Time Out Chicago; Issue 217 : Apr 23–29, 2009

I wrote a few pieces for Time Out Chicago's recent "DIY issue," including an article about making your own deodorant (so cheap!) and another about teaching myself to sing that actually inspired me to start voice lessons at the Old Town School of Folk Music.

Time Out Chicago; Issue 209; Features; Polish drinking

....Also for the TOC Polish issue, I co-wrote an article on how to drink Polish. Nadrowie!

Time Out Chicago; Issue 209; Features; Polish-American essay

For Time Out Chicago's "Polish Issue," I wrote articles about growing up Polish-American in Chi-town and old-school versus new-school Polish Chicago.

Time Out Chicago; Issue 209; Features

I pitched a "Polish Issue" of Time Out Chicago that was published last week. In cahoots with that, I posted this at the Time Out Chicago blog: "TOC's Polish Roots are Showing"

Time Out Chicago; Issue 206; Feb 5, 2009

In Chicago, wintertime spa visits are crucial. For Time Out Chicago's Spas issue, I got to enjoy spa treatments and write about Lisette Paez, maestro nail-technician at the Four Seasons, plus spa-etiquette, and DIY spa treatments.

Time Out Chicago; Blog post; Jan 12, 2009, New Wave Coffee

I'm thrilled to have a new coffee shop in my 'hood, and posted about it on the TOC blog.

Obama in Grant Park

I attended the historic Obama rally in Grant Park last week and wrote a TOC blog post about it the next morning. (Mine is the last-and longest-post).

Time Out Chicago; Issue 178; July 24, Street Art

Features article about street artists: "Concrete canvas"
Features article; a street art tour: "Going, going, gone"
Features article; gang signs vs. street art: "Writing on the wall."

Time Out Chicago; Issue 163 : Apr 10–16, 2008

Time Out Chicago / Issue 163 : Apr 10–16, 2008

The scene

Hillary Clinton at the Civic Center in Hammond, Indiana, March 28, 2:32pm By Gretchen Kalwinski

Borderline state Most of Indiana votes Republican, but Northwest Indiana (a rust-belt region that calls itself a Chicago ’burb) is populated with blue collars and union Democrats. Due to the state’s increasingly important May 6 primary, Hillary Clinton planned a Gary, Indiana, stop; but after Gary Mayor Rudy Clay endorsed Obama, she rerouted her Hoosier Economy Tour to Hammond, mere miles from Obama’s South Side base. Bobby Kennedy was the last presidential candidate to visit Hammond, so thousands turned out with signage: NWI IS CLINTON COUNTRY and 2 FOR 1: HILLARY AND BILL: KEEPING THE DREAM ALIVE. Undeterred by Clinton’s posse being two hours late, the crowd ate concession-stand hot dogs and politely endured a high-school chorus’s Beatles/ Footloose medley during the wait. Clinton’s talk was crowd-appropriate: “It was from Northwest Indiana that so much of the steel came from that built this country;” “My campaign is about jobs, jobs, jobs.” She invoked Indiana Sen. Evan Bayh, rumored to be her potential VP, and Bush-bashed—“Won’t you be happy to see him walking out of the White House?”—while the crowd cheered wildly. One sign-holding mom scolded her daughter when she slumped back in her chair, saying, “This is history: Stand up!”

Time Out Chicago; Features; Polish bars

Time Out Chicago / Issue 157 : Feb 28–Mar 5, 2008

Global drinking | Poland

Warsaw packed: Vodka abounds as do bottles of Zywiec and Okocim. Na zdrowie!

By Gretchen Kalwinski

POLE POSITION Martini Club’s cold vodka and hot bartenders may make you a little lightheaded.

PHOTO: MIREYA ACIERTO

The Polish party spot Martini Club (4933 N Milwaukee Ave, 773-202-9444) nestles in the blue collar ’hood of Jefferson Park, but it’s attempting to draw an upscale, clubby crowd. Exhibit A: swank decor like gilded mirrors, a translucent bar lit up underneath by red lights, a DJ area near the front window, glowing red candles, leather booths, exposed brick, disco balls and laser lights. In a city that abounds with Polish shot-and-beer joints, this bar reaches out to those whose names may not end in ski while still retaining its Polish roots.

As is the custom for any Polish bar, the place is stocked with impossibly good-looking female bartenders (who understand just enough English to chat with non-Poles). Before 9pm, the joint’s littered with men buying drinks and watching the bartenders and whatever game is on the TVs; the mood is mellow, and occasionally someone uses the free Wi-Fi to type on his laptop.

Poles are a naturally suspicious people—hey, their country has been invaded a lot —so non-Poles may receive a standoffish reception. But once a drink is ordered and cash is out on the bar, bartenders get chatty and smilingly suggest vodka drinks from their menu. “You been here before?” one minidress-wearing bartender asks a man sporting an outfit and a baseball cap in the Polish flag colors of white and red. “You want me to tell you best drinks on menu?” He does.

Beer drinkers go for bottles of light, crisp Zywiec (ZHIV-yetz), or Okocim (oh-KO-chim) on draft, which tastes “cleaner and sharper” than the bottled stuff, according to one friendly old man who downs the traditional vodka shot before taking a sip of his beer. Another shot option: the gold-colored Krupnik ($3), a honey-lemon vodka infused with herbs. This stuff burns as it travels down the pipes, but many Polish bartenders (and grandmothers) tout it as a cold remedy; “It’ll kill whatever germs you’ve got,” says Mark (Marek in Polish), a first-generation Pole in his fifties whose parents met in a post-WWII relocation camp. He speaks Polish, “but not as well as I used to,” he says.

After a few drinks, Marek loosens up enough to try some Polish on the bartender, so he says “thank you,” “Dziekuje” (jane-KOO-yeh), and clinks glasses with his friend while reciting the traditional Polish toast, “Na zdrowie” (nah STROH-vyeh), which means “to your health.”

Soon there are signs the boisterous birthday party in the back booths threatens to take over the bar—the place is suddenly full of balloons, the TVs change from sports to European music videos and laser lights flash around the bar. “I’m out of here,” Marek says, laughing, and though the bartenders try to press another drink on him, he leaves to make more room for the young Poles, who are toasting, “Sto lat!” (“100 years”), to the birthday girl.

--------------------

Slow burn

Pick up our two favorite Polish vodkas.

PHOTO: SHMURA CAMPBELL

Zubrowka (joov-BROOV-ka), pictured, is an herby-tasting vodka infused with bison grass grown in Poland’s Biaowie forest; there’s a blade of it in each bottle, which gives the stuff a pleasing greenish-yellow color. Poles like to drink it with apple juice or cider. Get it for $4 per glass at My Place on Milwaukee (3394 N Milwaukee Ave, 773-286-4482).

For straight-up great-tasting vodka, go for the sharp, clean, no-aftertaste Wyborowa (veh-bo-ROW-va). It holds its own against Belvedere and Ketel One—but costs substantially less. Grab a 750ml bottle for $12.99 at Foremost Liquors (2300 N Milwaukee Ave, 773-278-9420).

SIMILAR SPOTS

Zakopane (1734 W Division St, 773-486-1559). The same old men have been drinking Polish beer and mid-range vodkas here since time began. Only now there’s an actual bathroom door instead of a sheet, an improvement made sometime in the late ’90s.

Cavalier Inn (735 Gostlin St, Hammond, IN, 219-933-9314). If you’re hitting traffic on the way back from Michiana, exit I-90 for reliable Polish drinks—Zywiec (beer), Zubrowka (bison-grass vodka) and jezynowka (blackberry brandy). Order some pierogi to soak up the booze before heading home.

Karolinka Club (6102 S Central Ave, 773-735-0818). This polka joint serves Tyskie, a popular lager often sweetened with raspberry or strawberry syrup.

Accent Café (700 N River Rd, Mount Prospect, 847-298-2233). On weekends, young Poles here drink the Polish flag shot—cherry juice with vodka.

Time Out Chicago; Issue 154 : February 7, 2008, Dating

Worst Firsts
An overeager cowboy. A man with a broken penis. A guy who gleefully recounts tales of his cocaine arrests. Readers went on terrible first dates with these freak shows so you don’t have to. Illustration by David Opie

• 

  Lonesome cowboy
  I took a ballroom-dancing class in college (long before the Dancing with the Stars craze). The only cute guy in class was also the best dancer, and since I was the best of the ladies—no great compliment, since most of our classmates couldn’t hold a beat to save their lives—we shot each other relieved looks when we occasionally wound up as partners. We didn’t talk much between rumbas, cha-chas and waltzes, but his tall, broad-shouldered physique wasn’t lost on me, nor his chivalrous demeanor, nor his Wranglers and gray T-shirts that fit oh-so-well. And damn, that guy could move his hips. After a particularly invigorating tango in one of the last classes, Brett asked me to dinner. When he walked up to the house that night, my roommates and I were on our screened-in front porch drinking mint juleps. They spotted him first—and their jaws dropped. We were used to grunge guys, and Brett had forgotten to mention that he was an actual cowboy (grew up in Montana; spent summers on a ranch), so his idea of ‘dressing up’ was a tucked-in checked shirt, huge belt buckle, cowboy boots and tight jeans. In 2008 Chicago, that’d be hot, but in 1997 Indiana, it was super embarrassing to be seen with him. We dined at an Irish pub, where my fears were confirmed: He was extra-Christian (I was going through an atheist phase), familycentric (I hated kids) and very sweet (only a bad-boy cowboy would’ve done the trick for me). I never called him back, not even after he left daisies and a sweet card on my porch. But Brett and I will always have tango.—Gretchen, Logan Square

Time Out Chicago; Features; Spas Issue

Time Out Chicago / Issue 155 : February 14, 2008 - February 20, 2008

• The spa issue
• This sunless, freezing weather is giving me a case of the grumps
• 
  
• 

  Meditation bath at Kaya Day Spa
  I had high hopes for this treatment’s ability to boost the serotonin levels that seasonal affective disorder depletes. It promises to “ground the mind and body” and “soak away the cares of the world” with the scents of sandalwood, pine and lavender. I was led into a private room with a huge bathtub, and crawled into the (already drawn) bath with 48 massaging water jets and colored lightbulbs that can be set to coordinate to your preferred mood: blue for serenity, red for creativity, etc. I chose orange (for energy) and I dug the idea until I started thinking I could easily create a similar experience for a lot less money in my own tub by plugging in colored Christmas lights nearby. Also, the sides of the tub were very high and very vertical, which forced me to sit upright—not terribly comfy. But I did emerge from this aromatherapeutic treatment relaxed, if not a tiny bit giddy. 30 minutes for $45.
  — Gretchen Kalwinski

• Acu-energetic therapy at exhale
  Since I’m a SAD sufferer and get lethargic and cranky in winter, any treatment that claims to produce “a sense of wonderful expansiveness and a profound state of peace” has me at hello. When I entered exhale (freezing, pissed at public transit), the staff gave me a robe and chamomile tea while I waited in the quiet room for my acupuncturist. She asked about my food cravings and energy levels; since I complained of insomnia and stress, she told me that my adrenal gland—which helps to regulate stress-managing chemicals—was overtaxed. To fix this, she inserted 15 needles into my forehead, wrists and feet, then pressed vibrating tuning forks to those points to “align my chi.” Outside, a friend waited in a warm car to drive me home. Who cares if it was the tea, quiet room, acupuncture or ride? At the end of the session, I truly felt happier. 60 minutes for $150.
  — Gretchen Kalwinski

Dry skin

• Death Valley’s got nothing on my parched skin
• 
  
• 

  SCRUB A DUB DUB The herbal body wrap at Chicago Male starts with exfoliation—all the better to get moisture into your skin.

  PHOTO: PATRICK SABLAN

  Remineralizing and moisturizing marine algae wrap at Allyu
  Unless I moisturize fiendishly during winter, my legs turn crocodile-esque, so I hoped this wrap would make up for all those times I jumped out of the shower and skipped body lotion. In the treatment room, the aesthetician dry-brushed my body with a rough loofah; applied an alpha-hydroxy and seaweed mixture to “draw out toxins”; and wrapped me in foil while she zapped zits using a “Tesla current” wand (surely Nikola Tesla never imagined his invention would be used for pimple popping, but the painless procedure did result in a clearer complexion). I felt relaxed afterward, sure, but was unconvinced my skin’s moisture level had improved. True, my man noticed my smooth legs, but that was just because I shaved (another thing I don’t usually bother with during winter). 60 minutes for $100.
  — Gretchen Kalwinski

Reflexology massage at the spa at the Four Seasons Hotel
This treatment, basically a fancy foot massage, purports to “enhance circulation and help balance body and mind.” With my general malaise, sleepiness and cold feet this time of year, I’ll take all the balancing I can get. While working on my tootsies, my therapist told me reflexology stems from the idea that every body part has a corresponding point on the feet, and if you activate those pressure points, you’re “working from the inside out” to restore balance. Afterward, I was led to a relaxation room to recline on silk pillows and feast on Champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries. There’s no question I felt relaxed and had warmer feet; all I want to know is, when can I move in? 25 minutes for $65.
—Gretchen Kalwinski

Time Out Chicago; Issue 146 : Dec 13, 2007, New Years

New Year's Eve
Toasts and jams
Whether 2007 brought you stock-market pain or new-baby pleasure, our dinner, party and morning-after options will help you ring in 2008 the right way—even if you’re an NYE hater.


Illustrations by Jude Buffum

Your year
You broke up—now hook up

Your relationship went up in flames just in time for NYE. Think you’re going to miss out on that stroke-of-midnight smooch? We don’t think so. The plan: Zone in on places that are sans snuggly couples and full of your type. Just try to pick one where you-know-who is unlikely to show up: 2008 is about a new batch of cuties, not drama, right?


NICE PIECE OF GLASS The Bottle Bar is a great place to make googly eyes at hotties.
Photo: Jessica Dixon

Your night
Dinner
Get some single friends together and go somewhere with close quarters or a communal environment. The proximity to your fellow diners, coupled with liquor, could get strangers talking, and if you’re lucky, touching. Even though it’s not presenting anything special for New Year’s and not taking reservations, small-plates haven Avec (615 W Randolph St, 312-377-2002) is a good choice: The tables are so close together, you’re practically seated in your neighbor’s lap. Wicker Park tapas joint People (1560 N Milwaukee Ave, 773-227-9339) will host an NYE dinner at $130 per person that includes four courses such as wild mushroom soup, duck breast with serrano ragout and a chocolate parfait. This spot also has a long communal table, great food and a young, friendly crowd—all crucial ingredients for a meal with possibilities, if you catch our drift.

Partytime
For the evening’s main event, you’re looking for booze aplenty and pretty people. And preferably not some cheeseball hotel bash hosted by middle-aged radio jocks that advertises itself as “the party of the year.” Not that we ever succumbed to that in high school or anything. Ahem. Chichi lounge krem (1750 N Clark St, 312-932-1750) hosts festivities for $125 that include high-end cocktails (Belvedere vodka and Veuve Clicquot) and hors d’oeuvres. Also up north, Lakeview’s Bottle Bar (950 W Wolfram St, 773-665-5660), which offers 99 different kinds of bottled brew, is having a “beer lovers” NYE bash and serving “only Gold Medal winners from the World Beer Cup” (everything from Chimay to Olde English). But never fear, beer haters: Bottle also will have an open bar with premium vodkas and rum. Both of these bashes will include all the elements—swank decor, great music, flowing liquor—to get the talky, sexy vibe going.

If these places sound too high-end for your down-homey tastes, and you’re wondering where the regular, jeans-wearing folks go for a drunken and raucous New Year’s bash, one answer (okay, maybe not the right answer) is the fete at Hogs and Honeys (1551 N Sheffield Ave, 312-377-1733). It might not be the classiest party in town, but it’s $50 per person and its motto—“Be yourself so you don’t have to go home by yourself”—seems apropos for your goal to hook up tonight. That ticket includes a buffet, an open bar, a Champagne toast and yes, darlings, bull rides. Hey, we didn’t say getting some one-night-stand action included maintaining your dignity.

Morning after
On the first morning of 2008, you’ll want to get both grub for your belly and candy for your eyes. HotChocolate (1747 N Damen Ave, 773-489-1747) delivers both. With its seasonally inspired fare like a scramble with in-season veggies and cinnamon-sugar eggs, combined with the cute, friendly singles who often sit at the bar, it’s hard to go wrong. Or try Orange (3231 N Clark St, 773-549-4400), which specializes in classic American egg dishes and fresh-squeezed juices. It also specializes in long waits, which can bring up natural topics for flirting (the ridiculous wait, the menu). If you got lucky and found a boy- or girl-toy on NYE, you can always eat in. Plan ahead by hitting Sweet Thang (1921 W North Ave, 773-772-4166) the day before. This bakery has some of the best, flakiest croissants around; we love the chocolate, almond, turkey and Swiss, and spinach varieties.—Gretchen Kalwinski

Hater option
If you’re bored by the party or dinner thing, the hater choices for newly single folks on the Eve basically boil down to one of two paths: (1) The black book: Meet up with an ex-love you had great chemistry with (not the one you just split with, fer crissakes) at your friendly neighborhood dive bar like Logan Square’s Whirlaway (3224 W Fullerton Ave, 773-276-6809), and celebrate with the regulars, complete with noisemakers and cheap Champagne in plastic glasses. Then, bring the ex home, while knowing full well that nothing will come of this except hot, one-night lovin’. (2) Wallowing: Stay at home and steep in melancholy whilst enjoying your vices, whether of the booze, cigarette or cupcake variety. Watch films about romance gone bad (Casablanca, Annie Hall, A Heart in Winter, The Apartment, Vertigo, Match Point) while booing and hissing. Let 11:59 become midnight with no ceremony whatsoever; maybe even go to bed before 12 to give the middle finger to 2007. That’ll teach ’em.—GK

Time Out Chicago; Features article; Gambling tips

Time Out Chicago / Issue 128: August 9–15, 2007

The Gambling Issue
Easy money
Don’t go all in without studying these sure-fire hints.
By TOC staff
Despite many of our less-than-stellar efforts in the casinos, we managed to pick up a few tips on the most popular games from some experts, gaming industry workers and a few amateur players who’ve lost a lot of money, but picked up some tricks along the way.

By: Gretchen Kalwinski
Roulette
Keep it simple
A guy who is "a gambling expert, if 'expert' means someone who's lost a shitload of money gambling" reports that, “Roulette has 800 ways to bet, so the best thing you can do is bet on red or black, since you’ll win half the time. But the payout’s lousy.”

Play the odds
An executive at a gambling-machine company says to, “Try to find a single-zero roulette table—called European roulette. The ‘house’ edge or advantage is almost half of a double-zero table.”

Slots
Give yourself some credit
“Don’t leave a machine with credits in it,” says that same executive. “I’ve walked hundreds of casino floors throughout the world and I am constantly amazed at the number of machines I’ve found with credits remaining.”

Butt in
A library worker and blackjack ace lets us in on a slots secret; “My partner’s stepmom, a.k.a. the Lurker, is an astonishingly successful slots player. She says machines with ashtrays full of mashed-up cigarette butts are ready to pay out, since ‘someone was getting really frustrated pouring money into it.’ ”

Tip for a tip-off
“I’ve heard some machines are programmed to win," our former Lake Tahoe casino worker source divulges, "So, tip the person working in slots and ask them to suggest machines. The casinos won’t put those machines in really obvious spots, so avoid the really huge machines.”

Just say no
A law student and semi-professional gambler snarks, “Don’t play slots because people will see you, and you’ll look like an idiot for playing the slots.”

–Gretchen Kalwinski

Venus Zine; Spring 2007, Mother's Day

Yo mama, you rock!

Venus Zine gives a Mother’s Day shout-out

By Venus Zine Staff
Published: May 12th, 2007 | 6:49pm

TO: LINDA KALWINSKI
FROM: GRETCHEN KALWINSKI, VENUS ZINE WRITER
Lately, I've been thinking about how über-DIY my mom is. I have fond memories of my hippie-parents building their own garage and cutting labels off clothing to protest advertising. But my mom's Lately, I've been thinking about how über-DIY my mom is. I have fond memories of my hippie-parents building their own garage and cutting labels off clothing to protest advertising. But my mom's Do-It-Yourself attitude wasn't just ’60s counterculture-nonconformity, it was necessity. She came from scrappy immigrants who re-used every plastic baggie, every piece of aluminum foil. Then her father died when she was 16, and DIY took on a whole new meaning for her family — making their own clothing, canning vegetables and fruit actually helped the 6 of them survive. During my childhood, she managed to work full-time while also making clothing and costumes for us kids, designing her own "Snugli" before they were popular, cooking from scratch, baking elaborate birthday cakes in the shapes of trains and animals, and still attending every game, every dance performance. Even now, when it's no longer financially necessary, she re-uses materials, gardens, and makes clothing herself. I believe that every creative urge, every cooking, yoga, or gardening impulse that my siblings and I have, we owe to the DIY street-cred instilled by my amazing mother when we were kids.

Stop Smiling; Article: Jean Shepherd

Stop Smiling Magazine
Issue #27 / September 2006

In Shep We Trust: Jean Shepherd Remembered
By: Gretchen Kalwinski

“We spend most of our lives trying to outlive our pasts,” Jean Shepherd claimed in a radio broadcast about encountering raw clams, an unheard-of food in the meatloaf-Indiana of his youth. “And we never do quite expunge the past.” Known as “Shep”, Jean Shepherd (1921-1999), was a raconteur, writer, and actor, but his true legacy was his genius for weaving everyday events into goosebump-inducing radio narratives. He created a magnificent intimacy with his listeners in the 50s, 60s, and 70s. Radio producer Harry Shearer notes; “He told supercilious East Coasters stories about the Midwest, not the romanticized Midwest of small-town life, but a Midwest that we didn’t know existed—the Midwest of steel mills, of tornados.” Broadcaster Joe Frank, a former insomniac, claims that Shepherd “had such a positive, life-affirming humanity that it gave me a genuine sense of comfort…. that made it possible to fall asleep.”

Shepherd grew up in Hammond, Indiana, a mill town bordering Chicago’s South Side, gaining mainstream fame for the film “A Christmas Story,” based on his short story collection, In God We Trust: All Others Pay Cash. In 1955, he moved to New York where he began his radio show, but Shepherd’s voice retained his origins, and his crooning; (“After you’re gone, dere ain’t no denyin,’) contained the unmistakably nasal undertones of South Side Chicago and Calumet Region. He read poetry and organized listener pranks, often while kazoo-playing, with show topics ranging from his scorn of advertising, love of pickles, or the White Sox. But his best-known are those about kid-dom in the rustbelt Midwest. One show compares a steel mill to Dante’s sixth circle of hell; “I’m gonna tell you people about how different life is outside of the PJ Clarke and martini-drinker orbit. I worked on the bull gang in a steel mill… in a town that hangs like a rusty barnacle from the South Side of Chicago.” In Excelsior You Fathead!: The Art and Enigma of Jean Shepherd, Eugene Berman notes that Shepherd "tickled the better parts of your mind" because he knew just when to pick up speed or change course. This skill is the ability to make a dollar out of fifteen cents, and Shepherd had it in spades. His improvisational mastery led to friendships with Jack Kerouac and Charles Mingus; he collaborated with Mingus on his 1957 album, The Clown.

Often blurring fact and fiction, Shepherd often lied about or withheld actual biographical information; repeatedly denying the existence of his two children, who he abandoned along with his first wife. Shepherd gleefully disdained “suits” and enjoyed playing the disenfranchised gadfly. He sometimes lapsed into ranting and buffoonery, calling women chicks and portraying the gender as daffy biddies, and it’s assumed that the warmth in his storytelling probably wasn’t present in his personal life. In Hammond, Shepherd’s name inspires mixed emotions. The town has a community center in his name, and many revere him as “Hammond’s Most Famous Resident.” Others revile him for characterizing them as provincial, working-class stiffs; “If Chicago is the city of broad shoulders, then Northwest Indiana is its broad rear end.” But the region was his bread and butter, and in the rest of the world, he’s only marginally known. In 1999, Shepherd died alone in Florida with his past so emphatically shed that his obituary read: “no survivors.”

If you squint, a nighttime drive through Hammond is a Venice of glistening marshes and rivers. Cheap hotels flash neon, and lumbering freight trains blow whistles, while smokestacks on Lake Michigan pump smoke and blue-orange flames around the neighborhoods. Despite himself, Shepherd couldn’t shake these childhood impressions, and spent his life using his voice to drift into people’s nighttime consciousness. Being immortalized by his similarity to the Calumet Region would be bittersweet to Shepherd, but the words he broadcast through the night air voiced a desolation and ugliness so intense that it became beautiful, and he managed to transcend the smokestacks, hovering in listener’s minds like a pervasive cloud. --GK

Stop Smiling; Article, Third Coast International Audio Festival

Stop Smiling Magazine

Issue #27
September 2006
The Third Coast

By: Gretchen Kalwinski

The Third Coast International Audio Festival (TCIAF) began in 2000 as a Chicago Public Radio project with the goal of celebrating the “best feature and documentary audio work heard worldwide on the radio and Internet.” TCIAF has myriad components including an annual conference and competition, and a website that archives Re: sound, a weekly radio program. TCIAF produced the cd that accompanies the Midwest issue, and here’s what executive director Johanna Zorn had to say about the Midwest tie-in.

How did you choose the pieces for the cd?
We wanted to offer a variety of examples, so we picked some favorites that demonstrate the versatility of the radio form. There are four tracks, and three of them were made by producers from Illinois or Michigan. The stories are all over the place! There's a first-person narrative by a young gay boy trying to find his way in the world, and a documentary about a town in Arkansas that's forever changed by the appearance of a bird. The topics are very different, but what they all have in common is that sound plays an essential role in each story.

Who were some of the producers and artists?
Some may surprise you--for instance, writer Rick Moody and musician Sujfan Stevens. Artists from other mediums have a growing interest in using audio to tell stories and make art; we're witnessing a renaissance in using radio as a storytelling medium. Now, the tools for audio production are relatively low-cost; anyone can podcast through the Internet, and there are more radio programs out there inspiring folks who never took a journalism class to pick up some equipment and get busy.

Why did you choose the name “Third Coast Festival”?
While other cities may stake their claim to the third coast, we felt the title was especially fitting for a festival rooted in the heart of America's Midwest and headquartered on Navy Pier in Chicago, right where the Chicago River meets Lake Michigan. So the third coast is literal, another name for our prime location, but since we're an international festival, we also hope it evokes coasts throughout the world. ---GK

Time Out Chicago; Feature article: SKALD competition

Time Out Chicago / Issue 73: July 20–27, 2006

The tell-tale art

The annual SKALD competition brings the art of storytelling out of the dark ages and onto the stage.

By: Gretchen Kalwinski

Photograph by Calbee Booth

Back in the days of Vikings, skald was a term for someone who told stories and performed poetry in exchange for jewels, cash and other booty. Evidently, human nature hasn’t changed much in the past few centuries: The annual SKALD storytelling competition, which offers such modern treasures as a $150 gift certificate from Borders and $250 in cash, has grown so popular that even the City of Chicago wants to get in on the action.

SKALD was born out of a 1999 WNEP Theater (a theater and comedy troupe) audition in which an actor told a two-minute story instead of performing the usual monologue or scene, WNEP’s founding director Don Hall recounts. These auditions were so entertaining, and company members were so eager to do it again, that storytelling quickly became its own show, SKALD. “In fact, most wanted to do it once a month,” Hall says. “I knew then that the concept had legs and decided to make it an annual thing.”

In past years, stories performed ranged from the irreverent—like the one about a man who gets a desk coffeemaker and becomes the office stud—to the creepy, like “a school janitor who used a classroom doll to…pleasure himself,” recalls SKALD competitor Rebecca Langguth. “It sounds darkly funny, but was heartbreaking.” Hall’s favorite story was performed by Jonathan Pitts about Pitts’s father David (an Ice Capades performer who skated with a chimpanzee named Spanky), and the duo’s encounter with a serial killer. “It was a true story, and Pitts showed the audience a blowup of the 1960s newspaper article at the end of his tale,” Hall says.

At this year’s SKALD, Hall hopes WNEP’s new partnership with the city’s Department of Cultural Affairs will lead to its biggest turnout yet. The city sponsorship means SKALD’s program is greatly expanded from last year, so this event includes more than the big storytelling competition on July 29. There’s also the MAELSTROM contest on July 28 (see sidebar), in which competitors are given ten seconds to create a three-minute story based on audience prompts. Young’uns will hear some tales at KIDSKALD, and a panel composed of storytelling experts such as Leah Guenther, executive director of Dave Eggers’s 826CHI writing program, and Greg Allen, the founding director of the Neo-Futurists. In addition, Hall will lead free workshops for adults while WNEP member Jessica Rogers teaches kids on Monday 24 and Tuesday 25.

In past years, competitors were admitted on a first-come, first-served basis, but this year’s high demand forced Hall to hold auditions. “We whittled it down to the best 16—six for MAELSTROM and ten for the [main] SKALD competition,” he says. SKALD contestants have six weeks to prepare their story, and Langguth says she plans to use every moment until then. “Last time I participated [in 2001], I practiced with an egg timer,” she says.

She also almost passed out from nerves. “I can still remember pulling the host aside and telling him that I didn’t think I could go on,” Langguth says. “Five years later, you’d think I’d have some kind of calm, but just thinking about it makes me nauseous. Maybe that’s what makes it such a wonder of a thing. Folks standing up and sharing something of themselves. It’s very intimate, in a way.” SKALD is about sharing stories, but it also involves competition. Yet Langguth’s got nothing but love for other participants: “Every year, there are new stories that break your heart or make you bust a gut. Last year, [eventual winner] Brad Norman told a fantastic story about a man who likes to bake. He made the most delicious chocolate-and-peanut-butter cake, and shared it with the audience afterwards.”

When asked about how she plans to demolish these other talented competitors, Langguth says, “It’s not about annihilation. I really want everyone to tell the best story, if only for my own entertainment.”

But then she quickly adds, “Don’t get me wrong—I want to win! Badly!” Just goes to show that things haven’t changed that much in the past few centuries: People still rally when booty is involved.

SKALD’s story time runs from Monday 24 to July 29. For more details, visit www.wneptheater.org/_html/skald7.html.

Stories on the spot

How good are this year’s MAELSTROM contenders? We gave four of them an idea and 10 seconds to improvise the beginning of a tale for us.

Competitor: Scot Goodhart Suggestion: “Cigarettes on the beach” Chrissie goes to the beach to “get fucked up.” The idea was that she and James would fill a Styrofoam cooler with Natural Light Ice and Marlboro Mediums, then take the 78 to the beach. They’ve been together for two months; he just moved in with Chrissie and her daughter Kaytlyn, who’s not his. The first thing I heard Chrissie say was, “It’s God’s fucking ashtray is why!” just before she swung at the guy confronting her about where she was depositing her butts. The last thing I heard her say as she was placed in the patrol car was, “I just wanted to get fucked up.”

Competitor: Mike Rosolio Suggestion: “Antlers” There are a few circumstances that no one, no matter how battle-hardened and worldwise, can be totally prepared to deal with. One of these is waking up in a foreign country. The world makes so much sense when you’re stationed in a log cabin–themed hotel in Seattle, and the clarity and comfort found there enhance the stark contrast of stepping off of a train car, blurry eyed from sleep deprivation and $2 mojitos, expecting to see the San Francisco Bay and finding instead the cruel beauty of British Columbia. While there wasn’t actually any danger of being detained against my will, and I was able to find a ticket back to the Golden State within a few hours, the point is instantly made that the future, no matter how scheduled it seems to be, is impossible to know, and that it might be among the wishes of fate to deliver you to the land of socialized medicine.

Competitor: Michael Brownlee Suggestion: “Breakneck” Samantha’s aching lungs fought to pull in enough oxygen to keep up with her pumping legs. “Faster. I need to go faster.” The footsteps behind her were closing in quick. She lowered her head and pushed herself harder. She could hear the panting breaths of her pursuer. She arched her back and lunged for safety. It was too late. She felt the hot hand on her back and cringed as she heard those awful, breathless words: “Tag. You’re it.”

Competitor: Cholley Kuhaneck Suggestion: “The postman rings twice” I don’t like getting mail. This offends my mail carrier. He tried marking all my mail return to sender. I was happy to see it go. He stuffed anything that was not addressed to anyone in particular in my mailbox. It backfired on him. He now had to move beyond Newtonian physics to make everything fit. Finally, he put my mail in everyone else’s mailboxes. All night my neighbors came by with pieces of mail for me. I put a note in my mailbox. “I promise I’ll get my mail weekly.” He left a note, “Write it a hundred times.”—Gretchen Kalwinski

Time Out Chicago; Feature excerpt; Lake Michigan Activities

Time Out Chicago / Issue 69: June 22–June 29, 2006

10 things we love about the lake
Lake Michigan defines Chicago, both literally and figuratively. We think it’s time this underappreciated wonder got its props.

By: TOC Staff
Excerpt by: —Gretchen Kalwinski and Rod O’Connor

...2. It’s our own public water park
The lake offers plenty of ways to hold your own personal X Games. Howza ’bout kayaking? You can join Chicago Kayak (www.chicagokayak.com), which offers free rentals to members and departs from Leone and Wilson Beaches up north. You can get a yearlong club membership and a free introductory lesson—which is required to join the club—for a mere $130. If windsurfing is more your speed, Windward Sports (www.windwardsports.com) offers private lessons for $50 an hour from June–September. But for our money, the most exciting water sport is kitesurfing, in which harness-wearing participants combine surfing and kite-flying to navigate a board propelled by a huge kite. Chicago Kitesurfing (www.chicagokitesurfing.com) launches from Montrose Beach, and offers expert instructors, classes and equipment. All that’s required is water and wind (no waves needed). It’s a pricey hobby— a three-hour lesson (with equipment provided) costs $150–$250, and if you decide to buy your own gear, you’ll pay $1,000 to $3,000—but as any adrenaline junkie knows, you have to pay to play.

Plain, old-fashioned surfing is an option, too. Every day, Lake Michigan longboarders watch cold fronts closer than Tom Skilling, and when the winds hit 25 miles an hour, it’s time to slip on the wet suit in search of the perfect wave—calendar be damned. “I surf all year round, until the lake freezes over,” says Jim Hoop, 43, Chicago’s unofficial surfing ambassador. “I’ve surfed excellent waves on New Year’s Day.” If you wanna join the fun, hit Third Coast Surf Shop in New Buffalo, Michigan (269-932-4575, www.thirdcoastsurfshop.com), for lessons. And since surfing isn’t allowed in Chicago proper, head to Michigan City or Whiting in northwest Indiana, good spots when there’s a west or north wind.

Time Out Chicago; Feature; Strange Lake Tales

Time Out Chicago / Issue 69: June 22–June 29, 2006

Strange but true lake tales
You may think you know all about Lake Michigan, but we dredged up some offbeat lake lore that is sure to float your boat.

Excerpt by: Gretchen Kalwinski

Making waves

You know how when you look across the lake, the other side looks really, really far away? It is. But some dude swam across the lake in 41 hours. See, ultramarathoner Jim Dreyer was running out of terrestrial body-punishing feats of endurance, so in 1998 he took to the water. Swimming the 65 miles between Two Rivers, Wisconsin, and Ludington, Michigan, in a little less than two days, he smoked the previous Lake Michigan distance record (held by IIT research chemist Ted Erickson, who swam the 44 miles from Chicago to Michigan City, Indiana, in 36 and a half hours). Though he was already a marathon-trained athlete, Dreyer had to add “meteorological expert” to his resumé in order to look out for potential hazards on the lake. But his real secret weapon: replaying Aerosmith and Beatles tunes in his head while he swam. (We’re hoping it was the older, pre–“I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” Aerosmith.) After a blitz of media attention, Dreyer continued his long-distance swimming in the four remaining Great Lakes and nabbed 13 world records, all to raise funds for Big Brothers Big Sisters and the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum (www.shipwreckmuseum.com) in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Here’s the kicker: He’d only learned to swim in 1996. Traumatized by water after almost drowning as a toddler, he finally decided to venture to his local swimming pool, where a kindly lifeguard gave him beginner’s lessons. “My swimming career had real modest beginnings, for sure,” Dreyer said. He plans to keep undertaking running and swimming challenges for charity; track his progress at www.swimjimswim.org. —Gretchen Kalwinski