Land o' Lincoln

February 12 was Abraham Lincoln's 200th birthday. To celebrate, Disc0 and I took the train from Chicago down to Lincoln's home town and our state capitol, Springfield (on the way down, we kept singing the song from the Simpsons when Bart and Milhouse go crazy Broadway style...look, you already know we're nerds...we went on a Historical Daycation.)

It was a very enjoyable History Daycation. In the 7 or so hours we spent in Springfield, we saw the old state capitol (where we witnessed re-enactors and listened to some gospel music in the old house of representatives):



visited the outside of the new state capital (very impressive building, even grander than Georgia's gold dome if I do say so myself):



took a tour of Lincoln's home and neighborhood (a well-preserved national park):




(check out his wallpaper!):


took a tour of Lincoln's law office, and watched some edutaining little movies about Lincoln's life and times.

I knew a decent amount about Lincoln and obviously understand what an inspiring figure he was in his time and still is. But it was very satisfying to learn a lot of little details about his life, and in a setting where he got the hero's treatment. In Virginia, in the 80's and 90's, I was taught a lot about the "war heros" Stonewall Jackson and Robert E. Lee. I was taught that the war was "about economics, more than it was about slavery." Uh huh...Ah, crazy ol' Virginny. It was nice to go someplace where I know school children take field trips and learn the Union side of the story. The one that WON. The one that did result in the abolition of slavery. That story.

And it was sobering to get the details about what a trial-laden life the man led. In school, I was also taught that Abe and especially Mary Todd Lincoln were emotionally unstable, depressive, and a bit crazy. Well, 75% of their kids DIED in childhood. Mary Todd lost two sons, her husband, and then another son. That sounds pretty crazy-making to me. He still managed to get some nice policy work done, right?

Anyway, I am now a huge proponent of the Historical Daycation. Especially if you can take the train down and back. Ah yes: at the end of the day, we got some ice cream and some popcorn for the trip back. Illinois is a magical place for popcorn. At Del's, we got "charmel corn" upon which both caramel sauce and cheese...substance are heaped. DELICIOUS!

Baby Laughs Alot

This has nothing to do with anything...I just sort of thought...it needed to be seen. And possibly re-enacted.



WTF?! Were all toys terrifying in the 70's or what?

Food Blog!

http://commonlawhousewife.blogspot.com/

This new blog talks about what I'm more likely to be doing now - cooking at home instead of going out all over tarnation. Luckily it's fun and I'm going to share the recipes I find!

Yeah, pretty much

Matt Damon (for some reason? whatever, he's right) on Sarah Palin. Hear him now and believe him later and vote for Obama in two months.

They are not invisible friends so much as teen idols?

All of my new best friends (in my head) are internet-famous comediennes. Sarah Haskins is a hilarious genius. Apparently she recently left the Chicago comedy scene for sunny L.A. Please note this awesomely pointed video. Unfortunately, it brings to light the fact that the entire "We" network should have an eating disorder trigger warning instead of "TVPG" or whatever the FCC decided to give them. Find the rest of her amazing "Target: Women" items on infomania.



My other new (again, fake, totally in my head) best friend is named Jen Kirkman and this something awesome that SHE does:

See more Danny McBride videos at Funny or Die

Pitchfork and fine weather

So this summer, the weather in Chicago isn't as idyllic as last year. It has been rainy, muggy, hot, or all three on many days. But we're finally starting to get some beautiful days in succession.

My friend Erin was in town visiting this weekend, and we had a crazy/great time. Friday night, before picking her up at the airport, I had a delicious dinner with a friend K at Le Colonial - the place is a representation of French colonialism in Vietnam, which is weird. But the food is fantastic, and the atmosphere quite nice for a Viagra Triangle joint. Afterwards, we headed over to Streeters to meet our menfolk. I loved it. It's like Moe's Tavern on the Simpsons, except the bartenders are really nice. There were like 15 people there on a Friday night. Half of them were in our party, playing beer pong and eating absolutely revolting hotdogs (but delicious french fries) from a nearby hotdog stand. I wasn't playing because I had to pick Erin up at the airport, and also because I don't really like playing beer pong.

Saturday, Erin and I took advantage of the decent weather and checked out the Pitchfork Music Festival. Vampire Weekend was as precious as I expected, and they tie for favorite show of the day with Jarvis Cocker (lead singer of Pulp, now doing solo work). Also, in the merch tents, I bought a fantastic unicorn shirt and we had our pictures taken for a music video of a children's song, or something.

After the show, had a quick bite to eat at Twist Tapas in the hood, met up with some gals, and then headed out to the Rainbo Club in the Ukrainian Village. I'd never been there but I really liked it. Friendly and chill like most of Chicago, with a fun photobooth, beautiful people, CHEAP drinks, and the nicest hipster bartenders ever. It's kind of far from home to make it a regular spot, since I don't even make a regular spot of the bars across the street from my house what with being an old fart and all. But I hope to make it at least a regular spot for when I feel like taking a cab to a bar. The funniest part was that there were probably 8 or so guys dressed up in Joker makeup, presumably having caught a screening of the Dark Knight earlier in the night. It made me wonder if they make it a habit of going out to bars dressed as Boba Fet, or Dumbledore, or Orks, or some other doofusy thing that I've never heard of. Anyway, despite encounterig scary Joker faces at every turn, we met some fun and interesting people, discovered new drinks, got in the photobooth and had a good night.

Sunday we slept, hurt, ate D'agostino's, and went on an architectural river cruise.

Yesterday, before Erin headed home (sniff), we went on a shopping tour of my neighborhood. There are a number of cute and resonably priced boutiques that I'd never been to because of my shopping addiction, but we did a good job and only bought one item each.

Good times!

The Dells Tradition Continues!

For 4th of July 2008, disc0 and I decided to head back up to the Wisconsin Dells (this is our third year running), but this time we made it a real family vacation. My sister ("SB") and her girlfriend ("T-shirt C") came along. We had some FUN TIMES!!! Those times are probably best explained in pictures, but first I'll give a little synopsis. On the way to the Dells, we stopped at a place called Mars' Cheese Castle in Kenosha; the MCC is an extremely amazing and overwhelming place where one can buy all sorts of Wisconsin based (and also European imported) food products. As you can plainly see, their logo seems to indicate that some non-Martian, ringed planet is also involved in their business (thanks to flickr.com usuer "romkey" for this sharable image):

While in the Dells, we spent most of our time and money at the various Old Timey Portrait studios that pepper the Dells boardwalk. We also took a duck tour to look at the actual dells and the effects of the major flood a couple weeks ago that destroyed Lake Delton, went to a really terrible water park (I won't name names, but it has a really poorly executed ancient theme, which can't decide if it is Roman, Greek, or Mayan) and a really wonderful teppanyaki dinner at Ginza of Tokyo. Neither Disc0 nor T-shirt C had ever been to a teppanyaki restaurant before, so SB and I had to show them the ropes. The delicious, iron griddle ropes. There was an onion volcano.

But I know what you really want to see is pictures of our time traveling exploits.

We started from the earliest time period that made any logical sense. Meaning of course, that we went back to pirate times. Luckily we brought a camaarrrrra (ha!). For the pictures, I'm going to point you to this album, because blogger isn't necessarily the most cooperative when it comes to amazing photographic compilations:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/58643578@N00/sets/72157606061620086/

So, modeling for old-timey photography studios took up much of our time. While SB and T-shirt C were here in the Midwest, we also made cupcakes and cupcake toppers which were tiny imitation cheeseburgers made of icing and mini cookies, ate a Uncommon Ground twice, watched a few episodes of All-American Girl and generally had a great time together like always! Yay for sisters!

The Legitimate Theater

I saw some of the best and, er, non-best theater ever this week. I'll go from the most recent and work backwards...

On Tuesday night, I went to see the Celebration of Authors by the Barrel of Monkeys Theater & Education Group. It was amazing. In short, BOM is a group of educators and actors that goes into Chicago Public Schools, works with kids (the median grade seems to be 4th) to help them write stories, dialogues, and arguments, and then performs the children's stories with a professional, adult cast. I'm hoping to join their board so I can help raise some money for them, so keep yer eyes peeled for more in this blog about moolah for the monkeys.

The show was fantastic. I'm finding it difficult to describe the performance itself; basically the company performs sketches either based on stuff the kids wrote, or (in the case of dialogues) using the kids' product as a script. For the most part, the stories are funny, and even if they aren't written with Twain's wit the company adapts them into very funny sketches. But I definitely teared up during the opening number, just imaginig what it would be like to be a 4th grader, maybe in a public school that's not so well-regarded, and to come to a big, fancy theater and have a story I wrote about going to the zoo turned into a huge production number, taking over the whole stage with a 30-person cast. Cool.

On Saturday, as part of the Chicago Improv Festival, I went to see JTS Brown. Y'all, I may as well tell you that I have a crush on Jason Sudeikis, who is an actor on Saturday Night Live. It's OK b/c disc0 does too, and because my celebrity crushes are exceedingly mild. Regardless, he is one of the founding members of JTS Brown, an improv team/show/form. Jason Sud. wasn't at the performance, but that really didn't matter. It was the best damn improv show I've ever seen. Best comedic performance I've ever seen in person. It was effing great. The cast worked together SO well that I might have thought they rehearsed together all the time (here's where I'm nerdy: I went to see a forum where part of the team talked about the group, and their form, so I know that they last performed together in Chicago like 10 years ago). And I was reminded how lucky Chicago is to haveTJ Jagodowski around, doing improv all over town so that it's pretty easy to go see his work. Which you should, if you're here, because he's funny, y'all. Funny.

An act I saw on Saturday before JTS Brown's show was, unfortunately, not good. I was excited to see them, because I'd heard great things. I think they were just have a bad night. I guess I don't want to say too much more about it, but I was sad. Of course, as a very measly, beginning improviser, it's at once very comforting and kinda scary that a generally well-regarded and very experienced group of actors can put on such a show. Anyway, if I go back to see this team again, and they are great, I'll talk about that; you'll never know that they were attached to this...unpleasantness.

Friday, also as part of the Chicago Improv Fest, I saw a free performance by the Improvised Shakespeare Company. Honestly, this entry is kinda long and I'm almost tired of saying how funny everyone is and how great they are, but I HAVE TO, because the Improvised Shakespeare Company is funny and great. All of the company members are impressively well-versed in Bard-isms (<-- unlike me) and much of the time I was laughing not only at the situations they created but also just because I was impressed. Actually they created a really disgusting scenario (about phlegm) around which to center the action, but I was so into the performance that I didn't even gag. If that's not a truly ringing endorsement, I defy you to show me one.

I have always loved you, Weezer

I hadn't seen this video yet - I found it on another blog. Ya know Ultragrrrl, from Spin? Her blog: http://ultragrrrl.blogspot.com/


If you have even an iota of internet dorkiness, you will probably love this as much as I do. Or if you just like Weezer, this will allow you to listen to the sweet sound of Rivers Cuomo. He's the reason I love horned-rim glasses, and sweaters.

Washing Machine on the Fritz? No Worries in Northern Illinois.

I am, right now, sitting at the World's Largest Laundromat. In case you were wondering, the World's Largest Laundromat is in Berwyn, Illinois. It is rather large. About the size of one of your larger Value Villages, for my Atlanta peops. They have many miraculous machines, including a "bill breaker." If, like me, you have a $10 bill but only need $5 in quarters: you're in luck. Go to the bill breaker, my friend, and get 2 $5s for your $10. Wonderful!

The World's Largest Laundromat uses solar power to heat its laundry water! That, and the free wi-fi, is the reason I decided to drive over to Berwyn instead of going to the combination laundromat/bar that's only about 0.5 miles from my house. Also I am more in the mood for free coffee/donuts 9:30 am, which I can get at the World's Largest Laundromat. At the laundromat/bar they offer more in the way of pub grub and beer. SUPER COOL, but in a evening-laundry kind of way.

Also, I really wanted to drive my laundry wherever I was going. I have enough to fill two triple loader machines at the World's Largest Laundromat, but I would still feel a little chumpish driving only 0.5 miles and then trying to find a parking space on Southport. Ecologically, my drive to Berwyn probably cancels out my patronage of a solar powered laundromat, but here's what you DIDN'T know: the World's Largest Laundromat also has an aviary! And I'm sitting right in front of it on what I believe is a discarded dorm couch! And one of the doves who lives in the aviary in the Worl'ds Largest Laundromat has recently had BABY DOVES and she's sitting on them right now. So you can see that my decision, ultimately, was the right one.

Seeing is Believing

Chicago Holiday Weekend! Happy Memorial Day everybody. Hope you're barbecuing or watching the I Love the 70's marathon or something else fun.

Friday night we went out to see Gayco's 10 year anniversary presentation of their first show, "Whitney Houston, We Have a Problem!" First of all I LOVE that title. It was fun seeing how Gayco has progressed in a decade, and I always love their shows. Fun times. Later, we went to a friend's birthday celebration at Hopleaf in Andersonville. Great bar! They have a pretty amazing selection of beer and a really friendly bartender. Duh, this is Chicago. Sadly, the rest of Andersonville seemed to be shut down completely, except for Simon's Tavern. I actually really liked Simon's but it was empty, and the birthday boy was looking for a party. So we ended up at Carol's Pub, as all good partiers should.

Saturday we went to see the White Sox (see them lose, but that's OK). Our generous friends have front row seats right behind the Sox dugout, and brought me and Disc0 along. It was a blast. We saw Ozzie Guillen get heckled, yell and curse right back, grumble around, get heckled again, win over his hecklers with a smile, and eventually get thrown out of the game. Classic. Then we went on over to Jimbo's Lounge, which is basically the antithesis of everything Wrigleyville. To my knowledge, it's the only bar within walking distance of Comiskey (I mean US Cellular Field, not that that's a lame name for a ballpark or anything), they play nothing but oldies during peak bar hours, the average age was late 30's rather than 21. It also displayed a bunch of those paintings in which many 50's icons are hanging out together in a diner, or on a fancy finned car. I liked it. Except for the most inappropriate 80's copy machine ad ever, which was also displayed proudly on Jimbo's wall. You'll just have to head to Chicago's south side to see it if you really want to know.

Sunday we went to see a law school friend perform in his weekly show at iO, 3033. This guy is also teaching us all about board games, btw. Watch for my logic and reasoning to improve drastically in the coming months. Anyway, the show was hilarious, as always. It's probably my favorite show at iO right now. Our buddy is one of the funniest people I've ever met or seen perform, and his team members are some of the best in the biz. Good times! I also made cupcakes from Amy Sedaris's Tattletail's Vanilla Cupcake recipe. That is a delicious recipe, and I take very little credit for how yummy the cakes were. Amy gets all the credit.
(I mean this, but I'm also saying it in case she reads this blog and wants to be friends).

Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood

Disc0 and I are still committed to exploring Chicago, so that we have our favorite places all over the city. TBF, we're still limited in this exploration to north of the loop - southside is coming, though!

Today we took the Red Line up to Rogers Park. I've never been there even though one of my besties went to college up in them there parts. I love Rogers Park! Its a little bit funky, a little bit rock n' roll, a little artsy fartsy, and a lot more integrated than our neighborhood. I found my DREAM HOUSE up there on W. Jarvis, y'all. TBF, I find my dream house in every neighborhood. Last one was in Uptown.

We walked up Sheridan, right by the lake, to the Lake Side Cafe. It was like a smaller, sweeter version of the Chicago Diner. I love that Chicago has one vegan diner that's all "corporate" and "the man" against which the smaller, scrappier vegan diners have to fight.
Anyway, it was yummy and friendly and I had a delish chai tea with my quinoa salad. Disc0 had a vegan Chicago-style polish sausage. As he said, encased meats are often so processed anyway, at some point your enjoyment of the meal doesn't even depend on whether the stuff inside the casing is actually made of meat.

The plan was to walk down Sheridan to Loyola after lunch, but then it got really cold and windy so we just hopped down Howard to the el and went back home. I really like Rogers Park and want to spend more time exploring. There is gorgeous architecture all over the place.

There were tons of crazy/drunk Cubs fans on the el. They are so cute.

I'm trying now to decide what to make for dinner. This week I've done curried turkey burger sliders on tiny challah buns, cheese enchiladas on whole wheat tortillas, curried chicken salad, and pizza with caramelized onions. Common law housewifery!

Candybar!

I went to the dentist today, ya'll. It has been almost two years (I know, grodie and bad, but I use my Sonicare erry day). Luckily the dentist was super cool. It's one of those new-fangled dentists where all of the dental assistants look like fashion models and there are flat screen TVs for when you need more than just your normal, run of the mill cleaning. I didn't get to watch the TV, but that's OK. Now my mouth is sore in that difficult but accomplished way that only the dentist can bring.

When I was riding the train to the dentist, a presh, young, be-faux-hawked hipster sat down across from me. After a couple minutes he said, "Excuse me!" and pointed out that we were both reading the same book. Not only that, but the same edition of that book. Gotta love the el.

The book is Audre Lorde's Zami, btw. I first read it as a snotty little college sophomore in Women's Studies 100. I didn't get it at the time. I'm enjoying it a lot, ten years later. I may start re-reading a lot of things and wish I'd taken more women studies classes when I was a little pill so that I could re-read the books now that I'm a bit less of a pill (in some ways).

The weather was amazing today: pure 70 degrees, sunny and barely breezy. The winter is so worth it for Chicago spring and summer, ya'll.

I just found out the girls night happy hour tradition my friends and I started right before I left the firm is going to be back on as of next week. That will be so nice. We usually go to Monk's Pub which is best recommended for its relaxed manner and free peanuts. Peanut process at Monk's: just shell it, eat it, and throw the shell on the floor. Easy peasy.

Hippies are hippies everywhere! Yay.

Today I went to the opening day of Chicago's Green City Market. It's a famous (?) farmer's market where you can get produce, bread, lunch, coffee, meat, and (obviously) a shitload of cheese (hi, welcome to the midwest).

Unfortunately, since today was the opening day, there wasn't all that much produce to be had. Fortunately, this seems to indicate that the GCM is true to its mission of selling local food in season. If my local farmers don't have cucumbers in season right now, that is fine and dandy and I'll wait until they do to make the cucumber-yogurt sauce to go with the falafel I've been wanting to make.*

Even though I didn't obtain all the produce on my list, I did really enjoy walking around the market. I can be sort of a bougie liberal hippie, and I used to love seeing other BLHs at the farmers markets in Charlottesville and Atlanta. Now I know where to find them in Chicago - the Green City Market. In addition to this sense of homey familiarity, I picked up a (really tasty) baguette from the Bleeding Heart Bakery tent, some delicious Wisconsin horseradish/cheddar spread, and some fresh chipotle-tomatillo salsa. I hope in later weeks to be getting more fresh fruit and veggies, but I was happy with my first foray.

In other news, I love volunteering at the DV legal services clinic. And I really love my improvisation classes. This is true even though I am not all that good at it yet, and I'm not usually a big fan of things of that nature. I'm already learning alot, and didn't realize how much I missed acting classes. Fun and challenging. Being a part-time housewife, part-time voluntorney** and part-time improv student rules.

Finally, this weekend I went to the Yahootie Wedding!!!!!! Holy shit - they got hitched. And it was the most gorgeous wedding I've ever attended. I love so many people down in the dirty dirty, and was so happy to spend time with them. And of course, Beck and Gar are two of the most wonderful people in the world, and seeing them so elated to tie the knot was just beautiful. And furthermore, I got to dress up sexy with a bunch of other sexy bridesmaids in our red shoes and fancy fishnets, and spend the day with women I love as we primped and preened and got our hair did and our makeup applied and focused on our friendships with the amazing bride and with each other. Gush!
* * * *
*This might be a lie. I might go to Whole Foods and get a cucumber this weekend. I will try to make it a domestic cucumber so as to reduce the carbon footprint of my homemade Mediterranean dinner.

**volunteer attorney

I remember the outfits!

This has nothing to do with Chicago, and a lot to do with the fact that I am a common law housewife for the time being, and therefore have time to read all the blogs in creation (in between doing other productive things, I promise) (for reals).

This is my favorite new read...thanks to Phoebums at Get Entertainmental:

Some brilliant woman has decided to go back and read the Babysitter's Club series and blog about it. If you have any affection for these books, you will adore this blog. I adore it even more because I often feel like I may have written it while sleeptyping. I know I didn't, and that the real blogger deserves all the credit, but you might have suspicions too:

-Uncited Wet Hot quotes? Check.
-References to the best 90's movie ever, Party Girl? Check.
-Makes up gerunds out of nouns? Super check!

Whoever this gal is, she rules. You will find her blog, Claudia's Room, in my right hand links henceforth.

hey ya cankle bandits, cut the pumpernickel!

These are my favorite commercials right now, except for the one for Harold and Kumar 2 which is in a similar vein, which is my ultimate favorite commercial right now but which I couldn't find during my self-alloted internet break at work.






These are completely ripped off from, and really, poor substitutes for, one of my favorite sketches by The State: a performance of a gritty tale "Tenement" with TV-friendly language:

Husband (Ken): Aren't you gonna ask how my day was?

Wife (Kerri): How was your day?

Husband: Poopie. Another poopie day. I took number two from every dum-dum in this mickey-fickey neighborhood today. Thanks for asking, dummyhead.

Wife: I'm not taking any more of your fudging bull-puckey, you cock-eyed fellow! I took it from my screwy flick of a father, and I'm not gonna take it from a poop--who's too weinerless to fight for his own stinky job!

Husband: You pineapple! You fuzzy cootie! They gave my job to fudge-eating nickel pickers, and I come home...

and on like that. LOL.

i think it's about cheekbones

There is a movie filming in our neighborhood again. I know, yawn, it happens all the time. Seriously, a number of movies have been filmed around here, but, in the words of Garth Holladay, this is a big one - not just a few moments of stock footage of the el. It's a Michael Mann piece! About a Chicago infamo-legend...



The film is actually about John Dillinger;
cheekbones are merely a silent theme, as Johnny Depp and Christian Bale
are starring. This evening, we joined the unwashed masses gathered around the set, and felt kinda dorky, but it was really fun and interesting. They created a very cool looking 30's set, covering the whole street with fake cobblestones, putting up streetlamps and fake billboards, and dressing all the extries in fedoras and fancy overcoats.

We left before any documented Bale/Depp sitings actually occurred, because we didn't really want to be around for the weird, starstuck, entitled people to start yelling at the actors as they tried to do their jobs. Not that I am above thinking it would be cool to see them actually shooting a scene - I'm so totally not. But I did get a little uncomfortable at a couple of antsy teens who wanted to yell at non-famous people to get out of the way so they could take pictures of other, possibly famous people who were sitting inside (very cool, period) cars and who definitely seemed to wish not to be photographed.

There was also an OLD SCHOOL el train going by every few minutes, with be-hatted men inside. Quite cool.

We also had a lovely dinner at Deleece, where they have a $20, 3-course, fixed price menu on Mondays and Tuesdays. I had a delicious squash tortilla soup, and disc0 had a ridiculously good set of short ribs with some kind of ranch sauce that I wanted to drink with a straw. We will be back!

LOL Chicago

It has been alternately raining and snowing today, and now our trusty weatherperson is predicting something called THUNDERSNOW.




By the hammer of Thor - as I write, I hear thunder (and see snow)!



What in the name of jacob's ladder...!

Don't Put it Out With Your Boots, Ted!

I went to the local Whole Foods market to buy some milk, pizza crust, and expensive cheese.

First, I think all of my single friends should date the cheese counter guy. He always gives me cheese samples and is generally awesome. I don't know if he dates guys or gals, so you should all try.

And Second, the checkout guy looked at my reusable grocery bags (which we use because we are responsible as shit) which looks like this (mine is pink with a yellow stripe):



and that durn whippersnapper said "OH MY GOD! That looks like something from the 80's! It reminds me of plastic pink sunglasses from the 80's! I am SO glad I wasn't born yet!" I was like...shut up, young'n.

I'll think of a good comeback tomorrow.

Yes we can...

After all my ranting and raving and posting of dead sexy singers, today I want to follow Beck's lead and post the soaring, historic speech Barack Obama gave yesterday on race and politics.



(here is the text)

"'We the people, in order to form a more perfect union.'

Two hundred and twenty one years ago, in a hall that still stands across the street, a group of men gathered and, with these simple words, launched America's improbable experiment in democracy. Farmers and scholars; statesmen and patriots who had traveled across an ocean to escape tyranny and persecution finally made real their declaration of independence at a Philadelphia convention that lasted through the spring of 1787.

The document they produced was eventually signed but ultimately unfinished. It was stained by this nation's original sin of slavery, a question that divided the colonies and brought the convention to a stalemate until the founders chose to allow the slave trade to continue for at least twenty more years, and to leave any final resolution to future generations.

Of course, the answer to the slavery question was already embedded within our Constitution - a Constitution that had at its very core the ideal of equal citizenship under the law; a Constitution that promised its people liberty, and justice, and a union that could be and should be perfected over time.

And yet words on a parchment would not be enough to deliver slaves from bondage, or provide men and women of every color and creed their full rights and obligations as citizens of the United States. What would be needed were Americans in successive generations who were willing to do their part - through protests and struggle, on the streets and in the courts, through a civil war and civil disobedience and always at great risk - to narrow that gap between the promise of our ideals and the reality of their time.

This was one of the tasks we set forth at the beginning of this campaign - to continue the long march of those who came before us, a march for a more just, more equal, more free, more caring and more prosperous America. I chose to run for the presidency at this moment in history because I believe deeply that we cannot solve the challenges of our time unless we solve them together - unless we perfect our union by understanding that we may have different stories, but we hold common hopes; that we may not look the same and we may not have come from the same place, but we all want to move in the same direction - towards a better future for our children and our grandchildren.

This belief comes from my unyielding faith in the decency and generosity of the American people. But it also comes from my own American story.

I am the son of a black man from Kenya and a white woman from Kansas. I was raised with the help of a white grandfather who survived a Depression to serve in Patton's Army during World War II and a white grandmother who worked on a bomber assembly line at Fort Leavenworth while he was overseas. I've gone to some of the best schools in America and lived in one of the world's poorest nations. I am married to a black American who carries within her the blood of slaves and slaveowners - an inheritance we pass on to our two precious daughters. I have brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, uncles and cousins, of every race and every hue, scattered across three continents, and for as long as I live, I will never forget that in no other country on Earth is my story even possible.

It's a story that hasn't made me the most conventional candidate. But it is a story that has seared into my genetic makeup the idea that this nation is more than the sum of its parts - that out of many, we are truly one.

Throughout the first year of this campaign, against all predictions to the contrary, we saw how hungry the American people were for this message of unity. Despite the temptation to view my candidacy through a purely racial lens, we won commanding victories in states with some of the whitest populations in the country. In South Carolina, where the Confederate Flag still flies, we built a powerful coalition of African Americans and white Americans.

This is not to say that race has not been an issue in the campaign. At various stages in the campaign, some commentators have deemed me either "too black" or "not black enough." We saw racial tensions bubble to the surface during the week before the South Carolina primary. The press has scoured every exit poll for the latest evidence of racial polarization, not just in terms of white and black, but black and brown as well.

And yet, it has only been in the last couple of weeks that the discussion of race in this campaign has taken a particularly divisive turn.

On one end of the spectrum, we've heard the implication that my candidacy is somehow an exercise in affirmative action; that it's based solely on the desire of wide-eyed liberals to purchase racial reconciliation on the cheap. On the other end, we've heard my former pastor, Reverend Jeremiah Wright, use incendiary language to express views that have the potential not only to widen the racial divide, but views that denigrate both the greatness and the goodness of our nation; that rightly offend white and black alike.

I have already condemned, in unequivocal terms, the statements of Reverend Wright that have caused such controversy. For some, nagging questions remain. Did I know him to be an occasionally fierce critic of American domestic and foreign policy? Of course. Did I ever hear him make remarks that could be considered controversial while I sat in church? Yes. Did I strongly disagree with many of his political views? Absolutely - just as I'm sure many of you have heard remarks from your pastors, priests, or rabbis with which you strongly disagreed.

But the remarks that have caused this recent firestorm weren't simply controversial. They weren't simply a religious leader's effort to speak out against perceived injustice. Instead, they expressed a profoundly distorted view of this country - a view that sees white racism as endemic, and that elevates what is wrong with America above all that we know is right with America; a view that sees the conflicts in the Middle East as rooted primarily in the actions of stalwart allies like Israel, instead of emanating from the perverse and hateful ideologies of radical Islam.

As such, Reverend Wright's comments were not only wrong but divisive, divisive at a time when we need unity; racially charged at a time when we need to come together to solve a set of monumental problems - two wars, a terrorist threat, a falling economy, a chronic health care crisis and potentially devastating climate change; problems that are neither black or white or Latino or Asian, but rather problems that confront us all.

Given my background, my politics, and my professed values and ideals, there will no doubt be those for whom my statements of condemnation are not enough. Why associate myself with Reverend Wright in the first place, they may ask? Why not join another church? And I confess that if all that I knew of Reverend Wright were the snippets of those sermons that have run in an endless loop on the television and You Tube, or if Trinity United Church of Christ conformed to the caricatures being peddled by some commentators, there is no doubt that I would react in much the same way

But the truth is, that isn't all that I know of the man. The man I met more than twenty years ago is a man who helped introduce me to my Christian faith, a man who spoke to me about our obligations to love one another; to care for the sick and lift up the poor. He is a man who served his country as a U.S. Marine; who has studied and lectured at some of the finest universities and seminaries in the country, and who for over thirty years led a church that serves the community by doing God's work here on Earth - by housing the homeless, ministering to the needy, providing day care services and scholarships and prison ministries, and reaching out to those suffering from HIV/AIDS.

In my first book, Dreams From My Father, I described the experience of my first service at Trinity:

'People began to shout, to rise from their seats and clap and cry out, a forceful wind carrying the reverend's voice up into the rafters....And in that single note - hope! - I heard something else; at the foot of that cross, inside the thousands of churches across the city, I imagined the stories of ordinary black people merging with the stories of David and Goliath, Moses and Pharaoh, the Christians in the lion's den, Ezekiel's field of dry bones. Those stories - of survival, and freedom, and hope - became our story, my story; the blood that had spilled was our blood, the tears our tears; until this black church, on this bright day, seemed once more a vessel carrying the story of a people into future generations and into a larger world. Our trials and triumphs became at once unique and universal, black and more than black; in chronicling our journey, the stories and songs gave us a means to reclaim memories that we didn't need to feel shame about...memories that all people might study and cherish - and with which we could start to rebuild.'

That has been my experience at Trinity. Like other predominantly black churches across the country, Trinity embodies the black community in its entirety - the doctor and the welfare mom, the model student and the former gang-banger. Like other black churches, Trinity's services are full of raucous laughter and sometimes bawdy humor. They are full of dancing, clapping, screaming and shouting that may seem jarring to the untrained ear. The church contains in full the kindness and cruelty, the fierce intelligence and the shocking ignorance, the struggles and successes, the love and yes, the bitterness and bias that make up the black experience in America.

And this helps explain, perhaps, my relationship with Reverend Wright. As imperfect as he may be, he has been like family to me. He strengthened my faith, officiated my wedding, and baptized my children. Not once in my conversations with him have I heard him talk about any ethnic group in derogatory terms, or treat whites with whom he interacted with anything but courtesy and respect. He contains within him the contradictions - the good and the bad - of the community that he has served diligently for so many years.

I can no more disown him than I can disown the black community. I can no more disown him than I can my white grandmother - a woman who helped raise me, a woman who sacrificed again and again for me, a woman who loves me as much as she loves anything in this world, but a woman who once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street, and who on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe.

These people are a part of me. And they are a part of America, this country that I love.

Some will see this as an attempt to justify or excuse comments that are simply inexcusable. I can assure you it is not. I suppose the politically safe thing would be to move on from this episode and just hope that it fades into the woodwork. We can dismiss Reverend Wright as a crank or a demagogue, just as some have dismissed Geraldine Ferraro, in the aftermath of her recent statements, as harboring some deep-seated racial bias.

But race is an issue that I believe this nation cannot afford to ignore right now. We would be making the same mistake that Reverend Wright made in his offending sermons about America - to simplify and stereotype and amplify the negative to the point that it distorts reality.

The fact is that the comments that have been made and the issues that have surfaced over the last few weeks reflect the complexities of race in this country that we've never really worked through - a part of our union that we have yet to perfect. And if we walk away now, if we simply retreat into our respective corners, we will never be able to come together and solve challenges like health care, or education, or the need to find good jobs for every American.

Understanding this reality requires a reminder of how we arrived at this point. As William Faulkner once wrote, "The past isn't dead and buried. In fact, it isn't even past." We do not need to recite here the history of racial injustice in this country. But we do need to remind ourselves that so many of the disparities that exist in the African-American community today can be directly traced to inequalities passed on from an earlier generation that suffered under the brutal legacy of slavery and Jim Crow.

Segregated schools were, and are, inferior schools; we still haven't fixed them, fifty years after Brown v. Board of Education, and the inferior education they provided, then and now, helps explain the pervasive achievement gap between today's black and white students.

Legalized discrimination - where blacks were prevented, often through violence, from owning property, or loans were not granted to African-American business owners, or black homeowners could not access FHA mortgages, or blacks were excluded from unions, or the police force, or fire departments - meant that black families could not amass any meaningful wealth to bequeath to future generations. That history helps explain the wealth and income gap between black and white, and the concentrated pockets of poverty that persists in so many of today's urban and rural communities.

A lack of economic opportunity among black men, and the shame and frustration that came from not being able to provide for one's family, contributed to the erosion of black families - a problem that welfare policies for many years may have worsened. And the lack of basic services in so many urban black neighborhoods - parks for kids to play in, police walking the beat, regular garbage pick-up and building code enforcement - all helped create a cycle of violence, blight and neglect that continue to haunt us.

This is the reality in which Reverend Wright and other African-Americans of his generation grew up. They came of age in the late fifties and early sixties, a time when segregation was still the law of the land and opportunity was systematically constricted. What's remarkable is not how many failed in the face of discrimination, but rather how many men and women overcame the odds; how many were able to make a way out of no way for those like me who would come after them.

But for all those who scratched and clawed their way to get a piece of the American Dream, there were many who didn't make it - those who were ultimately defeated, in one way or another, by discrimination. That legacy of defeat was passed on to future generations - those young men and increasingly young women who we see standing on street corners or languishing in our prisons, without hope or prospects for the future. Even for those blacks who did make it, questions of race, and racism, continue to define their worldview in fundamental ways. For the men and women of Reverend Wright's generation, the memories of humiliation and doubt and fear have not gone away; nor has the anger and the bitterness of those years. That anger may not get expressed in public, in front of white co-workers or white friends. But it does find voice in the barbershop or around the kitchen table. At times, that anger is exploited by politicians, to gin up votes along racial lines, or to make up for a politician's own failings.

And occasionally it finds voice in the church on Sunday morning, in the pulpit and in the pews. The fact that so many people are surprised to hear that anger in some of Reverend Wright's sermons simply reminds us of the old truism that the most segregated hour in American life occurs on Sunday morning. That anger is not always productive; indeed, all too often it distracts attention from solving real problems; it keeps us from squarely facing our own complicity in our condition, and prevents the African-American community from forging the alliances it needs to bring about real change. But the anger is real; it is powerful; and to simply wish it away, to condemn it without understanding its roots, only serves to widen the chasm of misunderstanding that exists between the races.

In fact, a similar anger exists within segments of the white community. Most working- and middle-class white Americans don't feel that they have been particularly privileged by their race. Their experience is the immigrant experience - as far as they're concerned, no one's handed them anything, they've built it from scratch. They've worked hard all their lives, many times only to see their jobs shipped overseas or their pension dumped after a lifetime of labor. They are anxious about their futures, and feel their dreams slipping away; in an era of stagnant wages and global competition, opportunity comes to be seen as a zero sum game, in which your dreams come at my expense. So when they are told to bus their children to a school across town; when they hear that an African American is getting an advantage in landing a good job or a spot in a good college because of an injustice that they themselves never committed; when they're told that their fears about crime in urban neighborhoods are somehow prejudiced, resentment builds over time.

Like the anger within the black community, these resentments aren't always expressed in polite company. But they have helped shape the political landscape for at least a generation. Anger over welfare and affirmative action helped forge the Reagan Coalition. Politicians routinely exploited fears of crime for their own electoral ends. Talk show hosts and conservative commentators built entire careers unmasking bogus claims of racism while dismissing legitimate discussions of racial injustice and inequality as mere political correctness or reverse racism.

Just as black anger often proved counterproductive, so have these white resentments distracted attention from the real culprits of the middle class squeeze - a corporate culture rife with inside dealing, questionable accounting practices, and short-term greed; a Washington dominated by lobbyists and special interests; economic policies that favor the few over the many. And yet, to wish away the resentments of white Americans, to label them as misguided or even racist, without recognizing they are grounded in legitimate concerns - this too widens the racial divide, and blocks the path to understanding.

This is where we are right now. It's a racial stalemate we've been stuck in for years. Contrary to the claims of some of my critics, black and white, I have never been so naïve as to believe that we can get beyond our racial divisions in a single election cycle, or with a single candidacy - particularly a candidacy as imperfect as my own.

But I have asserted a firm conviction - a conviction rooted in my faith in God and my faith in the American people - that working together we can move beyond some of our old racial wounds, and that in fact we have no choice is we are to continue on the path of a more perfect union.

For the African-American community, that path means embracing the burdens of our past without becoming victims of our past. It means continuing to insist on a full measure of justice in every aspect of American life. But it also means binding our particular grievances - for better health care, and better schools, and better jobs - to the larger aspirations of all Americans -- the white woman struggling to break the glass ceiling, the white man whose been laid off, the immigrant trying to feed his family. And it means taking full responsibility for own lives - by demanding more from our fathers, and spending more time with our children, and reading to them, and teaching them that while they may face challenges and discrimination in their own lives, they must never succumb to despair or cynicism; they must always believe that they can write their own destiny.

Ironically, this quintessentially American - and yes, conservative - notion of self-help found frequent expression in Reverend Wright's sermons. But what my former pastor too often failed to understand is that embarking on a program of self-help also requires a belief that society can change.

The profound mistake of Reverend Wright's sermons is not that he spoke about racism in our society. It's that he spoke as if our society was static; as if no progress has been made; as if this country - a country that has made it possible for one of his own members to run for the highest office in the land and build a coalition of white and black; Latino and Asian, rich and poor, young and old -- is still irrevocably bound to a tragic past. But what we know -- what we have seen - is that America can change. That is the true genius of this nation. What we have already achieved gives us hope - the audacity to hope - for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.

In the white community, the path to a more perfect union means acknowledging that what ails the African-American community does not just exist in the minds of black people; that the legacy of discrimination - and current incidents of discrimination, while less overt than in the past - are real and must be addressed. Not just with words, but with deeds - by investing in our schools and our communities; by enforcing our civil rights laws and ensuring fairness in our criminal justice system; by providing this generation with ladders of opportunity that were unavailable for previous generations. It requires all Americans to realize that your dreams do not have to come at the expense of my dreams; that investing in the health, welfare, and education of black and brown and white children will ultimately help all of America prosper.

In the end, then, what is called for is nothing more, and nothing less, than what all the world's great religions demand - that we do unto others as we would have them do unto us. Let us be our brother's keeper, Scripture tells us. Let us be our sister's keeper. Let us find that common stake we all have in one another, and let our politics reflect that spirit as well.

For we have a choice in this country. We can accept a politics that breeds division, and conflict, and cynicism. We can tackle race only as spectacle - as we did in the OJ trial - or in the wake of tragedy, as we did in the aftermath of Katrina - or as fodder for the nightly news. We can play Reverend Wright's sermons on every channel, every day and talk about them from now until the election, and make the only question in this campaign whether or not the American people think that I somehow believe or sympathize with his most offensive words. We can pounce on some gaffe by a Hillary supporter as evidence that she's playing the race card, or we can speculate on whether white men will all flock to John McCain in the general election regardless of his policies.

We can do that.

But if we do, I can tell you that in the next election, we'll be talking about some other distraction. And then another one. And then another one. And nothing will change.

That is one option. Or, at this moment, in this election, we can come together and say, 'Not this time.' This time we want to talk about the crumbling schools that are stealing the future of black children and white children and Asian children and Hispanic children and Native American children. This time we want to reject the cynicism that tells us that these kids can't learn; that those kids who don't look like us are somebody else's problem. The children of America are not those kids, they are our kids, and we will not let them fall behind in a 21st century economy. Not this time.

This time we want to talk about how the lines in the Emergency Room are filled with whites and blacks and Hispanics who do not have health care; who don't have the power on their own to overcome the special interests in Washington, but who can take them on if we do it together.

This time we want to talk about the shuttered mills that once provided a decent life for men and women of every race, and the homes for sale that once belonged to Americans from every religion, every region, every walk of life. This time we want to talk about the fact that the real problem is not that someone who doesn't look like you might take your job; it's that the corporation you work for will ship it overseas for nothing more than a profit.

This time we want to talk about the men and women of every color and creed who serve together, and fight together, and bleed together under the same proud flag. We want to talk about how to bring them home from a war that never should've been authorized and never should've been waged, and we want to talk about how we'll show our patriotism by caring for them, and their families, and giving them the benefits they have earned.

I would not be running for President if I didn't believe with all my heart that this is what the vast majority of Americans want for this country. This union may never be perfect, but generation after generation has shown that it can always be perfected. And today, whenever I find myself feeling doubtful or cynical about this possibility, what gives me the most hope is the next generation - the young people whose attitudes and beliefs and openness to change have already made history in this election.

There is one story in particularly that I'd like to leave you with today - a story I told when I had the great honor of speaking on Dr. King's birthday at his home church, Ebenezer Baptist, in Atlanta.

There is a young, twenty-three year old white woman named Ashley Baia who organized for our campaign in Florence, South Carolina. She had been working to organize a mostly African-American community since the beginning of this campaign, and one day she was at a roundtable discussion where everyone went around telling their story and why they were there.

And Ashley said that when she was nine years old, her mother got cancer. And because she had to miss days of work, she was let go and lost her health care. They had to file for bankruptcy, and that's when Ashley decided that she had to do something to help her mom.

She knew that food was one of their most expensive costs, and so Ashley convinced her mother that what she really liked and really wanted to eat more than anything else was mustard and relish sandwiches. Because that was the cheapest way to eat.

She did this for a year until her mom got better, and she told everyone at the roundtable that the reason she joined our campaign was so that she could help the millions of other children in the country who want and need to help their parents too.

Now Ashley might have made a different choice. Perhaps somebody told her along the way that the source of her mother's problems were blacks who were on welfare and too lazy to work, or Hispanics who were coming into the country illegally. But she didn't. She sought out allies in her fight against injustice.

Anyway, Ashley finishes her story and then goes around the room and asks everyone else why they're supporting the campaign. They all have different stories and reasons. Many bring up a specific issue. And finally they come to this elderly black man who's been sitting there quietly the entire time. And Ashley asks him why he's there. And he does not bring up a specific issue. He does not say health care or the economy. He does not say education or the war. He does not say that he was there because of Barack Obama. He simply says to everyone in the room, 'I am here because of Ashley.'

'I'm here because of Ashley.' By itself, that single moment of recognition between that young white girl and that old black man is not enough. It is not enough to give health care to the sick, or jobs to the jobless, or education to our children.

But it is where we start. It is where our union grows stronger. And as so many generations have come to realize over the course of the two-hundred and twenty one years since a band of patriots signed that document in Philadelphia, that is where the perfection begins."