images from South Africa. His message was clear: he envisions a nation where black and white South Africans can live together in harmony, a “rainbow nation” at peace with itself and the world.

“We shall build a society in which all South Africans, both black and white, will be able to walk tall, without any fear in their hearts, assured of their inalienable right to human dignity,” Nelson says in the video.

Click here and scroll down the page (midway down, right corner) to view the entire Mandela video.

From an economic and organizational standpoint, a successful World Cup will go a long way to prove that South Africa and the continent of Africa can successfully host an event as massive as the World Cup. This is the first World Cup played in Africa.

FIFA president Sepp Blatter is confident the World Cup will be a success.

In the above BBC article, Blatter said, "Everywhere, one can feel, I hope, that this World Cup is very special, the first on African soil. We find ourselves in a position of indescribable anticipation."

There is unfortunately an incredibly tragic fact from the BBC Sports story that makes Friday June 11 bittersweet: Nelson Mandela did not actually attend the opening ceremony because he was at the funeral of his thirteen-year-old great-granddaughter. She died in a car crash on Thursday, driving home from a pre-World Cup concert of all things. The family tragedy comes at a time when Mandela’s country is celebrating the years of struggle black South Africans like Mandela endured to achieve a position of political freedom.

***

Me (Bob) reflecting on the World Cup, Mandela's loss...

As I was sitting in a coffee shop in downtown Chicago watching the opening ceremonies and sipping on a $1.00 cup of coffee (thank you ING Direct Café!), a thought came to my mind. It might be cliche, but...Moments like the opening ceremony of the World Cup, or the opening ceremony of the Olympics prove that nations can indeed transcend rifts and differences, if even for a short period in time. I felt content and a bit reflective watching the end of the World Cup ceremony, knowing I was mysteriously connected somehow to the millions of other people around the world watching the same game. I thought of my college friend Francisco now living back in his hometown, Guadalajara Mexico; his country played South Africa in the inaugural game of the Cup (and tied the host country 1 to 1). I imagined myself in Mexico, watching the game with Francisco and his friends, perhaps sipping a Corona and cheering on players who represent the collective hope of millions of people.

Yet, I also can't help but reflect on the tragedy that hit the Mandela family this past week, only days before the World Cup. The car crash that killed the thirteen year old Mandela girl makes me uncomfortably aware that amidst every moment of intense celebration there exists the possibility of incredible pain. Imagine what Nelson Mandela is going through right now, the inner stirrings of a man who is probably overjoyed to see some of the fruits of his remarkable labor, and yet at a loss, coping with the death of a granddaughter who had so much more life in front of her. The tension of life, the drama that simply comes with living, manifests itself in an especially haunting way when someone dies young.

Tomorrow, I plan to watch England and the United States face off in each country's respected first round World Cup match. As much as I know I should cheer for the United States, I have a special place in my heart for the English---I spent for weeks in that country last summer living near Liverpool and Manchester bumming around Britain (I also did a week of volunteer work in between leisurely living). So I may very well drink a pint tomorrow and care little about what team actually wins the game, instead basking in the realization that millions of other people are also participating in some way in a spirit-filled sporting event. We just have to watch out for those rowdy Manchester fans---they might become spirit-filled after drinking too many spirits.

Enjoy (responsibly) watching the World Cup if you plan on doing so. And perhaps keep in mind the step forward this year’s Cup symbolizes for the host nation.

Nelson Mandela’s final words in the World Cup video offer a message of hope for future South African generations (and for generations from all nations and cultures who seek to work toward peace). He says, “The sun shall never set on so glorious a human achievement.”

It is my hope that our world can continue to experience those metaphorical sunny skies Mandela describes–––and also my prayer that Nelson Mandela and his family will be filled with peace in this most bittersweet moment, one of triumph for South Africa and one of incredible loss in the Mandela family. May his great-granddaughter Zenani smile along with her family in a place filled with the peace Mandela has worked so tirelessly for in this life.

Cheers and peace,

Bob.