Mink, no jacket

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I did not take this picture. In science news this week, the scientist in our family, who is running a bunch of camera traps around rural upstate New York, came up with this, a snap of an American mink taking the air.

I regard this as an amazing photo.  It gives you a pretty good look at the distinctive white patch on the mink’s chin.  This is the first time I’ve seen a mink in the wild that is not running very fast while carrying some wiggly little prey in its jaws. Mink prefer to be nocturnal, yet here is this fine fellow hanging out in the daylight – given the time of year, very possibly looking for love.

I understand that this particular spot is a regular wild animal highway – the same camera trap has revealed masses of possums all marching in line, crowds of blue jays, huge-eyed deer who point their arrogant dumb supermodel faces right at the lens: that’s right, every side is my best side.

You know how lovely mink coats look? How soft and glossy the fur is?  Those long guard hairs, and then the plush underhairs and the rich mahogany color of the whole.  Beautiful fur, and it looks ever so much better on a live mink.

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Won’t you be my walleye

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The boarded-up storefront by the Logan Square El stop has become a marquee for all sorts of communications – mostly handbills about band concerts and gallery openings, but also lost pets, I Saw Yous, hey loser – take this skeevy job!, Compramos Oro.

And pasteups too.  This is the latest one, taken early this morning, with the sunlight shining down Milwaukee Avenue in a hard straight line.  Look at that face: huge, flat, harsh. Fitting for a Thursday that I wish was a Friday.

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Panic Button Monday definitely did not invite this squirrel

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Every time I push the Panic Button, this shows up.

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Snowing, but I don’t have to think about it

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We are buckling down for a messy, icy storm. I left the office early, a thing almost unheard of, slogging from the train through a few inches of slush and ice. I wanted to get home before things fell below freezing, and even so the trip had its moments.

Now we are home, hunkered down, cooking a vast pot of chili and compulsively reading articles about disaster readiness and the blizzard pointing straight at New England.

So I feel like it’s the right time to show this photo, which I took on a summer night last June in downtown Detroit. All of downtown was just lit up. Some private event at the ballpark kept unpredictably firing off lots of great big fireworks. The streets were thronged – people going to restaurants and clubs, people out for a walk. The People Mover was rushing carloads of people around; people were staring covetously in the windows of glittering shops that had not existed six months before; couples were walking hand in hand; and as we got out of the car we saw that the Opera House had something going on outside, something big and blingy, this: the runway show Walk, highlighting Detroit’s diverse fashion community.

We hung on the fence for a while to watch the whole spectacle – beautiful people of many shapes, sizes and ages, showing interesting clothes before an appreciative, sophisticated audience. The night air was warm and soft. I never thought I would say these words about my home town, but all of downtown just seemed glamorous and forward.

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Today’s Panic Button Monday is not brought to you by the letters B, C, and I

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Every time I push the panic button, this shows up.

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We can care for each other anywhere

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This graffito just appeared under a rail viaduct on Addison. It’s new, but the idea of using the viaducts for mass communication is not – there they are on busy city streets, relatively protected from the elements, seen by thousands every hour.

I love the sharp contrast of this whole event: the stark black spray paint, the cold wall, the mute equipment boxes, and then this, this soft and intimate phrase.

To whoever did this: thanks, stranger.

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Not so secret

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The other night we went to a wonderful pop-up dinner held by Tuesday Night Dinner – this one at the No Sandbox gallery here in Chicago.  I had never been in that gallery before.  It’s on the 4th floor of a tall old rehabbed building on Racine street, and when you climb all the way upstairs, at the far side of the gallery, through the crowd, you see a few little stairs and a small door. Tuesday, it was warm enough to go up those little stairs and outside, without a coat!, to the rooftop deck, and take in this unobstructed view of the Loop all cloaked in rainclouds. Every single person there said the same thing I did: I want to live here.

Some underground, secret, traveling restaurants are dull – the food is refined and beautifully made, but the menus are pretty much stuff you could get at, well, non-secret, immobile restaurants.  Tuesday Night Dinner always is unique. This latest one paid homage to Chicago immigrants. “Czech me out” boar loin with red cabbage; Hen of the Woods Vesuvio, everything sourced from some of the more obscure ethnic markets around town and then put together in fascinating ways. The smash hit for me was “desi tacos”- little roti served taco-style with a zippy, intense chana chaat and shards of lamb breast.

Standing in that beautiful open space, surrounded by great conversationalists and good art, meeting new people and enjoying precise, excellent food, I felt wrapped up in a wonderful sense of sheer well being.  Life is beautiful if you know where to look.

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But first Panic Button Monday will master algebraic surfaces, supersymmetry and the art of rope twirling

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Every time I push the panic button, this shows up.

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I wish I were

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9591 Iris had a crowded calendar this weekend, what with the usual errands, an urgent need to do time at the gym (made more so because of satisfying a huge craving for beer and a burger), and then serious prep for the coming ice storm (now in shivery, creepy progress).  But near the top of the list was a visit to see the above, the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile.

When the Wienermobile comes to your town, you should take time to go see it, because Wienermobile.  There have been many models of Wienermobile over the years, roaming these United States to advertise hot dogs and appeal to the American delight in whimsy. We drove out to an unfamiliar and far-away neighborhood see it even though its Saturday appearance was at It Which Shall Not Be Named, the megastore we never enter because its business model is just plain evil.

But, the Wienermobile.  One of the nice things about this adventure was seeing the way it made people happy.  Everyone who looked at it smiled, and many people walked past it into the store, then turned right around and came out, smiling even more, to take a picture.  It just speaks to everyone, and not in an ironic or snarky way. Whatever you, or I, think about factory farming or nitrates or It Which Shall Not Be Named, the Wienermobile is still an ambassador from a world where everyone is courteous, and respects each other, and enjoys the simple, honest pleasures.

Here’s the jingle, by the way.

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The pretty good day

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These days, every American museum of art with an even vaguely contemporary collection must have a Richter of its own.  Here is the Milwaukee Art Museum, a few days back, with a big splendid Richter that gets an entire wall to itself.  But, while your 9591 iris was delighted to see this big beauty, that’s not why she was there.

Visiting a good regional museum opens the world in ways that the major institutions cannot.  Chicago, MoMA, the Musée d’Orsay are stuffed to the gills with the greats.  But when you visit the smaller, more modest museums, that’s when you learn about the artists who may not have won the superfame jackpot but were instrumental in moving art ahead.

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This is “The Green House, Murnau,” by Gabriele Münter, one of the foremost avant garde painters of her time and almost unknown to most of us today – a founder, along with Kandinsky and Franz Marc, of The Blue Rider, and one of the very few pushing, hauling, leading art ahead from impressionism into expressionism. Milwaukee has quite a few of her pieces, and beyond that it is just generally a swell place to expand your understanding of the modern life of art. I walked out in a state of happy exhaustion.

A tour like that, plus a wood-fired pizza or a few oysters at the Public Market, and you’ve had a pretty good day.

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