Politics

In 1968, our neighborhood Good Humor Man ran for President of the United States.

It was a huge story in my home town of Highland Park, Illinois. And since we’ve arrived at the fortieth anniversary of this man’s candidacy, it seemed like a good time to tell it again.

His name was Don DuMont, a 64-year-old Republican who described himself as an “old-fashioned, up-to-date, Good Humored square with rounded corners.”

Stepping out of his white ice cream truck, dressed in his white uniform and white hat with his white hair, he appeared before us like an angel – a big, husky, right wing angel. But with no wings. At least none that could carry him all the way to the White House.

Martha Washington's Jumbals

Mary Todd Lincoln's Vanilla Almond Cake

Eleanor Roosevelt's Honey Drops

Mamie Eisenhower's Million Dollar Fudge

Lady Bird Johnson's Famous Lemon Cake

Jacqueline Kennedy's Creme Brulee

Nancy Reagan's Coconut Macaroons

Hillary Clinton's Chocolate Chip Cookies

Tipper Gore's Ginger Snaps

Laura Bush's Oatmeal-Chocolate Chunk Cookies

Joe Biden's Favorite Oatmeal Raisin Cookies

Michelle Obama's Shortbread Cookies

Waiting for my latte at a coffeshop at 16th and Capp one day, I was stunned by a particular poster on the wall - a beautiful woodcut illustrating the declining amount of government funds put towards affordable housing. I demanded to know where it came from, and was directed to the building next door, to the headquarters of WRAP, a wonderful non profit dedicated "to exposing and eliminating the root causes of civil and human rights abuses of people experiencing poverty and homelessness in our communities."

A year later, and I am a WRAP artist too! Check them out (see if you can find the poster I was talking about), and check me out on their site!

Nili Yosha

 I had a dream last night that I was living in a youth hostel in London or someplace like London (I have never lived in a youth hostel, not even for a night) and that the communal shower had a cement floor that was a little funky (ditto, the communal shower part) and then somehow, and I’m not sure how this transition was made, I was delivering turkey to the strike line at Fox.

This part I understand.  Not that a picket line is supposed to be a dinner party but when someone is asked to walk around in circles (literally circles, it’s not even like exercise, it’s like something else), hunger and thirst kick-in, bringing your own bottle of water (byow) and a cap is recommended.

The first day I picketed I was late...