Thursday, May 24, 2007

All I can manage to say:

sweet.

Summer Heats Up Neighborhood, Part II

I'm in a couple of those moments at The Bank where you find yourself taking a stand. I'm trying to argue points and define my position, and I suddenly find myself in a meeting in The Gopher Hole with my two top management team, Harley A and The Castro.

I don't do well in these kinds of positions: my lips tremble, I lose my train of thought, my arguments get out of focus, I lean toward arguing The Big Picture instead of sticking to the details at hand, and I sound emotional. Throw on the fact that I was aware of the meeting until an hour or so ahead of time (plenty of time to prepare while running around and babysitting the bankers, no?) and I'd finished my fourth or fifth cup of coffee, and, according to Harley A (whom I find to not be a totally creditable source), I came across a little abstract and crazed.

I've been hiding out in The Hole for as much as possible and while continue to do so in the weeks ahead.

And then I come home, park the car, and step in dried paint on the sidewalk...do a double-take, and realize it's the blood from the other day. I'm strangely torn as I look down at the splattery oddly V-shaped smear of reddish-brown between total sadness and total apathy. In a way, this split of emotion makes me feel even worse...like I've lost something very important that makes up a "good person."

I walk to my back door, and say hello to my neighbor through their open door. They shout the usual, "Hi Neighbor!" (I don't think they know my real name after two years), and then proceed to tell me I just missed another shooting...6 shots this time compared to 3 last time.

Great.

Later that night, anesthetized with Jameson, I suddenly hear Hot Hispanic Upstairs Neighbor yelling for my direct neighbors. Through the kitchen window, both eavesdropping and later actual conversation with the mother, it turned out the 15 year old son had gotten stopped by detectives and they patted him down. I agreed with her shouting out at the neighborhood (and the lady has the volume of twenty Marshall Full stacks) that this was bullshit. Busting a 15 year old boy on the way to the store for ice cream, drug dealers all around (especially up on Birchwood and Wollcot by the school) and the cops gotta fuck with a little boy. And then she went the "if it was a white boy, this wouldn't have happened!" And as I normally don't like that kind of argument, in this case/neighborhood, I grudgedly admitted she was right. (Fresh! Remember when we were driving and the cops flashed the cop searchlight into the car at the stop sigh, then shut it off for no apparent reason? We laughed.."Ah, just a couple crackers, let 'em go."

And today, I look out the window, and there's a flickering blaze of blue flashing light up the other street. Five cop cruisers and two detective cars clogging up the street in front of that condo that always has an ambulance show up to it.

It's going to be a long ass summer isn't it?

Friday, May 18, 2007

Off to the Mark II Lounge alone (again)

#261
because:
I'm bored.
I've had a (typically) lousy week.
I've got a belly-full of Jameson.
I'm horny (yes, shock to my friends...I lust!)
My booty-call is with her kid this weekend.
There's nothing on TV.
I'm Drunk.
And I've got no "boys to call" to have a B.N.O. with...my Bestest Wingman is a thousand miles away....Fucker! (just kidding).

Wish me luck, eh?

[update---well, I got drunk anyway, right?]

Monday, May 14, 2007

Summer heats up neighborhood

What I thought were 3 M-80s outside my window, turned out to be a story I will may not be telling my parents.

They aren't big fans of the city-life as it is.

(Crawling to bed now, staying away from the windows)

Thursday, May 10, 2007

A pile of bar napkins from my pocket

  1. Dude, where's my car? To find the car.
  2. A scrawled, pen drawn picture of a woman in jeans and a black t-shirt leaning against a beer cooler in the corner of an L-shaped bar. Her word bubble says, "ZZZZZZZZ." Titled: Bartenders across the world-- Friday: no rapido.
  3. Just the words: "Fucking Fat balding guy from WI. Life of the party.
  4. Picture of a FAT beetle with six circles and three lines on its back. Text written under doodle of My Cube Profile picture: Beetle or Beatle. Who is the blessor of LIfe?
  5. Dave the bouncer says, "you gotta loosen up!!"
  6. 12:00 a.m. At G's, slow. Right off the bat some dude as for a smoke...moochers...ask if mi gusta Mexican women." Points to Isabella. "Si, elle es muy bonita." Now pointing making a scene with harsh-looking one, pointing to Isabella....What fresh Hell is this?
  7. Bill. No plans. ambassador East.
  8. Laura. 637. Rosemont. 62. N. Pratt. Throbosho.com Goth/pogo.
  9. 2 Guys. Check paper clips. Take "deal"????
  10. Carolyn Grace. 847-XXX-XXXX [numbers smudged]
  11. Gallagher's. 11/06. 12:00 leave home. Find funky wooden bookends by dumpster. Buy smokes at mobile station. Nod to guy. Dead. Ask Bianney, "No Tina?" Tina dancing in the back she tells me by doing that Central/South American point-with-the-lips-only thing. Only Raul in cowboy hat and two other guys in bar. Warm bar. Happy in sad way atmosphere. Ranchero polka-like. Everything looks smells like the description of a Kerouac Mexico bar. Sad/slow. Gus sits unresponsive by the door. The bar girl I thought was hitting on me the first time I came here is dancing and playing pool. There is something in the air tonight--Full Moon? Alexandra slips in and out of consciousness. The Bathroom smells like The Union on a bad night on Saturday. Tina flashes me a you're-a-regular smile, bums lighter w/o asking, then holds it up with an "okay?" look on her face. Sure. No Isabella tonight, but Alexandra is here--cute, short, sprightly-type. Bar girls are bored. No business. Tanya and Bianney dance together behind the bar, giggling. Alexandra dances with Gus. AND THEN MY FUCKING CAMERA GOT STOLEN.
  12. Little Star--Thursday
  13. There's an old wet grey blanket wrapped around my heart. not dead at 35: now what? Where is Old Man? Lost? Dying? Dead? Find him before too late.
  14. Bar on Howard? [E.P.D.] After movie at Donn's. Charlie. May 19th. No $ to bartender. 3 free beers.
  15. The Ho. 7318 N. Rogers. Cheap beer.
  16. Cantinero el Tri.
  17. Fireside at 4:00. Tommy Sohn: www.myspace.com/absurdityontherock. Charles Bukowski.
  18. You probably won't remember me--white boy in Latin bar, but let me know if you want to go out-- [email address]. And then she, the Northwestern U. girl 19, threw up on herself and left with her brother-in-law.
  19. Andrea's friend, Sandy [her email address]
  20. "El Tri" Las piedras rodando se encuentan...the rock rolling found.
  21. Friday Martinez--- 773-XXX-XXXX.
  22. Sergio///call for drinking...just say ur from school...773-XXX-XXXX.
  23. El_Chegon@XXXXXXXXXX.com. I you buy all drinks semana time.
  24. Kelly S______. 773-XXX-XXXX
  25. Back pack Be not consumed by consumables.
  26. Brooze--what you get when you fall down drunk. Complex Carrie
  27. Use the Chaos you've been given.
  28. Tired of people saying I'm too nice. Not enough nice in the world. FUCK THEM!!!
  29. You shouldn't be here.

Help me be Hip to Gawking eyes!

My friend and I have entered a bunch of slogans in Gawker's Slogan contest.

It's easy and fun! Yay!
Just scroll through the lot, and vote for the following:

(you would if we were true friends *wink wink cow-eyes*)

Got Guilt?
My Job Sucks....Do You?
Hispanic at the Disco
Jewslamic Christian
Got Funk, Need Noise.
Gawk Out With Your Cawk Out
Gawker Scratches My Itch
I don't stare at YOUR third nipple!
Awesome bin Laden
I came, I Gawked, I came again
I Totally Gawked Your Mom
Jesus Pimped My Ride: It Runs on Water
Jesus Turned Walter into a Wino
Single Cheap Easy
Come on, help a cousin out; I just want to be a small-time cewebrity.

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

I got a water bed!

Okay, not really.
I've been writhing sweating moaning holding my head with a crazy-high fever all week. My fever finally broke a few hours ago, and I ate a ham sandwich which tasted like manna from Heaven (hadn't eaten in about two days).
Now about the water bed: the fever sweats nearly drowned me last night, this morning my bed looked like someone dumped a large bucket of water on it. Eeewwww!

So depending on how I heal up in the next couple of days, I'll try to finish the last post and journey out into the night to drudge up more odd stories. I say odd because they may not be interesting.

Aiight, off to bed. Night.