Benny Jay: Courthouse Contraband
I’m walking through the metal detector in the lobby at the criminal courthouse when the alarm goes off.
The alarm always goes off. I’m starting to think the doctors embedded a piece of metal in my leg when I was born.
The guard pulls me to the side. I’ll call him Larry. He looks like a Larry. Big old white guy with a doughy face.
“Empty your pockets,” he says.
I pull a few coins from my pockets.
“That must have been it,” I say.
I smile. He doesn’t smile back.
“Go through it again,” he snaps.
But….
Alarm goes off.
Larry pulls me to the side. “Raise your arms,” he says.
I raise my arms and he frisks me.
In my back pocket, he finds a few more coins and an unmarked plastic pill bottle with a couple of brown tablets.
He holds up the pill bottle and asks: “What’s this?”
“Ibuprofene….”
“What?”
“Ibuprofene.”
The guard looked a little like Brendan Gleeson from The Guard….
I start to spell it. Like that’s going to ease his suspicion.
“I-b….”
Then I realize — I’m lost once I get past those first two letters.
“It’s either I-b-e or I-b-u….”
He cuts me off. “What’s it for?”
“Headaches.”
“You have headaches?”
“Well, it’s not a chronic thing. Just in case I get a headache.”
He’s cradling the bottle in his hand, like it’s contraband I’m sneaking into the courthouse.
“Why isn’t it in a regular bottle?” he asks.
“I keep the regular bottle at home and what I do is — I take a couple of pills and put it in this other bottle that I’ve kept from another prescription and then I carry it around with me in case I get a headache.”
Just imagine what would have happened if I looked like Omar….
He’s look at me with such disbelief that even I’m starting to doubt the story. And it’s a true story — I swear, it’s true!
His questions come fast and furious…
“Why are you here?”
“I’m a reporter — covering a case.”
“Where’s your press pass?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Why?”
“Ugh….”
How do I explain this? I start babbling.
It’s such an invconvenience. You gotta go downtown. You gotta take a picture. And who has the time?
He cuts me off. “You can’t bring these pills into the courtroom.”
“Okay….”
“You’ll have to leave them in the security room.”
“Fine….”
Then he explains it’ll cost me ten dollars to retrieve the pill bottle.
“Ten dollars for two Ibuprofen pills?”
“Yes….”
“It’s not worth it. I could buy, like, two bottles of Ibuprofen for ten dollars. Just throw it out. Or you keep it. In case you get a headache.”
And then — it’s like he sees me for the first time. I mean, actually sees me as a person, instead of some faceless guy who set off the alarm.
As I like to say — when I look in the mirror, I see a young Paul Newman. But obviously, he sees some old, harmless dufus.
He waves his hand. “Just go.”
Even let’s me keep the pills. Well, why not? Anyone can see — it’s just Ibuprofene.
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Benny Jay: The Gipsy Kings
About a year ago, I get a call from my good friend, El Dragon, telling me: “I got two tickets to see the Gipsy Kings at the Chicago Theater — want to go?”
I’m like — “The Gipsy Kings? Aren’t they the dudes who sing Hotel California?”
El Dragon’s very patient. “Well, among many other songs….”
“But that’s the one they played in The Big Lebowski, when Jesus is ready to bowl?”
“Yes, but….”
“God, I love that movie.”
“Yes, it’s a great movie. But The Gipsy Kings don’t really have anything to do with The Big Lebowski. Their music derives from great Flamenco traditions….”
“Say no more — I’m in, my man.”
So to the concert I go. And, oh, what a night! Great seats. Fantastic band. The lead guitarist’s like — Hendrix good. Well, almost….
The keyboard man’s straight out of Herbie Hancock. And the bass player. Where did they get this bass player? I swear to got it’s like the second coming of Bootsy Collins.
Apparently, the Gipsy Kings are sick and tired of people asking them to play….
It turns out they have this other huge hit that you probably know — Bomboleo.
It’s the one where the whole chorus goes: “Bomboleo, bombolea.” And then they sing something in Spanish. That I usually convert to: “Da, Da, Da, Da.”
Spanish not being one of my stronger suits.
Then everybody goes back to the chorus: “Bomboleo, bombolea!!!”
And so on.
I love that song. In fact, I love that song so much that I’ve been singing it day after day for weeks after I saw the concert. Just randomly burst into it at any time of the day.Like right now….
“Bomboleo, bombolea!!!”
But….
No, they didn’t play Hotel California.
That’s okay. El Dragon — who knows a lot about music — explains that they’ve probably sung it a million times.
And maybe they’re tired of singing it.
And you have to let an artist be an artist.
Cause they’re not juke boxes. You can’t expect them to just play any old thing you want — like they’re the house band at your cousin’s wedding.
Excellent point!
That song from the Big Lebowski….
Fast forward another year, and….
El Dragon calls to say the Gipsy Kings are back and he’s got two tickets — want to go?
Hell, yes!!!
Another great concert. Even better than last year. Bass player and keyboard man jamming. They close with Bomboleo.
But, again — no Hotel California.
I’m waiting and waiting and waiting.
They’re taking their bows and the lead singer’s saying something in Spanish to the crowd.
“What’s he saying?” I ask El Dragon.
“He’s saying — `all you Big Lebowski-loving motherfuckers can kiss my Flamenco-strumming ass, cause I ain’t playing Hotel California!’”
“Really?”
“No, just kidding. He said thank you, I love you and see you next time.”
I hope to be there. Maybe they’ll even play my song.
`Til then….
“Bomboleo, bambolea!!!”
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Benny Jay: Almost Better
In the days since Derrick Rose blew out his knee, I’ve been wearing my Bulls cap.
Well, I wore it a lot before he blew out his knee, but now I’m making a special point of wearing it.
It’s like a sending a message to other Bulls fans I see walking around town also wearing their Bulls caps.
My way of saying: I feel your pain.
Like the guy I see yesterday afternoon. Looked to be my age. Fifty-something, pushing sixty.
We’re standing in the rain at the corner of Wells and Division, waiting for the light to change.
I see his hat. He sees mine, and he says: “Ain’t that a motherfucker.”
“You took the words out of my mouth,” I tell him.
“It ain’t over….”
“Yeah?”
“Hell, yeah — they can still win it.”
“You think so?”
Like he has inside information. Instead of being just another fan standing in the rain, feeling shitty and trying to cheer himself up.
Korver on the left, Kutcher on the right — you have to admit, they look alike….
I meet up with my buddy, Rick. He’s not wearing a Bulls cap, but he sees mine and says: “Motherfucking knee.”
“I hear you, man,” I said.
Then we talk about other things.
I go to Facets – the artsy-fartsy, film-rental store – and I say to the guy behind the counter: “Have you heard anything new about Derrick Rose?”
Like there’s a chance his knee miraculously healed in the last few hours.
“I’m not aware of him,” the counter guy said.
“You’ve never heard of Derrick Rose?” I ask.
“No.”
I’m thinking 1.) it’s not possible to live in Chicago and not know of Derrick Rose, and 2.) I bet the counter guys at Blockbuster know about D Rose!
I go to the bowling alley and Pete – massive Bulls fan – says: “I don’t want to talk about it.”
And Bob, the owner, a diehard Blackhawk fan, starts to give me shit, then stops.
“Tough break,” he says.
Guess he feels sorry for me.
And Cap says: “It ain’t over – they’ve won without him.”
And Norm says: “I hate those motherfucking 76ers.”
At least we’ve still got Jo Jo and Scalabrine….
And then to ease our misery, we name the teams we can’t stand: 76ers, Knicks, Pacers and Heat. Especially the Heat!
And that’s just the Eastern Conference.
I tell everyone about the message of hope Kyle Korver left on his Facebook wall. Which I have read — conservative estimate — some 32 times since he posted it soon after D Rose went down.
By the way, Kyle Korver’s a Bulls backup forward who looks remarkable similar to Ashton Kutcher. Or used to anyway—when he first came into the league.
As they get older they stop looking so much alike. It’s really weird.
Anyway, Kover wrote: “We need YOU to believe with Us. We need You to believe for Us. We are going to keep going strong. One quarter, one game, one round at a time. Until its over. That’s how we’re gonna do it.”
Yeah, man — one game at a time!
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Benny Jay: The Five Stages of Derrick Rose
I’m sitting in the bakery drinking coffee with my mom, when the call comes in from my old pal, Johnny Reaves….
Bad news. It’s the ACL. Derrick Rose — out for the playoffs.
Immediately, I go through the five stages of a Bulls fans grief, starting with denial.
As in….
Maybe Johnny got it wrong. Maybe he misunderstood what the guy on TV said. Maybe they said D’s knee’s just sore. And Johnny thought they said, D’s knee is torn. Yes, that’s it — Johnny misunderstood!
Followed by anger….
Ahhhh!!! Johnny didn’t understand. Plus, the bad news was seconded in a call from Milo. Who, I think, should be kept away from all meds at least for the next few days. No, it’s true. D tore his knee. He’s out for the season. The Bulls won’t win. We won’t beat the Heat. God, I can’t stand the Heat. I can’t believe this happening to me. Why, oh, why did Coach Thibodeau even have him in the game when they were up by 12 with one minute left? Why, oh, why, oh, why? Ahhhh!!!!
Noooooo!!!!!!
Followed by bargaining….
Maybe we can magically go back in time. Yes, turn back the hands of time, like Tyrone Davis always said. Go into my magical little time machine which takes us back to the two minute mark of the game, at which point Coach Thibodeau rests D Rose. So he won’t rip his knee. And he’ll be fine. And he’ll play on Tuesday and the game after that and the game after that. And on and on until we beat the Heat and then win the championship and have a big party in Grant Park. And all we’ll be happy in Bulls land!!!
Followed by depression….
What the fuck are you talking about? You can’t turn back the hands of time. Life is not a novel by Stephen King. Life is life and in life bad things happen to good people. Like D Rose. And me. And now all’s hopeless. Cause there’s no way we can beat the 76ers — much less the Heat — without D Rose. Oh, God, this is bleak. Oh, why, oh, why is this happening to me????
A Bulls nation turns its lonely eyes to — Johnny Luke!!!!
Followed by acceptance….
But, wait — the Bulls are resilient. They’ve been resilient all year. They’ve won games without D Rose. They won 18 games without him. And they beat Miami. Remember when they beat Miami without D Rose? Johnny Luke came off the bench to hit big shot after big shot. So if they can win 18 regular season games without him, they can win 15 playoff games without him. It only takes 16 wins to win a championship. And they already have one. Just 15 to go. It could happen. Yes, yes, it really could. Oh, my God, I have this vision: Johnny Luke hitting the big shot to win the big game!
Followed by a repetition of the whole process. Apparently one time around’s not enough…..
Denial….
Maybe they misread the MRI and his knee’s not really torn….
Anger….
Ahhh!!!!!
And so forth. As we can see, this will take some time.
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Rolando: The Legend of Milo
In this world, there are legends, and then there are legends who are legendary even amongst legends.
That’s the best way to describe Milo Samardzija.
The man operates on a whole other level in the blogging world. He can create the most vivid and hysterically funny imagery, with such precision, that it’s almost as if he were performing surgery, not writing a blog bit.
And he’s fearless. He’ll tackle any subject, no matter the consequences. He’s a goddamn American hero, if you ask me.
But there’s just one thing: Very few people know what he looks like. He’s an enigma. A phenomenon that everyone agrees exists, but very few have seen for themselves, like the aurora borealis. He’s a recluse of the J.D. Salinger order.
And I’m okay with that, I tend to be a bit of a recluse myself. But it’s creating some concerns for our new partners over at King Conundrum.
They’ve been producing, reading and recording some of our stories in a joint collaborative effort. And, of course, they’ve read some of Milo’s stories. And of course, they were intrigued by his unique insights and storytelling capabilities.
So when we decided to write and record our first radio play together, they wondered if Milo, who had been absent from all previous recording sessions, would attend.
The last known picture of Milo….
I knew from a phone conservation I had with Benny Jay the other day that he would not be attending the planned writing sessions.
“Yeah, he’s not going,” Benny Jay said. “He won’t leave his goddamn cave.”
“You know it would be great if we had him there,” I said. “And you know the guys want to meet him.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. He won’t go. And you know what the motherfucker said to me?”
“What?”
“He says, ‘After you guys write the script, give it me and I’ll be the script doctor.’ Script doctor! This fucking guy.”
So Milo wasn’t going to leave the solitude of his own home to write with the guys.
I had to be the one to break the bad news. So I went over to the King Conundrum recording studio at The 416, where I proceeded to explain the situation.
“Milo wont be showing up to the writing sessions,” I said. “Benny Jay says he won’t leave his cave.”
Legend has it that Milo’s the man behind the newspaper….
Jus Buckingham and Joel Reitsma–two of the King Conundrum guys–looked visibly upset upon receiving the news.
“What, like, ever? Or just to come work with us?” Jus asked.
“Well, apparently his wife, The Lovely Mrs. Milo, can get him to go out, but he won’t budge for anyone else,” I said. “Benny Jay tried and he gave him some `script doctor’ line.”
“Script doctor?” Joel asked. “What the fuck does he think this is? Hollywood, or something?”
“Well, he’s not coming and that’s it,” I said.
All they could muster was a collective “damn.”
Then, Jus, realizing that I had worked for thethirdcity.org for quite sometime, and must have met Milo at some point, turned to me and asked: “Is Milo for real or did Benny Jay just make him up?”
“Oh, no — he’s for real.”
“How do you know?”
“Because….I met him?”
“You met him!!!! You met Milo?”
“Yes.”
“Where, when, how many times?”
“Just once,” I said as I gazed into the distance at the memory. “At Benny Jay’s house. A long, long time ago.”
In unison, they replied: “What’s he like?”
“Just like he is in his stories. He’s a hard-nosed, whiskey-swigging, cat-hating, knife-wielding, tobacco-smoking, barroom-brawling, slit-your-throat, gambling, terrible bastard from Gary.”
“Is it true that he can steal your woman right from underneath you with just a glance?” Joel asked.
“Or that he once walked into craps game down in Gary with a buck in his pocket and left with $10,000?” Jus asked.
“Or that he runs a secret sweatshop in Chinatown where he manufactures bootlegged Apple products?” Joel asked.
“Or that he’s a pussy magnet?” Jus asked.
“Guys, guys, yes, it’s all true,” I said. “Milo is one motherfucker.”
Again, another collective “damn.”
“But he’s not coming so don’t even think about it anymore,” I said.
After breaking the news, I left and went home, knowing that the Legend of Milo will continue to grow. And that generations of his adoring fans will be left to wonder who the man really is.
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Benny Jay: The Jon Randolph Stamp
Big news from The Third City!
The post office has printed the Gwendolyn Brooks stamp, part of a series immortalizing literary giants.
The stamp’s based on a photo snapped by our very own Jon Randolph, the world’s greatest photographer.
Congratulations, Jonny!
Apparently, you can now buy these stamps at your post office.
So run, run, run and buy some. Tell them Jonny sent you and they’ll say: “Oh, that’s nice.”
As you recall, this stamp is based on a photograph that Jon ran in one of his Friday posts in The Third City.
Literary giants, honored by the post office….
Apparently, someone saw it and one thing led to the other and the next thing you know the post office was on the line, offering Jon tens of thousands of dollars to use it.
Well, not sure how much it was. But it’s good to know that at least someone’s making money at The Third City.
It was only a matter of time.
That offer from the post office led to some high-stakes negotiations between Jon and me, The Third City’s Chief Financial Officer, over compensation.
The negotiations went like this….
Me: Jon, you’re going to have to pay The Third City handsomely if you want to let the post office use that photo.
Jon: Hmm…
Me: After all, it was The Third City that helped introduce that photograph to the world.
Jon: How `bout a hearty handshake?
Me: Sounds good to me.
I think we’ll all agree that The Third City needs a new Chief Financial Officer — among other things.
The picture itself….
One more thing you should know about Jon Randolph….
In the glory days of our journalistic youth, we drove all over Chicago, working stories together. I wrote them, he photographed them.
He’s a great photographer and an even greater friend.
So, okay, that’s two more things you should know about Jon.
By the way, there’s no truth to the rumor that anyone in the post office is coming out with a stamp honoring Milo in a series immortalizing literary giants who graduated from Horace Mann High School in Gary, Indiana.
A list that includes Milo, Joe Stiglitz and some kid named Ernie, who used to help Milo with his homework.
That’s just a baseless rumor Milo’s been spreading.
One more time — congratulations, Jon!
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Benny Jay: The Will
Beth, the lawyer, drops by to finalize the last details as we sign our wills.
Yes, our wills – my wife and I are finally getting around to preparing our wills.
Been putting it off for — like — ever.
For years our excuse was we didn’t know who to put in charge of our kids, should the unfortunate occur.
But our kids have long since passed the age where they need someone to take care of them.
So, now, there’s no excuse other than the real one – just too uncomfortable to face the reality of what a will represents. As in….
We’re gonna die!!!!!!
Noooooo!!!!!
But, finally, my wife and I take the big gulp and bring in Beth the lawyer to do the deed — no pun intended.
Wait, is a will a deed?
Quick, call Matthew I. Farmer—The Third City’s in-house attorney.
On the day of the signing, two of our oldest friends – Sally and Joe – stop by.
They’re here as our witnesses.
Our will-signing was sort of like this — without the big shots….
Something you might not know—you can’t sign a will without two witnesses. And the witnesses can’t be related to you.
All over Third City land readers are saying to themselves: I did not know that.
To quote the great Eugene Levy.
Anyway, Beth’s showing us where to sign and where to initial and where to write the date.
There’s a whole bunch of papers to sign. I’m so nervous, my hand’s shaking.
It’s like – our mortality is alive and in this room laughing at us.
At one point, in between signing, I look at Sally and say what’s new. And she says: “Oh, did I tell you….”
Turns out another mutual friend— call her Mrs. Jones— has been having an affair with Billy, a much younger man.
“No,” I say.
“Yes,” says Sally.
“Oh, my God.”
Then as if on cue, Sally and I start singing Billy Paul’s classic…
“Me and Mrs. Jones — we got a thing going, on. We both know that it’s wrong, but it’s much too strong…”
The great Billy Paul!
Even the lawyer’s impressed. Not with our singing, but with that unexpected newsflash.
“He’s half her age,” says my wife.
“Tell me about it,” says Sally.
“How do you know?” I ask.
That’s me — always a stickler for confirmation. Must be my journalistic training.
“I had a feeling from watching them together….”
Not good enough — we need two sources. It’s an old Woodward/Bernstein rule from their Watergate-reporting days.
“Well, Sarah saw them walking hand in hand together in a mall,” says Sally.
That’ll do – write it and run it on the front page!
Then call Matthew I. Farmer — just in case.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this before,” I tell Sally.
“Well, I haven’t seen you in a long time,” she says.
“You’re right. Hey, we should do these will signings more often!”
Get a big laugh out of that one.
Mrs. Jones a cougar — who knew?
Makes me almost forget the will. Life truly goes on.
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Guest Blogger:
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Pull My Finger. Written by Milo. Read by Andy Orscheln, Lorenzo Toia, Joel Reitsma, Nels, Laura Korn and introducing Benny Jay as Rolando. Produced by King Conundrum.
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A wholly owned subsidiary of The Third City.
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