"It’s a rat!" 🐀

Never thought much about rats, until I saw Willard, the 70s horror flick.

The Daily Reader On the phone with my oldest daughter, chatting about this and that, when I heard a shriek. "Ahh!" Followed by . . . "Gross!" Then . . . "Get rid of it—please!" It was my daughter, the one I was on the phone with. "What's going on?" I exclaimed. "It's a rat!" "A rat?" "Yes, a rat. A freaking rat!" Eventually, she calmed down long enough to fill in the details. She was at the auto shop, talking to me, as she watched the mechanic open the hood of her car to make a repair. And when he opened the hood, what did he find? That aforementioned rat, which had apparently crawled under the hood and died. Got me thinking about my tumultuous relationship with rodents over the years—no, I'm not writing about MAGA. I'm talking about real rodents, not the human kind. Never thought much about them, until I saw Willard, the 70s horror flick. Saw it at the long-closed Valencia Theater in Evanston. Or maybe it was at the Varsity. Doesn't matter. Point is—it freaked me out big time. Willard's this oddball loner who makes friends with a rat named Ben. He likes Ben so much, he sings it a love song. Actually, a young Michael Jackson sings that song.  Wait! Upon reflection, I'm pretty sure "Ben" was the theme song to Ben, a sequel to Willard (yes, they made a sequel). Which I saw at the Howard Theater—also long closed—where I once saw an actual rat running down the aisle. And trust me, no one was singing that rat a song. At the end of Willard, Willard's devoured by hundreds of rats who he thought were his friends. After that I wanted nothing to do with rats. When I see them when walking around the neighborhood—and I see them all the time—I'm happy to let them go their way as I go mine. Which reminds me . . . Years ago, we had an infestation of mice in our house. We brought in an exterminator—an old, wise Cuban refugee who muttered to himself in Spanish, as he walked about the house shining his flashlight into cracks and crevices, looking for tell-tale droppings. One day I was in the kitchen with my wife when out from under the stove came a mouse. It staggered around in a circle for a few seconds, then rolled over, dead. Obviously, done in by the old exterminator's killer pellets. "Get rid of it!" my wife said.  Dutifully, I did as told—what with me being the man of the house and all—sweeping the lifeless mouse onto a dustbin. A triggering experience, as I still had not recovered from the trauma of watching Willard and Ben back in the day. My daughter's mechanic was much braver. He picked up the dead rat by its tail and threw it away. Here's hoping voters have the same success with MAGA during November's midterms. Oh, wait, I wasn't going to get political . . . Listen to The Ben Joravsky Show  Dead Lions by Mick Herron. The sequel to Slow Horses, part of a spy series about misfit M-15 agents. Yes, I'm hooked on Herron. The plot's not credible, but the dialogue is funny.  Kelly Garcia continues her series on Riot Fest  Ben Joravsky—as long as we're talking about Aaron Rodgers . . .  Rummana Hussain—What's with Americans and the Queen?  Kathleen Sances—The good fight for gun reform  April Preyar—MAGA lies about the Safe-T Act Guaranteed income offers stability to formerly incarcerated people Many struggle to find employment because of the stigma of a criminal record. To help, one organization is offering cash. by Leslie Hurtado, Brian Young Jr. and City Bureau   Resources available for formerly incarcerated people Where to find support by Leslie Hurtado and City Bureau   A new home, a new energy Artist Carmen Neely and gallerist Mariane Ibrahim found community in Chicago. by Kaylen Ralph   💞 Forget the apps. Place a FREE Reader Matches ad and try your luck at finding love the 90s way 📰   Issue of September 15 - 29, 2022 Vol. 51, No. 25 Download Issue (PDF) View this e-mail as a web page Forward this e-mail to a friend. Want to change how you receive these e-mails? You can update your preferences or unsubscribe from this list. Copyright © 2022 Chicago Reader, All rights reserved.   Our mailing address is: Chicago Reader, 2930 S. Michigan Ave., Suite 102, Chicago, IL 60616