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This page is a Monthly Archive of entries from July 2008 listed from newest to oldest.
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On a Sunday afternoon in June, nearly 50 people gathered at Urbana’s Independent Media Center to commemorate “Grandpa.” Robert Wahlfeldt died in March at the age of 83. In his working life he was a labor leader and political radical. In retirement, he was a mentor and unofficial grandfather for the close-knit community of political activists in Champaign-Urbana. Almost everyone called him “Grandpa.”
I profiled Mr. Wahlfeldt one month before he died as part of a series on political activists in the area. At the IMC event, his friends and family dedicated a basement meeting room as “The Grandpa Wahlfeldt Family Room”.
It’s time for apple pie.
Curtis Orchard opened up shop for the season last week, and that can only mean one thing: apples. Well, actually it means a few things: Apricots, blueberries, Rehaven peaches, watermelon, sweet corn, tomatoes, yellow squash and zucchini.
Curtis Orchard, near the brand-new I-57 Curtis Road interchange — grows 5000 apple trees and 20 acres of pumpkins on their 80-acre farm just west of Windsor Road.
Earlier this month, Urbana became home to a new restaurant/dueling piano bar named 88 Broadway. After two years of planning, owner Doug Larson was finally able to bring his vision to fruition. Located inside the south entrance of Lincoln Square Mall, the restaurant seems to galvanize the otherwise dormant mall once the retailers shut down for the night.
I sat down with Larson and his general manager, Luke Henry, to ask them about the newest addition to downtown Urbana’s nightlife. Larson’s idea was to create a contemporary atmosphere that would be accessible for business lunches, casual dinners and raucous sing-a-longs late into the night. They also desired to create a diverse atmosphere that would be accessible to all age groups. “We would like to have a dinner atmosphere similar to Biaggi’s, but not out of reach as far as prices go,” Larson stated. Henry added that most mixed drinks and drafts are only $3, so that no one feels that 88 Broadway isn’t affordable.
I traveled to Seattle for my brother's wedding this past weekend. While I was a little bummed that I would miss Critical Mass in Champaign-Urbana, it never occurred to me to attend the Seattle equivalent. It was the same time as the wedding anyway, but it looks like I really missed out. Here's the mainstream media account and the indymedia version.
It's going to be pretty tough to get an accurate picture of what really went down from those stories. After spending a few days in Seattle, though, I can see where commuting tension would be high. There's a ton of traffic of both the car and bike variety, and even a lot of the arterial roads are narrow and curvy.
You're moving soon, and you're not taking that never-used mini Crock-Pot with you. Or those dead batteries. Same with that pile of clothes, a foot-tall stack of old magazines, and the busted microwave.
You don't have time for a garage sale, but your conscience says you can't throw it away, either.
Champaign-Urbana is home to plenty of places that will gladly and quickly take this stuff off your hands. True, it's a little annoying to haul it around town, but beneficial to your new apartment and the community if you can donate it or properly dispose of it. And if you're leaving town, what better excuse to take a farewell tour
through C-U than to deposit your unwanted goods at sites infinitely more useful than its dumps?
I recently had a meeting near Carle Hospital. I didn’t have enough change to satiate the parking meters for three hours, so I turned off of Lincoln Avenue, onto Hill Street and found a parking space on the street.
After the meeting, I returned to my car. As I approached my driver's side door, I discerned an orange envelope beneath my wipers. “There is no way I have a ticket,” I said out loud. Sure enough, when I opened that little envelope, I found a fifteen dollar ticket for BLOCKING/OBSTRUCTING DRIVEWAY (within 5 feet of driveway entrance). I then yelled, “No f-ing way.”
When I think about my high school counselor, I can’t really recall him being influential to me. I think he had glasses and I think I was slightly attracted to his daughter, but that’s about it. I’m sure that he would hate to read this article, but if he had done a better job guiding me, then I could have given him more encomiums in this commentary.
I don’t think I’m alone here. Am I? I think that guidance counselors should spend less time fantasizing with students and more time working on the rudiments of finding employment, such as how to dress for an interview.
Interviewing can be one of the most stressful experiences in life, depending on the desirability of the job. The anticipation of an interview can be intense: you might not sleep the night before, you might not be able to eat all day and chances are you might say something in the interview that you will regret.
I think everyone has gone through this at some time or another. If you haven’t, you will. Eventually you might even land a job that requires you to interview, and then you will know what it’s like to be me. So far this year, I have interviewed over 150 people, and most of the interviews are stereotypically boring. However, now and again I get the opportunity to interview some pretty “special people”.
( Ed. note: Thomas will have more interesting HR stories to tell in future editions of this regular column. )
Growing up in southwest Champaign, my family made a weekly trek to either Jerry’s IGA or Roundbarn IGA (depending on if Mom or Dad were driving) for our grocery shopping.
Hardware needs were fulfilled at the Roundbarn TrueValue. For a bookstore, Pages for All Ages was conveniently located in the newly built Old Farm shopping center, with a video store and ice-cream shop at the strip mall on the other side of Mattis.
Champaign was a small place for me. Market Place might as well have been in Indiana for as often as we went there, and how far away it seemed when we did. Everything that was needed — parks, school, church, groceries, ice cream and VHS rentals — was within no more than a few miles from home.
William: The Illini Glider Club sits on the outskirts of Monticello: a grassy airstrip, a hangar with five gliders and a tow plane, a couple of folding chairs and an ocean of sky. Only some distant trees and a few rusted barns intrude on the vista.
The day we visited to take a ride, a morning shower had just blown over, and the sky was piled high with ivory cumulonimbus — a good sign for gliders.
Cristy: When William asked me if I wanted to go gliding, I hesitated. Did glider mean hang glider? I laughed nervously, not really saying yes or no. When William tried to reassure me that a glider was enclosed, I broke into a panicky, cold sweat. Immediate thoughts of nosediving into a field came to mind.
If you’re thinking about getting a bike, absolutely do it. I can’t think of very many excuses for not owning a bike in this town. I know I waited entirely too long to finally get a bike. It was part laziness, part intimidation and part ignorance. Where do I get a bike? What kind of bike? Can I even ride one? Before I took the plunge, I hadn’t been on a bike in years. Growing up in Chicago, I took the "L" everywhere, or just walked. My bicycle knowledge was limited to the fuchsia Huffy I rode as child. My quest for a bicycle was full of anguish that I would be chastised for my complete and utter ignorance in the field of cycling.
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