Lederhosen, with a Side of Hate

This is what the annual German Day Festival in Lincoln Square is supposed to look like:


Lederhosen, smiling faces, encased meat, folk music, dancing and steins - steins! - of beer. Unfortunately, one attendee has tainted the entire Festival for me. Here's what happened:

K, our friend B and I walked over to Lincoln Square to see a movie. We were standing outside the theater discussing show times and our pre-movie drink options when a man and a woman, both in their 40s or early 50s, approached from the direction of the Festival. When they were almost past the theater, we heard the woman say very loudly, "Hmm, it looks like they're showing that anti-German movie here." Suddenly, she turned around and marched right up to the movie poster for Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds, and shouted several sentences in German. Next - and this is where it really gets crazy - she raised her right arm in the Hitler salute and declared "Sieg Heil!" Then her companion linked his arm through hers and they continued on their way.

Shocked, the three of us stood there with our mouths open for a moment, looking at each other like umm, did that just happen? Did that woman just pronounce her Nazism to a near-life-size image of Brad Pitt? Yes indeed. Next question: what is the proper response on our part? Our natural reaction was simply to stand there in astonishment. Before we knew it, the outburst was over and the woman had gone on her way. In hindsight, I'm not sure that there is anything else we should have / could have done, but nevertheless I felt yucky about just standing there.

It brings to mind an experience K and I had several years ago during one of our visits to the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. As we were making our way through the permanent exhibition, we encountered a group of four or five young men with shaved heads and clothing littered with swastikas. They tromped through the museum without pause, occasionally pointing and laughing. Laughing. In that case too, they were there and gone before I was even able to comprehend their presence in that space. Did they think they were being brave? Were we cowards for not confronting their hate?

Puppets and Washboards in Welles Park

Saturday afternoon saw K, his folks and I making our way to the Chicago Folk & Roots Festival in Lincoln Square's Welles Park. We were greeted by a beer tent and several market stalls specializing in stuff like hemp and handmade jewelry. The for-sale folk art pieces, like those pictured at left, made for an interesting walk through. A few artists were painting big music-inspired murals.

Also present was the Puppet Bike, an Andersonville summertime classic. I mean, here we're talking about puppets that dance - no, rock out - under a disco ball, pop out of surprising little doors below their stage and interact with their audience. Umm, how could you not love a Puppet Bike?


As we made our way over to the main stage, the man with the mic said, "The first one to fall in the mud loses." The previous night's rain had apparently wreaked a little havoc in the park, but we found some nice dry grass and settled down. What a gorgeous day!


Cedric Watson & Bijou Creole played a dance-able set, sung mostly in French.


K's mom has been to New Orleans numerous times and told me that this washboard player was nowhere near as good as others she'd heard. Nevertheless, coming as I do from a long line of non-washboard players, I was quite impressed. Dude makes a living playing a washboard!

I may not be too picky about my music or my festivals, but I will definitely plan to go back to Folk & Roots. It was a marvelous chance to get out with all my neighbors and enjoy that friendly neighborhoody vibe that makes me adore living in this part of the city. Up here, we make mud fun.

Folk & Roots

Well, I'm back from the land of tea, civility and Marks and Spencer. Among the valuable lessons I've learned are that many Brits pronounce the word 'scone' like "scawn" (as in rhymes with dawn), and they sometimes refer to bedspreads as "counterpanes." Weirdos.

I returned from my travels feeling grounded and refreshed. I've even managed to almost make peace with my recent bike heist. I know I owe this blog a couple of posts about my trip, but first let's talk about my new adventure for this week.


K's parents will be in town this weekend and we are planning to take them to the Chicago Folk & Roots Festival in Lincoln Square's Welles Park, just west of our Ravenswood 'hood. The festival promises diverse grooves on multiple stages, lively dancing, and beer. And as if that wasn't enough, it offers up the Annual Midwest Fiddle Championship. Tell me that isn't pure gold.

This guy was at the festival last year, and I sure hope he comes back. My great-grandmother played the accordion until the day she died, and I'll always have a special place in my heart for the instrument and its devotees.

If the online pictures from past years' festivals are any indication, the place is going to be crawling with adorable children. This would normally be a good thing, but with K's mom in tow, it is sure to elicit several remarks about how desperately she needs a grandchild of her own. So to counteract the effects of that, I may just have to get drunk. Or get her drunk. Ideally both, and then get down with our bad selves in the dance tent.