Snapshots from a drive home from work while listening to the new Ween album, which is fantastic if you like Ween, and I do:
Three shiny balloons trapped in the branches of a tree above a baseball diamond.
A long strip of aluminum foil tumbling like an acrobatic hallucination down the middle of LaSalle Avenue.
A shirtless man wearing a sombrero and laughing ecstatically while trotting along beside a prancing little dog outfitted (I’m guessing against its will) in a purple vest.
An old woman, holding a little girl’s hand at a street corner, bending down to clearly hiss something in the girl’s ear, and then whacking her on the head with what appeared to be a Bible.
A fireman dozing off in a lawn chair in front of a fire station.
An awkward young woman alternately lurching and tip-toeing along on roller blades.
A teenage boy sucking a hickey into his girlfriend’s neck at a bus stop bench.
Mormons on mountain bikes, poking through things at a garage sale.
A pitiable spectacle involving an ancient hunchbacked man and a microwave oven he was apparently trying to carry home.
Two hearses lined up at the entrance to a senior citizen center.
A man I recognized as my old friend Clammy Reese, wearing threadbare golf togs and toting a bag of clubs, standing at a busy intersection with a sign that read: “Indulge me, why don’t you? Winter’s coming and green fees ain’t free. God bless you, I guess.”
A sandwich shop with this modest slogan painted on the window: “The Best Sandwiches We Know How To Make –That’s A Promise!”
Hundreds of geese in a supermarket parking lot, from the looks of things holding some kind of meeting, probably having to do with a planned trip south. Do geese in fact fly south for the winter? I don’t know why they wouldn’t.
An inexplicable billboard: “Music is Not a Priority in Unhappy Lives.”
An morose-looking young mother watching her two children burying themselves in the playground sand, and thinking (or so I imagined): “Deeper.”
A prosthetic arm covered with gilt and pink Swarovski crystals. A photograph of a suburban treehouse whose tree is being dismantled. A line — nothing more, nothing less — that runs across the gallery floor, busts through a floor-to-ceiling window and, thus liberated, continues through the city to … well, you go follow it and find out (note – you’ll be walking for upwards of an hour). These works, by 
Finally, a book about feminism that doesn’t resort to the counter-productive tradition of pitting generations against each other, rather than exploring a cohesive development. 
Whenever the question of journalistic objectivity emerges, 
The Madision Square Garden renovation in New York. The Daniel Patrick Moynihan Station in New York. The Israel Museum in Jerusalem. The Smithsonian National Portrait Museum expansion in Washington, D.C. The Gucci Ginza building in Tokyo, Japan. The Luminous Pier in Chattanooga, Tennessee. The American University of Beirut in Lebanon. The Reflective Clerestory Sculpture in our very own General Mills Atrium. These are all designs by 
The Parkway’s Monday night film noir series continues this evening with one of my all-time favorites, 
When 
