By Tim Willette

Chicago Sun-Times religion reporter and columnist Cathleen Falsani recently published The God Factor, a collection of interviews with an array of national political, artistic, and cultural figures about their spiritual lives. Among the revelations:
Barack Obama: “Is not shy saying he has ‘a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.'” Also sometimes feels the power of the Holy Spirit when he is speaking.
Mancow Muller: “Am I saved? Yes. Yes.”
Billy Corgan: Perceives everything he does including (his word) “fucking” in spiritual terms.
Dusty Baker: “The dark side has some real power, especially in the world today. Evil’s more accepted and more prevalent.” Actually believes that the mythical Cubs curse derives from the dark side. Says he’s been “delivered” a “bunch of times” and has witnessed an exorcism.
Carlos Zambrano: “Any man who believes in God is a good man.”
Harold Ramis: “Yes, we’re alone in the universe, life is meaningless and death is inevitable, but is that necessarily so depressing?”
All very interesting – and indeed, frightening. But we would have appreciated more commentary reflecting historic Chicago values like doubt, pessimism, and a healthy aversion to bullshit. As a post-script, we’ve provided a short selection from other locals who are not in Falsani’s book, in some cases because they are dead and keeping their experiences in the afterlife to themselves. Remember, if God says He loves you, check it out.

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Posted on April 20, 2006

By Natasha Julius

Junior keeps singing his special brand of blues, only stopping to refill his hot little lungs with air. Over the commotion I can make out individual pairs of CD cases knocking against each other. I count at least five different crunching sounds. She could have as many as ten disks lining Junior’s stroller. No wonder he’s howling like a wolf with its paw in a trap.
“Come on, sweetie.” Hot Mama’s starting to get flustered. She bends down and lifts Junior out of the stroller. He sticks his little arms out and pushes her away as if he knows his mom’s no good.
I’ve got a split-second window to get my visual. While Hot Mama turns away, I move around to her side of the bargain bin and take a quick look. There’s a fuzzy yellow blanket covering the bottom of the stroller, but one corner is pulled back. The half-peeled security seal at the edge of a jewel case catches the glow of the overhead lighting as it hits my eye. Hot Mama’s goose is dressed, cooked and basted.

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Posted on April 7, 2006

By Natasha Julius

I close my phone and sigh. Lucy’s not the type of girl to cry wolf; if she thinks there’s something going down, that means that right now some punk with sticky fingers is trying to pocket store property. Well, he picked the wrong books, music, DVD and coffee retailer to target today.
“Something wrong?” asks the blonde. She’s leaning forward in her chair with a concerned look on her face.
“No, it’s just, uh . . . That was my office. I’ve got to get back.”
She stands up and walks toward me, her wavy hair falling like liquid gold around her shoulders. “So soon? You must have a pretty important job.”

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Posted on April 3, 2006