I'M STILL HERE

Really busting my ass to take care of my various responsibilities; work, friends, love - and dealing with this crazy FUCKING heat wave. Working to not only resolve the last bits of my court ordered obligations, and being broke - not to mention save the remaining shards of my passionate, yet difficult love life.

It hasn't been easy. But it's a test I feel i am passing. Never before have so many different areas of my life presented as many challenges...but I am facing them head on and been greeting with results I hoped for. It's just taken much energy to do so, and there is still a lot to go. But it feels good to set high goals and almost barely meet them.

At the same time...FUCK THIS WEATHER. And won't have a day off until far into next week, if even then. but I like my current job(s), and potential new ones, and hanging with friends - new and old. But I need a break - soon. Burning the candle at both ends is slowly killing me, and not in a good way.

IF YOU ARE FLYING OVER "FLYOVER COUNTRY" ANYTIME SOON YOU ARE FUCKED

The last time a snowstorm of epic proportions was predicted, it was Winter 1999, and I was sharing an apartment in Lakeview with my brother. It was both my first year living as a resident in Chicago proper and a college freshman. I openly scoffed at the weather reports, and despite the knee high snow I trudged through in a failed attempt to extricate my Volkswagen, the CTA delivered me on time to class (a fucking theater class no less).

My efforts were all for naught (class was canceled) but I learned an important lesson: don't doubt the surreal nature of Chicago meteorology. That damn storm still ranks as #2, in terms of accumulation, 19+ inches to be more or less exact. It took weeks for the "City That Works" to get back to normal after that. [Side note - I got a 'get out of jail free card' for showing up to class, and I abused the shit out of it once Spring bothered to show up].

Anyways...I'm up at 4AM for 2 reasons; I really fucking enjoy how quiet the city gets when impending DOOM descends, and well, it's just desperately pretty how the landscape changes with even a light dusting of powdery snow. Did I mention I like Winter? I do...except when it's a bitch and I'm waiting for a Western Avenue bus with wind gusts defeating my many layers. It's a hell of a lot better than the humid Summer months common to metropolis' built upon swamps.

Oh right, so, in reference to the title of this post, if you're flying on United, American or Southwest tomorrow, the day after or the day after that, pack a lunch, a book and The Patience of a Saint, because your flights have already been canceled. You. Are. Fucked. This STORM, and by extension, this city has you by the BALLS. Or not. My preferred weatherman, local ABC 7's Jerry Taft is usually fucking hammered and/or easily distracted.

Safe travels all. This includes myself, as my work shift begins/coincides almost exactly with when the Shit is supposed to hit the fan. If the bar doesn't close early...I don't even want to think about it. Let's just say I might really put my Timberland's through their paces. Or maybe I'll have a much vaunted snow day! How fucking GRAND would that be? I'm not crossing any fingers however.

WHO DOES LAUNDRY AT THIS UNGODLY HOUR? ME!

It's been a fucked up week, to say the least, and I think it's manifesting itself in a series of bizarre, strange and terrible "dreams" that have contributed to my latent propensity for insomnia. Here's a quick run-down of the shit I've experienced this week:

-Might have to fly to Phoenix and propose an intervention for my Mom (for drinking like a Rock Star, and not in a good way). My Stepfather is struggling, but being patient, but me being available to chat on the phone is only going so far.

-I got a new (another) job! And almost lost my current one, although I think I saved it. I start tomorrow at a fancy Sushi restaurant (one of the best in the city, I'm told). Did I mention I know nothing about Sushi? Because I don't, but I'll learn.

-The second go around with a guy I dated 2 years ago imploded this week...and out of nowhere the young (24 y/o) bi-guy got back in contact with me. He doesn't want a traditional relationship, just a weekly hook-up type thing. And that's fine by me. I don't have time, nor energy for much else.

-My Roommate nearly burning this apartment building to the ground the other night; she was making bread pudding and left the oven, and a stove top burner on for...oh, 5 hours? I came home and my eyes were on FIRE. I almost passed out from the carbon monoxide present in the air.

-Last night I was at a random party, and was told by a good friend of my elder brother that he's jealous of my hair (?). I haven't gotten a hair cut since March so this shit is shaggy, and curly. But the women love it (like I care, but it is flattering). But if one more person refers to me as Justin Bieber, I might hit them.

-I ate a bunch of 'shrooms last Sunday night, while at work (only had 35 minutes left) and began hallucinating; I was trying to text a friend and the characters (letters/numbers) were swirling off the face of my iPhone. That was...fun? Drank a bunch of whiskey too.

-This might be obvious, but this is the worst Summer ever, weather-wise. It's forecast to be 93, with 87% humidity today. I know it's typical for Chicagoans to be ready for fall around this time of year; I'm ready for fucking January.

-I'm waiting for my laundry to dry as I write this, and having a much deserved (in my opinion) cocktail, and then going into work at 9:30am. If my life gets any more weird...I don't know, guess I'll deal. Got no other choice. Right?

POSTCARDS FROM A BOMBED-OUT SHIT-HOLE

So today I volunteered to accompany Ex-Roomie to Gary, Indiana. Easily the shittiest 'hood I've ever been in. Had I known what an industrial wasteland that place is (and I had an idea but wasn't prepared for it to be worse off than Detroit or East St. Louis) I would have worn my steel toed/heeled boots and perhaps brought my new bike helmet.

That's an old hotel, located in the historic downtown quarter, converted to apartments and frequented by crack heads. I gave a quarter to some guy asking me why in the hell I'm taking pictures of this old place. I answered that same question 3 times in the space of 2 minutes.

That modest dwelling you see there? None other than Michael Fuckin' Jackson was raised there! Along with his less famous siblings. The place is even smaller in real life. Note all the comments left on the street sign.

This cracked out former hotel isn't even boarded up, nor fenced off. More images would have been taken by me, had it not been for the presence of many, many people burning holes through me/getting eye-fucked. I was also legitimately concerned I would step on a used hypodermic needle.

The Casket Showroom...I assumed it was once a lounge of some sort, but it used to be exactly what it's name is (next to a Church). By this point many of the street people noted ourpresence, and I had to piss like whoa...but didn't have the nerve to do so in an alley.

Urban blight like none other I've ever seen or experienced. This is a shot looking north towards the old steel mill(s). Vacant lots abound in amazing quantity, especially right near the formerly thriving city center.

Indiana limestone son! There were at least 7 or 8 crumbling churches of various denominations. This one was notable for being totally and completely hollowed out, a gorgeous architectural work of art left to decay before it's time. Such a shame. Note the trees growing from inside.

PS - Today is the first time since early June of last year that I properly left the city limits. NYC/Fire Island then...Gary, IN now. Quite the contrast, to say the least.

PATIENCE FOR THE RIDE

This morning I achieved a minor goal, in least in terms of energy exerted. Mentally it was a much greater challenge, but I did it, I finally got back on my bike for the first time since the accident back in September. And I'm happy to report that my collar bone remains (mostly) intact.

Although I was fine riding around I kept thinking back to that fateful night. I may or may not have fully written about the specific details, and I'm too lazy to look it up. So I figured a brief refresher might be of benefit, particularly to new readers. Here goes...

It was a warm fall evening, Friday night, when I got cut from work early. This was back in the Bouncer/Doorman days (funny how far away that already seems). Leaving Wicker Park around Midnight, I took the most direct path home, which involved riding along busy Ashland Avenue.

Three miles in I crossed a bridge that goes over the Chicago River (great view of the skyline, I might add) with too great of speed on a decline, when a fucking CTA bus rips right past me, literally it was about a foot away. I lost my balance and...landed on my shoulder first, head second and seemingly everything else third.

It didn't even hurt at first, until I tried to get up, which took a few tries though I was motivated not to be run over by traffic. Then I staggered approximately 1 1/2, bike in tow, bleeding profusely from just above my right ear and just below my right knee, before I finally collapsed on a street corner.

No one offered any assistance nor even questioned a bloody heap on the sidewalk, the drunks, I think were too busy minding their own business (the Cops didn't give a shit either). After calling a fuck load of people, I finally was able to contact a friend to pick me up. Unfortunately, her tiny German sports car necessitated me leaving the bike behind. Whatever X 10.

Perhaps it was the blow sustained to my head, but I don't remember anything after that until waking up the next morning, jeans stuck to my body wound(s) and unable to initially get out of bed. Holy fucking shit...that is a scary feeling.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that, after a traumatic experience, one that I still have dreams/nightmares about, I got over my fear and got back in the saddle, as it were. And it felt good...or would have for not the goddamn 30 degree temperature this morning, but that's Spring in Chicago for you.