Mock Your Colander — Architectural Tours Resume Wednesday, May 6

1st DOWNTOWN SPRINGFIELD ARCHITECTURAL TOUR EXPLORES 5^TH STREET SOUTH OF THE OLD STATE CAPITOL

SPRINGFIELD – On Wednesday, May 6th, Downtown Springfield, Inc. invites you to discover some interesting and little-known facts about our city’s unique architectural treasures. Designer Anthony Rubano of the Illinois Historic Preservation Agency will lead a walking tour discussing the architectural styles, materials, and treatments that make up historic downtown Springfield. He will also talk about design successes and areas for improvement along the way.

This free tour lasts approximately 90 minutes and begins on the South Old State Capitol Plaza at 5:30 p.m. in front of the Lincoln Herndon Law Office (6^th & Adams). This month’s tour will highlight the architectural treasures on 5^th Street south of the Old State Capitol Plaza. The Widow at Windsor, also a downtown treasure, located at 711 S. 5^th Street, will host a small reception following the tour. For more information, please call the Downtown Springfield, Inc. office at 544-1723 or visit www.downtownspringfield.org.

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Downtown Springfield, Inc. a volunteer-driven, not-for-profit organization formed in 1993, works to preserve our historic heritage and build economic & cultural vitality in our downtown districts. Our goal is to make downtown Springfield an ideal place to shop, work, visit, invest, and live.

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Say It With Granite or How I Spent My Weekend

George Jaworski, owner of The Granite Guy, 3755 N. Dirksen Parkway in Springfield’s scenic northeast quadrant, became Job Conger’s friend in 2007 during a reception for children artists’ awards at RMD Gallery in cubist downtown Springfield. On that occasion, Conger was taking pictures of participants and their art.  Jaworski approached him as he snapped away, conversation ensued, and Conger visited the showroom and fabrication shop soon after. Soon after that, Conger became more than a friend; he became an occasional employee.

Based on experiences helping with heavy lifting during granite installations and in the fabrication shop, as the webmaster for the business’s web site — www.yourgraniteguy.com  — and extolling the virtues of natural stone to showroom visitors, Conger has become an outspoken advocate for granite, and marble, and onyx, and tavertine.  Limestone? not so much, and that’s okay.

The community of Central Illinois is under-served by natural stone. There are opportunities for improving home and business exteriors and exteriors which Conger is committed to sharing with the public at large, NOT here at Honey & Quinine but through more conventinal channels including Facebook and radio and print media. That said, he couldn’t pass a chance to share the following photos of his weekend project, uncomplete but at least arranged.

granite walkway; initial layout for spacing

Polished granite is as visually engaging as an abstract painting and an aquarium and video with Sarah Chalke.  And here is something which Conger hopes will bring smiles to post carriers, friends and passers by.

He also planted eight packets of red poppy seeds at the inspiration of Springfield’s city-wide project to “paint the town red” for the bicentennial birthday of Abe what’s-his-name, two packets of giant sunflower seeds and two packets of mixed perennials. That’s just the start.  Waiting for post thundershower planting are 11 tomato plants and cauliflower.

He also had a terrific visit with two blasts from the past, Saturday at Writers Bloc and Sunday at home and Washington Park.  More encounters like those two, and he’s liable to re-green his entire front and back yards!

“Some days are diamonds and some days are stones” as John Denver used to sing. This weekend the days were both and gladly so.

Live long . . . . and proper.

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De-Gassed . . . . Again

The utility companies were closing in on Job Conger like a troop of  aggrivated Apaches drawing near to a single covered wagon in northeast Arizona territory.  He had paid a heap of dollars at a local payment center on the 11th, and was focused on keeping his heat and hot water when he called the Ameren payment people on the 13th. He was told he could keep his gas if he’d just agree over the phone to a payment plan. That would be a no-go, he explained. Invariably over recent years, he has not paid on dates promised in said agreements and they’ve disconnected him anyway. Why set himself up for another promise to keep? So he asked if there was an additional sum he could pay pronto to keep his service for another month. Yes, he was told $78 would keep the disconnect at bay if he’d do a Quick Pay. Conger is a naiive married mother’s son. He believed what he was told and arranged the Quick Pay.

The shower on April 21 was unexpectedly “bracing,” but he figured it was because he hadn’t turned up the heat on the basement water heater beforehand as he usually does. Tepid water is fine for washing hands. COLD, what had sufficed from April to November in 2008 was okay between sponge baths with water heated in a medium and large sauce pan on the kitchen stove and carried into the tub. Bbut for full body work? FaGETit!

He made it through the chilly shower on the 21st despite the chilly water because he knew it was warmer than it would have been if Ameren had cut off the gas (he philosophized) and once committed to “bracing wet,” he was committed for the whole body treatment starting with the shampoo in what seemed room temperature craziness and working south.

On the 23rd he learned Ameren had cut the gas on the 20th, and he found out while talking with the Ameren customer service people over the phone, learning in the course of cordial conversation that the promise of keeping gas on if he paid the requested $78 was a dream. He was sans gas, no doubt about it, and his only recourse was to hustle payment of about three times that amount to a local payment center.

No frikking way, Conger decided.

He will pay the real estate taxes and his waaaaaaaaaaaay overdue electric and water bills first. He’s used to sponge baths and shapooing over the bathroom sink, but he’s not used to blogging by candle light. 

And if he should get lucky with future assignments from anywhere, he will reconnect the gas. It could be worse. He could be living in a Kelvinator crate.

“Praise God from whom all blessings flow.”

Live long . . . . . and proper.

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Well, As Long As There’s No Rain . . . .

Job Conger had been driving a pickup truck loaned to him by his friend at “Rock City” for a week when he received a major surprise.  As he settled in behind the wheel under a darkening sky that had been spitting light rain, heading for a Springfield Classical Guitar Society concert featuring Russel Brazzel, he turned on the windshield wipers and was treated to the hum of an electrical motor somewhere under the dashboard. The moment would have been picture perfect if the sound had been accompanied by the sight of wipers in motion.

“Holy bat poop, Birdman!” he thought.

Major agua from the sky as he sat in the cozy glow of panel lights as the engine idled would have scrubbed “the mission” of affirming his support for the cause of good live music in a venue where attendees CAN hear themselves think.  The great Rainmaker from on High was not deluging the city; He was only spitting on it. Conger could deal with that.  He put the handi-challenged machine into gear and attended a terrific concert.

Partly because the vehicle is loaned, and partly because of the wipers, Conger didn’t drive anywhere Sunday and dreaded the drive to work Monday with continuing showers forecast all day Sunday. (The day began clear as a bell. )

 The left outside rearview mirror, which he noticed was missing the first time he drove it, was knocked off the truck by another employee in a close call with another vehicle. The displaced mirror now lies on the floor of the passenger side of the cabin where its value in heavy traffic is almost zero. Who knows what other surprises are in store with the machine?

His Escort may have only the faintest hint of working brakes and a right front wheel bearing whose future service to humanity will likely be as a paperweight — if that — but the upholstery is almost like new (no chunks of foam rubber and top cover missing) and the frikking windshield wipers work! Still, it’s not drivable, so the point is moot.  He’s resigned to, and almost committed to looking for a car to replace the 1986 Ford his Dad bought new eight years before he died, but there are real estate taxes coming up (who wants to set up housekeeping in a car you can’t drive?) and utility bills hanging over his head like a 10th story piano about to breach a window.  Conger is coming to truly like the pickup and if he had a brain in his head, he’d accept his friend’s offer to sell the thing to him.  The vehicle as it sits today is a hellovalot niftier collection of tires than his ancient “Blue Goose.”

But Conger is a “car guy.” He likes to see the top of the rear edge of what he’s driving when he backs up. He likes the security that comes from knowing if he has a really bad accident in a car, his demise will be swift; not protracted following a serious injury in the cab of a pickup truck. He likes the economy of a car. Three friends of his have cars and small pickup trucks, and with a real employer (someone who would never loan him a spare vehicle) Conger would own both as well.: the car for city travel; the pickup for fly dumping his sanitized garbage in rural Sangamon County.

He’s not even looking for a car now. But if somebody has a vehicle for sale, with working accessories and a workable price, he’s willing to talk.

In the meantime, he’s happy to be at Rock City for as many hours as he can be, and thankful for uncommon friends to whom he gladly avows his undying gratitude.

Live long . . . . . and proper.

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Pickin’ and Grinnin’ on You Tube

The last few bars of Job Conger’s song “Dan” were playing on the office computer at work when Big Al approached from the shop. “What was that? Garrison Keillor?,” he queried.

“No,” Conger replied. “That was me and my 12-string guitar. A friend, Rick Falzone recorded it for a pilot TV show he put together a few years ago, and I’m delighted you thought you were listening to Garrison.”

True words. More than one friend and acquaintance has called the blaggering swogmeister — swaggering blogmeister if you prefer — Springfield’s own Lincolnland Home Companion, and while the flattery has been fun, the payoffs have been a hair short of expectations. The news that Conger was even on You Tube had come as a happy surprise when videographer/producer extraordinaire Falzone had e-mailed him a link to it. Not having sound on his home computer, he waited until work to see AND hear it for the first time. The result is a hoot.

For years, Conger has wanted to engage the technology requisite to post at You Tube, but the combination of minimal income and equally minimal tech savvy prevented it. Falzone’s success  (easy if you know how to do it) has inspired renewed effort to record on CD and You Tube an few dozen of his favorite songs and poems and  put a “mission accomplished” check mark on that part of his life roster.. We shall see.

If you would care to hear Conger sing the song that appears in Rick Falzone’s pilot production and see his delightful camera magic, go to You Tube and in the “Search” box, type |

RIPTV death song

and watch the fun. Then contact Job Conger to play his songs at your next special event, party or effigy burning.

Thanks to Rick for sharing the song.

Live long . . . . . and in tune.

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E. Vern Taylor Presents in Jacksonville, April 17

Job Conger’s friend E.Vern Taylor is a painter of matters connected to his ancestry and his ancestors’ homeland. They call it Africa. He’s a member of Prairie Art Alliance locally, but he merits a wider fan base. Imagine Foundation of Jacksonville, Illinois is giving him an opportunity to interface with a larger base and is giving you an opportunity to interface with him Friday night, before and after his unique presentation entitled “A Lyrical Fantasy of My Personal Africa: Kilimanjaro: the Serengeti, Along the Underground Railroad.”

The event takes place in the yoga room (They like him alot. Most artists get the Richard Simmons Sweatin’ to the Oldies room — just kidding) at The Inner Harmony Day Spa, 227 Main Street, Jacksonville, starting at 7 pm. The presentation is accompanied by music and E.Vern’s reading of his creative writings about the subjects depicted in his inspiring and provocative oil paintings. He will have his lithographs (including the one pictured above) for sale along with greeting cards and more.

E. Vern Taylor is motivated by forces that have driven the best artists to persevere against the odds. His efforts on canvas and beyond must be seen to be appreciated, and once appreciated, must be taken home.

For more information about the presentation call The Inner Harmony Day Spa –  217-245-1888.

Job Conger will be there as a friend and fan. He hopes you will be too.

Live long . . . . . and proper.

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Saturday, April 18 – Classical Guitar Concert Features Russel Brazzel

Springfield Classical Guitar Society presents Russel Brazzel in concert, starting at 8 pm, Saturday, April 18 at First  Presbyterian Church, 321 S. Seventh (at Capital Ave.), across from Lincoln Library. Tickets are available at the door for $12 adults and $9 students and seniors.

Russel Brazzel is the guitarist Job Conger wants to be when he grows up. Since that will never happen, the point is moot, but that doesn’t keep Conger from liking the gentleman just the same. Russel is the catalyst that created Springfield Classical Guitar Society several years ago along with a small cadre of lynch pins that have kept it rolling along.

Russel is a New Orleans native son, and if the wind is right or the wine is prime, one can hear traces of his home town when he speaks. The man’s voice and easy conviviality about classical guitar (which SINGS in his hands ) are a delight. They are the icing on the cake. His talent is the meat. In his earlier days, he was a denizen of “The Big Ampule” — make that “The Big Apple” a/k/a New York City. He worked in major guitar stores and played in concerts there, but he never became Chrisopher Parkening or John Williams. He has paid his dues. Today he teaches students one-on-one as a private instructor and also teaches guitar and music at Lincoln Land Community College. He’s a “six-string swallow returned to Capistrano” with his perennial rave performances at First Night Springfield, and he often donates his part of “the gate” at Springfield Classical Guitar Society concerts to provide additional support for booking the next season’s performers.

It’s been a good concert season. Some of the best numbers in the history of the organization have come through the big red doors at First Pres this go round. Brazzel’s appearance is a fine cap on it: local fellow with talent, friendly disposition and gladly dedicated to his art. You should be a part of the evening Saturday. Tell Mark, Cheryl and Dwayne that Honey & Quinine sent you.

Live long . . . . . and in tune.

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Pringles for Easter

It had been a draggy day. The gentleman of the house had spent time with model airplanes, but had not filed articles in the basement as planned. His tenant was doing laundry in a corner of the place, but he wasn’t feeling sociable, and he stayed topside, actually enjoying Harry Scherer’s eclectic PBS news and commentary show from 2 to 3. Conger was one of two people he knew about who lives according tot he WUIS programming schedule. His friend TC always gets to a radio before 1 pm Saturdays to hear the repeat of This American Life. He always gets away from the radio at 3:00 Sunday to be away from the chatty little cooking show that replaced a terrific program of significant speeches by major shakers and movers made throughout the US but frequently at National Press Club luncheons. Back in the good old days, WSSR/ne/WUIS regularly broadcast National Press Club addresses and Q&A sessions. When NPC stopped offering them, NPR stopped carrying them. DANGIT.

Conger knew that if he didn’t get the hell out of the house, he was going to dry up and blow away — which, when you think about it is the fate of all of us who fall in the forest and nobody hears you.

Speaking of public radio, the Sunday afternoon All Things Considered reader reported that the Obama family’s new puppy “Bo” so far has not been a menace to his new home, that he has “not chewed on any priceless furniture so far.” News to that reader would be the fact that “Bo” will not be DELIVERED to the White House until Tuesday. That info was part of George Stephanopoulos’ This Week. While most of the round table on that show bantered happily about the new pup, Knute Gingrich showed a disdain probably not seen since he told his first wife who was hospitalized and undergoing serious treatment for cancer that he was divorcing her for a younger woman. The Ging did not enjoy the line of chatter at all. How Republican of the sour anachronism!

So Conger brushed his teeth, improved his fashion statement to the world and departed home for the first elective journey in his loaned wheels. The trip to County Market was fun though he still drove ultra-deliberately. First item on the list: nail clippers. The ones he’s used since his dad died in 1994 have fallen behind some cabinet or into some upholstery, and his toenails are threatening to push through his dress shoes. His employer gave him an Easter bonus at the end of the day Saturday and suggested he buy a decent meal on Easter. So he did: sliced ham from the deli, Swiss cheese, Beefsteak Hearty Rye, some sweet looking orangy salad from the deli counter, a half gallon of Butter Pecan ice cream  and two cans of Pringles.

Yes, Pringles. They were on sale at $1.09 a can, a price he would have paid only under high duress two months ago. But compared with the $1.89 per can encountered at Schnuck’s three weeks ago and two for $3 at Shop ‘N’ Save two weeks ago, $1.09 was a gift from on high.

Speaking of prices, the premium Campbell’s Fully Loaded soups were selling Friday at Shop’N'Save Friday for $2.47. Conger asked the checker to verify that price when he paid for his four cans. Yes, $2.47. Conger regrets he didn’t buy a flat (case) of them. They are delicious!

County Market at 3:35 pm felt like aftermath, rather than math or premath. The entire parking lot at Fairhills was astoundingly empty. Conger felt kin with most everyone he saw. So many looked as though they were there because being there would be the highlight of their Easter. . . . as it would prove to be for Conger. Even the music — if there was any at all on the PA system — was imperceptible. There were no calls for a “21,” for an associate aged 21 or over to wheel over to a register to punch ENTER and officially sell alcohol. The entire store seemed to be breathing an ongoing SIGH.

The garden tent is up in the parking not but not stocked. All the shelving and cinder blocks are piled around it. Conger’s money says he will buy tomatoes and perhaps some veggie seeds there before the end of the week.

For now, he plans a late dinner celebrating his good fortune  Coming out of the depths of the early morning and having a good afternoon and evening. On this day, like no other, there can be no doubt:

He is RISEN!

Happy Easter!

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Too Much of Life is a Mission Roster

At 11:10 Sunday morning, as he entered the office with the second cup of coffee, Job Conger’s hands were cold. During the final minutes of George Stephanopoulos and This Week, he had been so into Sunday’s State Journal-Register that when he looked up after finishing Tom Landis; excellent column, restaurant news and the obits (NEWS FLASH — he didn’t see his name) that he missed what has become the only part of that show with what he grudgingly recognizes as “redeeming social value:” the “Sunday Funnies” with an all-too-breif smattering of “late night” talk show host monologues. After checking in with Facebook, Conger read every Sunday comic strip that means anything to him, all brought to him by Arcamax on the web. Later Sunday, he’d pitch the SJ-R’s Sunday comics which has arrived with Saturday morning’s paper. Then he’d read Saturday morning’s paper over a nourishing bowl of lunch. Conger was “draggin’ his wagon,” numbed by the sense that too much of his life is spent responding to a mission roster: activities he engages only because he feels morally obligated to engage the never-ending list.

Examples: While his first cup of coffee “brewed” in the microwave,  Conger tuned into Fox News with Chris Wallace. Mission: to be the informed American citizen he feels honor-bound as the son of a married mother to be. But the signal was missing. There was no picture or sound at all; just a note in the upper left corner saying there was no signal. “Screw that,” Conger thought. Mission not accomplished.

He spent most of the hour rearranging part of his office for the for the fifth time this year. Mission: to make it easier to build model airplanes as a means of getting away from his other missions on the computers.  Even model airplane building was a mission because there were too many uncompleted projects cluttering impromptu shelves in the room he was mission bound to finish a bunch of them so he could allow himself the fun of building models he really wanted to start building. He had considered pitching the lot of the partially completed projects into the trash can, but the shame of that act would haunt him more than the shame of letting weeks go buy without touching a model airplane, further protracting his building mission and further shaming him to himself. He knew it was his issue, No one he knew would fault him for chucking the projects that had lost their allure, but he would. So he rearranged the shelves as intended. Mission accomplished.

Back to the televiz for This Week. Mission: to become the erudite informed citizen who is aware of the world around him, even though he is as much connected to Washington, DC and the national economy as he is the third moon of Saturn. Mission: not accomplished because though his eye were watching and his ears were hearing, nothing was reaching his cerebral cortex.

He tried to concentrate, but was driven to pick up Sunday’s State Journal-Register in a quest for “COMMUNITY.” He learned there’s a new Chinese restaurant opening on Sangamon Avenue next to Family Video and that it will serve Japanese cuisine as well. He learned no one he knows has died in time for a Sunday obituary. Mssion accomplished.

His fingers were cold. It’s too far into the spring for cold fingers. He would press on. A blog posting — a telegram to the world that on this day, at this time, a citizen on a mission to find relevance in a big world was going to head to the basement to file articles about airplanes in a bunch of file cabinets. It used to be fun when it wasn’t so cold.

Missions may be a drag, but they provide direction to people disinclined to sit in a chair and watch a NASCAR race on Fox. Missions give him a target for redeeming activity, even though it redeems only himself. Without missions, life would not be worth engaging. Later today, he will work on the poems he’ll be reciting this week in Taylorville. Missions for Conger are what dancing was for Conger when he was acting, fairly frequently on minor theatrical productions. During a summer production of Brigadoon in Lincoln, Illinois everyone had to dance, a real challenge for actors with two left feet. He had a minor major part in the production, a friend had asked him to participate and he participated because he likes to act. Dancing was his admission to the acting. Dancing was his mission.

Missions are what we do so that we can earn the right to enjoy life.

Live long . . . . and proper.

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A Facebook Dilemma for Journalists

Job Conger has been pulled, willingly, into the convivial chatterbox called Facebook.  He encourages friends and associates to sign up, and he understands the hestancy of some who have declined.  One fellow — a respected artist — seemed to regard the act of merely signing up to be akin to easing into a Jacuzzi full of piranhas. In the course of engaging darn near everyone he knows as respects, he has added people he has interviewed for stories produced for Illinois Times and Springfield Business Journal and featured in Honey & Quinine posts. Recently he has begun to wonder about the moral compromise implicit in any story he might write about a Facebook friend. Is there a bias implicit in producing such a story.

When public administrators move from private employees to “servants of taxpayers,” connections to businesses and organizations likely to benefit from said connections are severed. We know how VP Cheney divested his holdings of  Haliburton (nudge nudge, wink wink). He could not serve the public while maintaining a vested interest in those holdings.

Seymour Hirsch, extraordinary writer for The New Yorker recently proclaimed he doesn’t party with news sources. Though he didn’t say he was friends with no news sources, by inference from the other statement one may conclude that’s the case.

Does a journalist owe his publisher a vow NOT to write about friends? Should one also promise not to write about Facebook friends?  Should we say “This is Springfield; not DC.” Should we say “Conger shoudn’t sweat  grownup issues with his Tinker Toy career?

Live long . . . . and credibly.

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