August Blogapalooz Offers So Many Choices, So Little Time

August Blogapalooz Offers So Many Choices, So Little Time

The last Wednesday of each month is reserved for "Blogapalooz Hour."  At 9:00 PM on that day a topic is emailed to all ChicagoNow bloggers and we are challenged to post a relevant blog in one hour.

Today, we have an extra 4-1/2 hours to construct our response and we can choose a topic from a list of 54 of the previous topics.

I began this task by narrowing the choices down to six.

The first one I considered was, "Write about a person, or persons, you never met whose death had an impact on you."  JFK and John Lennon immediately popped into my mind, maybe yours, too.

Writing about John Lennon might've reignite my anger over Yoko Ono breaking up of the Beatles.  If only she would've married Sonny Bono, then she could've been Yoko Ono Bono.

The assassination of JFK changed the way I looked at the world around me.  It was a loss of innocence, but it awakened a curiosity as to the far reaching effects of  historical events.  I started seeing how the past shapes our present.

And no, I do not believe that Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone.

The second topic that caught my eye was, "Write about something in your life you'd like a second chance at"

It seemed like low hanging fruit. After all, I've been married three times. Regrets? I've got a few.

I pondered, "Write about an inanimate object you have a strong emotional attachment to" for a bit, my motorcycle being the obvious choice.

I quickly realized, though that there would be no way to convey my relationship with my motorcycle to anyone who doesn't ride.  It would be like trying to explain the taste of a hot dog to someone who's never had one.

"Since rules are made to be broken, write about rules you routinely break or want to break" held some promise. Anyone who's driven with me could write that one.

This one demanded attention: "Write about a time you experienced a remarkable coincidence or something unexplained."  So, here we go.

My first wife's dad was a professor of biology and everyone called him "Doc." Even his wife called him Doc.

Doc was a great guy and a lot of people said that he was the reason I married his daughter. I can't argue with that. We spent a lot of time together and it might have been the best "father-son" relationship I ever had.

His daughter, on the other hand was not the best of times. Decidedly, not.

A lot of freaky, inexplicable things occurred during my time with her and a lot of it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.  There was one last thing, though that totally freaked me out.

About a decade after we got divorced I got an early morning call from her saying that her dad, who had relocated to Florida had died in his sleep.

She was understandably upset and I told her that I would help her make travel arrangements and get her to the airport.

Later that day, I picked her up in Buffalo Grove and drove her to O'hare International Airport and accompanied her to the gate.

That was before you needed a ticket to get through security.

While I was sitting at the gate with her, waiting for her flight to board, I noticed a guy pushing around a waste basket, picking up random debris around the terminal.

The guy moved slowly, continually glancing up at me.

Finally, he walked straight over to me and took an empty coffee cup from my hand, all the while staring at me with a "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" look.

He was wearing one of those white jackets, like chef's wear, only he didn't look like a chef.  Breaking from his stare, I looked down and saw, at eye level a large pin on the pocket of his jacket that read, "DOC'S NOT OK."

Remember where we started with this story?   Everyone called her dad, "Doc."

Then that guy just turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

That, my friends is the story. And I'm sticking to it.

PS. I considered the following topic, but decided to look at it tomorrow: "Write about what, why and how you procrastinate."

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Filed under: Editorial, Satire

Tags: Blogapalooz, O'hare

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