Activities in Norridge

What will future generations learn about how we lived? Field Museum curators are collecting the items and stories that'll soon be history.  My first introduction to the Field Museum’s urban-anthropology collection is a gloved hand carefully lifting some earplugs from a shelf while avoiding a sturdy pair of boots. I wonder how these common objects—objects you might find in anyone’s closet or nightstand—could possibly belong in a prestigious museum. The answer depends on how you look at history. To the Field Museum’s curators, history isn’t something that stopped several hundred years ago. It’s an ongoing series of small events, which explains why the team is collecting hundreds of modern objects in a groundbreaking effort to document our way of life for future generations. In essence, they’re getting a head start. The gloved hand belongs to Alaka Wali, PhD, an anthropologist and curator for the North American Anthropology Collections. As if reading my thoughts, she says, "You wouldn't think about that with a pair of earplugs—not touching them with your hands. But once it's in our collection, we want to make sure it stays here forever." In a time when most consumer goods are mass-produced, it’s tough to decide what’s worthy of admission. "There's a lot of dilemma as to what to collect,” Wali says. “We could collect thousands of articles, so what makes this one special?” "It's definitely a continuing conversation in anthropology right now," interjects her colleague, Andrew Leith. Leith is the collections management assistant for the museum’s anthropology collections, and right now he’s lifting a large display box so we can see the men's work pants carefully mounted within. No matter how hard I squint, it’s hard to see something of cultural import in the box. To me, they’re just pants. But then it must have felt just as strange for the natives of Fiji when anthropologist A.B. Lewis—who collected much of the Field Museum’s Pacific islands collection—sailed back to the United States with their everyday clothes and spoons. Much like Lewis’s Fiji expedition, the urban-anthropology collection explores largely uncharted territory. Other museums across the country are starting up similar initiatives, but it's a very new field of study. Wali asks me if I’d like a tour of the collection’s three largest factions—urban steel heritage, urban healing, and the North American Native collection—and I accept, eager to see earplugs as something that will one day make history. The Urban Steel Heritage Collection “Why do people feel proud of their heritage as steelworkers, and how does that feed into their pride in Calumet?” Wali asks. It’s clear that, to her, Calumet is much more than an industrial town. She sees a complex relationship between industry and environment in the collection of worker’s uniforms, steel molds, and slag that lies before us. Her sentiment is shared by Thomas Frank, an environmental activist who worked as an engineer in the Calumet region. One of his abstract paintings—an artifact in this collection—illustrates how the area has been affected by industrialization. Despite their pride in the region’s near-unanimous vocation, the people of Calumet also care deeply for their local environment, which has one of the country’s highest rates of biodiversity. It’s Wali’s job to document Calumet—both the region’s natural environment and the factors that are causing it to disappear. But she’s not just reporting from the sidelines. The Field Museum has partnered with Chicago Wilderness to preserve this diverse ecosystem without compromising its people’s way of life. Wali and her team are also working with the community to designate a heritage corridor that would help heighten awareness of local environmental issues. The Urban Healing Collection "Anthropologists take superstitions seriously,” says Wali as she leads me into the urban healing collection. “Sometimes they're real belief systems that have a reason, and we want to understand why." For those practicing herbal medicine in the backrooms of Chinatown, some superstitions are very real. And they have little to do with the stereotypes of the snake-oil salesman. “The Chinese belief system about the body is so different from [the Western perspective] in their depth of knowledge,” Wali explains. “It’s a very different worldview.” Much of her research in Chinese herbal medicine seems to ask the same question: “If you just buy the remedy in the store, is it as efficacious if you don't believe in the whole perspective, philosophy, and worldview?" This question has some interesting implications, as Wali’s team has observed that many healers’ customers are not, in fact, Chinese. These healers sell remedies to treat a variety of issues often ignored by Western medicine, including stress and spiritual cleansing. Such remedies are growing in popularity, and pharmaceutical companies are starting to take note. “Herbal medicines are being branded and packaged and commoditized, which is different in urban settings from how you’d see them in rural China,” explains Wali, motioning toward a display of prepackaged herbs and tea strainers. Furthermore, stateside healers have had to tweak the recipes behind many of these treatments due to restrictions on imports. Wali is studying the other ways in which immigration has altered these practices. But the team hasn’t limited themselves to Traditional Chinese medicine. “We’ve looked at some African stores and Eastern European apothecaries, like Merz,” she says. “Are there similarities [between these cultures]? Are there differences? What’s the pattern?” The North American Native Collection “Most people think that Native American artisans are only out on the reservations,” Wali says. “But there’s a really vibrant community here in Chicago making powwow regalia.” She leads me through a collection that contains artifacts made by local artisans and others from urban areas across the country. Few of these items ever go to market. Those that haven’t ended up in museums are worn in powwow ceremonies like the ones held at the American Indian Center of Chicago. This collection includes ceremonial garb as well as quilts and accessories worn in Native American ceremonies. One item that catches my eye is a belt that was handmade by the mother of celebrated Native American artist Bunky Echo-Hawk, who is currently showing an art collection in the Field Museum. His father wore this belt to ceremonial dances on the Pawnee Reservation, and its intricate design tells the story of the Pawnees’ cosmological beliefs. As Wali explains how all of the stars represent different beliefs from their mythology, I’m reminded of those tiny earplugs she first pulled out of the display case. They may not look like much right now, but maybe, in some distant future, they’ll offer a glimpse into the world we live in today. It’s a loud world, filled with noises we sometimes like to tune out or ignore. But if we pay more attention to what’s going on around us, we might just notice history being made. Photos: Tim Burkhart, Groupon.

I’m heading south on Lake Shore Drive on the morning of November 9. It’s one of those perfect Saturdays that crops up once or twice every football season—chilly but not cold, the orange leaves twisting curlicues around my car. As I approach the Museum of Science and Industry, I’m struck by the deep blue of the sky, a shade normally reserved for postcards. With all this scenery spread out before me, I almost manage to miss Tweety Bird. Almost. There, just inches above the lawn of the city’s most illustrious cultural institution, floats an enormous cartoon bird. Around the 20-foot balloon bustles a crew of bundled-up volunteers securing ropes to hold the great beast down. But this isn’t some avant-garde museum installation. It’s merely a sign that Parade School is about to begin. Conquering State Street Since 1934 Since its first incarnation as the State Street Christmas Caravan in 1934, the McDonald’s Thanksgiving Parade has become one of Chicago’s most cherished holiday traditions. Although the parade has crossed a number of routes and gone by a variety of names, a few things have remained constant. No matter what, attendees can count on marching bands, giant balloons, and a cameo appearance by parade mascot Teddy Turkey. Oh, and volunteers. Lots of volunteers. There are hundreds here today, buzzing about the museum as they move from one training session to the next. On the day of the parade, these volunteers will be responsible for countless duties, from keeping the parade on schedule to providing hospitality assistance to performers and VIPs. The most visible of these volunteers—the ones I’m here to meet today—will spend their day wrangling with the dozen giant character balloons that give the parade its signature look. When tasked with holding down a massive inflatable object, I’ll soon learn, an autumn breeze can seem a whole lot more sinister. 30 Volunteers Vs. One Giant Bird Don't wrap the rope around your hands. Stand directly underneath your anchor. Don’t drag your feet.  The man from the balloon company is full of advice. He brandishes a megaphone as 30 fresh volunteers (“carriers” in parade lingo) take their turns at the ropes. They’re in high spirits, laughing and joking through the cold, but the instructor is quick to remind them that parades are serious business. “Less talking,” he says, his voice amplified. “We’ve got a $10,000 balloon here. We want you to get it up the street safely.” As the carriers listen to their instructor, balloon chairman John Hipolito whirls around them, a blur in a red windbreaker and aviators. Tweety isn’t the only beloved character under his watch—Hipolito’s teams will also shepherd icons such as Garfield, the Nutcracker, and Pac-Man on their march down State Street. Since today’s all about preparation, Hipolito is thankful for the windy weather. “You have to be ready for those big gusts," he explains during a brief break in the action. “Sometimes, it can seem really still, and it'll come out of nowhere. If you're not ready, it can be ugly." There’s no ugliness here today. Once the 30 carriers get into position, they untie the balloon from its sandbag and send it aloft. For a precarious moment Tweety reels, his pontoon-sized feet splaying out and his head tilting toward Lake Michigan. But the breeze passes and soon the carriers are taking the big yellow bird on his first lap around the museum lawn. As they make their round, I catch up with parade executive director Phil Purevich, who’s watching the volunteers with a mixture of pride and attentiveness that’s usually reserved for a dad at a peewee football game. A veteran of 17 parades himself, Purevich is heartened by all the familiar faces. “We’ve got a lot of seasoned veterans out there,” he says. During his tenure, Purevich has implemented a number of successful tweaks, from expanding the parade to a three-hour format to spotlighting Chicago’s diversity through programs with the city’s cultural groups. However, he believes that the parade’s staying power rests in its old-fashioned dedication to spectacle. "We're a very traditional parade,” he explains. “We care as much about the parade on the street as we do about the parade on TV.” Making New Traditions, One Year at a Time So, how was Tweety’s inaugural flight? According to first-time carrier Jason Davis: challenging. “It’s much harder than I expected it to be,” Davis admits. “It was amazingly shifty. It really wanted to pull you away." Since they can’t head home to Texas for the holiday, Davis and his wife, Candace, will be at the parade instead. Thanks to WGN America’s national broadcast, it’s a way for them to connect with their family through the screen. “We thought, ‘Hey, why sit around and stare at each other? We can be in the parade and they can watch us,’” Candace says. Starting or maintaining traditions seems to be a motivating factor for many of the volunteers. From 20-somethings marooned away from home to multigenerational families who’ve been helping out for years, the parade gives them a rallying point during a season that can get lonely otherwise. For 15-year veteran John Hampilos, the carriers’ combination of festiveness and teamwork epitomizes the parade’s pull toward something greater. Now a block marshal, his eyes get wide when describing his earlier experiences beneath the balloon. “The most important thing is, when you’re going down Van Buren Street, there’s the railroad tracks,” he says. “You have to get that balloon under those tracks. Once you cross Van Buren Street and you see that balloon rise, it’s a great feeling. It’s the most critical point in the parade. It can make or break the parade.” See the carriers in action at the McDonald’s Thanksgiving Parade, which marches down State Street from 8 a.m. to 11 a.m. on Thursday, November 28.  Photos: © Stephanie Bassos, Groupon

Back in 2004, Chris Carrabba already had a sizable following as the frontman of emo stalwarts Dashboard Confessional. But writing “Vindicated” for the Spider-Man 2 soundtrack took his fan base to a whole new level. Ten years later, Spidey and Carrabba have both moved on: the former has a freshly rebooted film series, while the latter has a new band in Twin Forks. In celebration of the alt-folk outfit’s two shows at Double Door this Saturday, May 10—as well as the theatrical release of The Amazing Spider-Man 2—we asked Carrabba to create a playlist of his favorite songs on movie soundtracks. The Cure – “Just Like Heaven” from Adventureland (2009) CHRIS CARRABBA: To me, it’s almost like a campfire song that you pass down to the next generation of [kids in their] late teens and early 20s. It’s Robert Smith, so it has to be sad, but it’s such a powerfully positive and major-key-sounding song with some of the most haunting lyrics you’ll ever come across in your life. The Soggy Bottom Boys – “I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow” from O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000) CC: You could pick any song from that [soundtrack], but I’ll pick the one that everybody would pick. So it’s the Soggy Bottom Boys, but rumor has it that they were actually Alison Krauss’s band. The guitarist is just completely incredible—I actually bought some of his videos to learn how to be a better player. Michael Andrews feat. Gary Jules – “Mad World” from Donnie Darko (2001) CC: I’m a massive Tears for Fears fan, so sometimes I’m predisposed to be standoffish about a cover of [one of their songs] before I’ve heard it. But [this] is a good reinterpretation of a song that is so lush and incredible. [Michael Andrews’s version] is so haunting, which I think is his strong suit. Jon Parr – “St. Elmo’s Fire (Man in Motion)” from St. Elmo’s Fire (1985) CC: It’s a pretty heavy movie. It’s like the Brat Pack growing up and being adults. But the song is really an anthem. … I just remember thinking, “I want to be like [Rob Lowe].” He’s playing saxophone in an open window with his shirt blowing in the wind at some point. I think in elementary school, I had the dream of having my shirt open in a window. I used to open my shirt up. Is there any chest hair? Full disclosure: there’s still no chest hair. The Replacements – “Can’t Hardly Wait” from Can’t Hardly Wait (1998) CC: I remember dating a girl, and [there] was a movie she wanted to go see. But it was called Can’t Hardly Wait, so I knew there was going to be something in it for me. And that was the payoff at the end—that song. And that’s a song I play constantly. If I’m at a party, I’ll play that song. Prince – “When Doves Cry” from Purple Rain (1984) CC: That movie’s somewhere between absolute sheer brilliance and … fucking awful. And I cannot tell you which one it is. One time we were playing this awards show, [and] I went over to an empty aisle seat because Prince was about to perform. He came out in the middle of the aisle, right next to me. He was playing guitar. He looked me right in the eye, and I swear he said to me, “Yeah. Yeah, I know. I am this good. I’m better than you ever dreamed.” I bowed to him. Jon Bon Jovi – “Blaze of Glory” from Young Guns II (1990) CC: “Shot down in a blaze of glory!” So glorious, man, even if it’s incongruous with the kind of movie it is. Alexi Murdoch – “All My Days” from Away We Go (2009) CC: It’s got a really long intro with a drop-D drone. It’s right up my alley. If I was at my very best, I would write a song like that. Sometimes there’s a moment that can inspire a whole record. And it’s like, “Well, I’ll never be that good.” But trying to be that good can take me somewhere special. Eminem – “Lose Yourself” from 8 Mile (2002) CC: That atonal guitar part is really foreboding. I think that’s where Eminem started going from his first style of voice, which I liked a lot, to his second style—that fierce, spitting anger. … I guess that’s the only Eminem now. And I happen to be a fan of both. I kind of miss the nasal thing. There was some giddiness in what he was doing. But this is the first time I remember him having that spitfire, hellfire kind of thing. Chris Cornell – “Seasons” from Singles (1992) CC: He’s a bastard. How can he do it all? [His voice] is insane, but he also plays this open-tuned guitar that is so beautiful and haunting. I didn’t start Dashboard for another 10 years [after this film], but I think, subconsciously, that song had a lot of influence on what Dashboard was going to be: just one dude with one open-tuned guitar. Honestly, I haven’t seen the movie in years. I don’t remember how [the song] is used. I don’t know if the movie holds up. I just know that, looking back, a seed was planted for me. Twin Forks play two shows with Augustana this Saturday, May 10, at Double Door (1572 N. Milwaukee Ave.). Tickets are still available for the 6 p.m. show; purchase them here. Check out Twin Forks’ self-titled debut, and email twinforksmusic@gmail.com for a free EP of covers and other odds and ends. Photo courtesy of Reybee Productions and Tristan Casey