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.

THESE ARE A FEW OF MY FAVORITE (RECENT) THINGS

I know that most people think smoking is "gross" or "disgusting" or "unhealthy", and I tend to agree. I'm on board with indoor smoking bans, and I never smoke inside my apartment. But you know what? I love the shit out of smoking tobacco. And since it's outrageously expensive now ($8 for a pack is considered a great deal in Chicago) I've reverted to my former ways and began rolling my own smokes. In particular, I am a huge fan of Bali Shag tobacco (the Blue, not the Red). It's delicious to say the least. And I also get a peculiar sense of fulfillment in rolling a nice fat cigarette. I also have cut down by approximately 50% from the time I pissed away paying way too much money for shitty Camel Lights.

Imagine if you got off work at 3AM and you've been on you're feet for 8+ hours. You could take some Advil or whatever, but nothing works nearly as well as roasting a fat pipe of high grade herb. Usually I just take one solid hit (I don't like being super high...all the time) and fire up the TV, take off my shoes and immediately I feel 1000% better.

The key ancillary benefit of my new job is the "mandatory" shift beer I get once the day/night concludes. They owners discourage us getting wasted at the bar, but they do encourage us to get familiar with the 125+ beers we have in stock. So far my favorite is Saison Dupont (I hope I'm pronouncing that correctly, I'm not used to dropping "T" sounds). Whatever they are up to in the farm in Belgium where they make this beer, I hope they keep doing it. It's beyond good and defies my descriptive vocabulary. And it has a cork!

Lest you think all I do is get high and drink beer, I also have finally gotten around to hitting the gym. From mid-December to early February I didn't bother to go even once. Since then, I have got back on a Monday/Wednesday/Friday schedule. Sometimes I just go in for 20 minutes or so, but even an abbreviated workout makes me feel awesome.

Oh GAWD - how I love the shit out of Middle Eastern food. It's relatively healthy, cheap and so, So, SO good. You're looking at the Parmesan/Garlic toasted pita chips and Roasted Red Pepper Hummus I bought yesterday from the Grocer. It's all small batch, handmade and if I ever smoked crack cocaine, I imagine it would have a similar effect on me. For real, I have to get this shit out my sight, less I consume it all in one sitting.

Slowly but surely, I'm making the transition from quantity to quality.

SPEAKING OF POTENIAL ROOMIES...

In the ad I posted on-line seeking to find a roommate, I mentioned that as being a young-ish white gay guy, I would prefer a similar type of person to live with; besides the obvious comfort level, I thought that living with another homo, that maybe, just MAYBE I could learn to be a better Gay. Like, maybe my Maybe Gay Roomie would school me on hair tips, and I could introduce him to the wonderfulness that is Even Williams whiskey. Or something like that.

So I was excited when this guy contacted me and wanted to see the place; from the tone of his voice left on my voice mail it was fairly obvious we played for the same team. And he seemed nice and cool, etc. We set a time and a date for him to come over and take a look at my place, and see if we clicked in person. When the time came, he called me, from outside in front of my front door and I buzzed him up. When I opened My Door, in walked...

OK, obviously not Bruno, but what could easily pass for a facsimile, or a stunt double, or maybe his younger brother. We're talking HARD-CORE Eastern European G-A-Y with hair highlights that would out put Lady Gaga to shame. And his outfit...bitch please. He looked like he was roaring to to go clubbing at fucking Jackhammer, and this was at 1PM on a Wednesday. No way in hell would I/could I have this be my new Roomie.

Thankfully, after looking at the place and talking to me for approximately 45 seconds, he ran out of my place like it was on fucking fire. So I guess the feeling was/is mutual. And before you hate on me for not wanting to live with such a F-A-B-U-L-O-U-S man, that wasn't the primary issue. I have a problem interacting with people that communicate as if they under the influence of Meth, Coke, Crack or some combination. I can't deal with the constant, yet distant look of surprise in said people's eyes (also, I imagined rivers of hair dye staining the fixtures in my bathroom-YUCK).

That being said, I believe I have solved my Roomie Issues. Let's call her "Mags"; she is 31 y/o, a teacher and an ex-pat from from Poland who had resided in Chicago for the last 7 or 8 years (little known fact to non-Chicagoans: Chicago is the 2nd largest Polish city by population after Warsaw). It took me a week to wrap my head around the idea, but I feel solid about it now, and I'm confident she won't fuck me over or freak out when I eventually bring a guy home. Fingers crossed!

SLIDE-SHOW TIME!

Although I feel compelled to post something today, I don't feel particularly clever. Perhaps it's because I'm freaking exhausted from work late, late last night, and also finding out the bar I'm working is closing, but then also being offered a part-time manager position at the new bar, or freaking out about the FUCKED up picture I got texted from Pablo last night, in which he posed the question "like my new shoes?" and said picture was of his hard cock residing within a 3" lace strewn heel shoe thing, OMG fucking UGH.

Whew. So yeah, I figured a fun post with pictures is in order, especially since reader Alex requested it.

Seriously, OK - Wilco puts on a GREAT show. Really, they are all accomplished musicians and ROCK the FUCK out live. But if you ever chance to see them, 2 weeks after you've broken you're collarbone, DO NOT GO! Holy Shit, these middle aged women go fucking nuts. I almost left early because so many of these drunk suburban ladies kept banging into to me, which is why/how I ended up at this particular vantage point (far, far away of the angry swarm of horny ladies - I had no idea Jeff Tweedy has this effect on people).

THIS, my friends, is an actual totally vintage 1955 Porsche 550 Spyder, the very same, and extremely rare model that ended none other than James Dean's life. This particular example spent 3 hours outside of the bar I work at, with me hovering over/breathing on it. I'll be blunt: this car gives me a boner - and I'm more than willing to part with a testicle to obtain it.

This here is my buddy's dog Blackjack. And yes, he's wearing underwear, specifically MINE. Why might a dog be wearing a pair of my boxer briefs? Glad you asked! This was from an afternoon when I took my laundry over to said buddy's house (Ex-Roomie was an accomplish, and somehow, probably after smoking too much pot) we decided the dog needed to "cover up" his junk. Needless to say, this particular garment was promptly disposed of 5 minutes after this picture was taken.

WHOA dude? Smoke much? My other good buddy decided to create the longest cigarette the world has ever seen, by combining a rolled Bali Shag along with a fucking Camel Light. I'm still not sure why, or why and how he smoked the entire thing. It seriously took about 15 minutes to get through, which should be more nicotine than anything living thing should ever consume in one sitting.

You might have to squint to see it, but the name of the random corner store is called "Santa Fe Sup", which I somehow interpreted as "Santa Face-Up", which lead to 10 minutes of lame and very immature sexual jokes. It's my go-to-thing when I'm stuck in traffic. Being slightly idiotic, that is.

GRAVEYARD! I recently spent a lovely fall afternoon (dare I say, it was CRISP!") in Rosehill cemetery. Peaceful? You bet! Kinda way too quiet and fearing a random Zombie attack? Bah-leave-dat! Seriously though, this is one of my favorite places in Chicago, and one in particular that I feel at peace at.

What the WHAT? Walking down Montrose avenue one afternoon, I peeped this in a store front window of a dollar store. I regret having NOT bought it. Props to the submissive ring bearing pigeon - I should have bought that shit too.

Sometimes when I'm leaving work at night, the CTA demands that I do the equivalent of bending over and grabbing my ankles, or more commonly known as having to wait 30+ fucking minutes for the train to show up. To pass the time, I take pictures, which probably places me on some sort of a terrorist watch list. Whatever.

More train pictures! I can't get enough of them. And it's like the easiest thing ever to photograph, especially when you have the Toy Camera app on an iPhone. Instant nostalgia! I swear, just looking at that picture, I'm tele-ported back to some sort of imaginary childhood that resembles a Norman Rockwell painting.

Yeah, I know, another fucking train/lame photo effect picture. Sometimes I just can't help myself. The colors are just so cool though! It's funny though, that had this picture been taken with an Kodak 35mm in the 1950's, the saturated color's, to say nothing of the actual physical environment would not be different. At least not much.

BEST BIRTHDAY PRESENT EVER!

After a look through my archives, I was surprised NOT to find a post about my downstairs neighbor. I'm certain there is at least one out there, either way, she's a raging Polish bitch who rarely hesitates to call my landlord on me for trivial matters that can be solved without a third party.

Case in point: the very first night I moved in ex-roomie and I introduced ourselves, and went so far as to offer both our cell numbers, with the hope that if we got too loud she could simply call us and let us know. Neighborly? No? [Ex-Roomie back me up here!]

So the first night we're both un-packing; I'm NOT rawking out to some NPR jazz on my fucking clock radio. Next morning at 8AM my cell rings and it's my landlord, asking me to "be more considerate" towards my new neighbors. FUCK. THAT. (un)NOISE.

This foreshadowed many, many additional calls from my landlord, via downstairs Polish woman. Some of which, I'll admit, we're probably warranted. I like to listen to shit fuckin' loud, but I've learned to listen to music while stationed at my PC wearing headphones. Maybe she doesn't like the sound of me fucking guys with vigor, but that ain't gonna change anytime soon.

Still, we learned to get along. After 2 years of her ignoring my "good mornings" and "good afternoons", and holding the doors to our place open, to help her ease her groceries in, I totally won her over. She still won't hesitate to hang a broom against her ceiling/my floor if I'm pissing her off, but, she's FUCKING MOVING OUT in a month! WOOT!

This is awesome on so many levels. Not only can I assert my dominance towards my next new downstairs neighbors, I can also attempt to re-negotiate the amount I pay for rent with my landlord (this building is quickly emptying out, there are vacancies all up in this bitch).

I'll admit it though, I might miss her presence; still is/was an invaluable resource about the shady side of this particular 'hood. She witnessed the transformation of this place over the course of 15+ years; way back then gang banger wanna be's used to smoke joints in the lobby of my building, and because of her constant bitching, she actually convinced the landlord to install a lock on the first door, to get them out.

Now that she's leaving...I might have to take her stewardship upon my back and keep not only my landlord in line, but also stupid punk-ass gang bangers-to-be. I gotta OWN this shit yo'!

HOW I STOPPED BEING A PUSSY AND LEARNED TO LOVE MY BIKE

Hey y'all! It's been...what like almost 2 weeks? Since I'm an evil man I sometimes like to deprive those that love me ever so dearly of precious Justin brain droppings, just so you realize how you need me as much as oxygen (perhaps even more). OK - for real though, I've just been lazy about writing, probably a result of having so much random fun in this month of August.

One of the activities that has been occupying my time as of late, is tooling around the city on my bike. Technically, it's my father's Trek, but he left it behind in the move to NYC last year. Ever since it's been a static modern art object taking up valuable space in the basement of my apartment building.

Since I don't have a car anymore (Zipcar doesn't qualify, but I have fallen in love with the Mazda 3 hatchback I rent to get groceries every week) and I rarely have the patience to wait for the bus, I have been walking, walking, walking some more, and then walking even FUCK MORE. Case in point: my gym is about 2 miles from my apartment, and I would walk there and cry on the way home (what? you try doing 6 miles of cardio and then walking 2 more miles to get home! That's like 100 miles or something!).

So now I bike. It took me a long time to garner the courage to do so. Being a pussy doesn't come naturally to me, but after last year's potentially severe concussion, I'm a bit afraid of cars, or rather FUCKING IDIOTS who can't drive for shit. I mean, not everyone can drive as awesome as I can, but really, all you need to do is not hit people with your car. That's it. RED means STOP!

Last year I think a half dozen bikers got killed, a result of stupid twats likely piloting their zeppelin-like SUV's down Chicago's narrow streets. This discouraged me from riding around. But eventually I just said "fuck it" and now I ride around shining (Clipse reference!). I don't even wear a helmet. And I ride while drunk and high (just not when there is heavy traffic). Stupid? Yes. Fun? Shit yeah!

PS - [This is a special shout out to my friend overseas - I think you know who you are, boy whose name begins with the letter N] You sir, deserve a blowjob! No, you deserve several! I'll be happy to administer said BJ's once you return home =).

MY "NEW" WHIP

And by "my" I mean it's my brother's girlfriend's car that she has graciously allowed me to borrow. What's that term about not looking a "gift horse" in the mouth? I have no idea. But I do know that although this piece of shit is better than humping the bus.

Still, after smoking a hot piece of ass like my former ride, this seems unjust. Although it's clocked barely 58,000 miles, it screams in agony when asked to do modest things, like steer, brake or accelerate (if I ever find who stole my baby, he or they will lose a testicle, or 2).

When steering straight on, the steering wheel rests at a 45 degree angle. None of the right side doors lock. And it staggers to life when I twist the key. Oh, and it reeks of her dog. Am I bitching? Yes. Should I be? No.

Really, I'm trying my best not to be a little bitch, but...I'm driving a car with plastic wheel coverings! NOT FAIR! I thought if I did everything right, as in getting a decent education, showing up (mostly) to work on time, not being a douche bag, things would take care of themselves.

Never in my wildest, unforeseen dreams/nightmares would I think my life would result in driving a FUCKING Saturn. Ever. The irony is that I learned how to drive stick on my brother's Saturn coupe (oxymoron!) and hated that green-ish POS. UGH. I used to have an Acura, owned 2 VW's Jettas, rocked a Trans-Am and not one but 2 Mercedes Benz 300E's.

I guess I'm just a sore loser. :(

THE CITY AT NIGHT

One of the reasons I most wanted to live in this City, is for it's density; growing up in the sticks (i.e. suburbs) with all that vacant space made me yearn for the random bustle Chicago affords. Just today, while on the phone with my Mom, she started laughing mid-sentence due to the audible presence of sirens in the background. The sounds was so familiar to me that it didn't even register until she pointed it out and said "sounds like Chicago!". 

Of coarse, my favorite time of the week is when I'm driving home from the bar on Friday Night/Saturday Morning post-work. I once had a dream that the surface streets on the North Side were all turned in to a racetrack of sorts, and when it's late enough, the streets empty of UPS trucks, shit-heads running red lights (or not running yellows-even worse) or assholes attempting to parallel park, it's almost as if my little dream came true.

At one point, there's a bridge where Ashland Avenue bisects the North Branch of the Chicago River. Heading North, I can grasp the outline of the skyline in my rear view mirror, briefly, until I exhale the noxious tobacco while serving right to avoid a pothole, then serving left to avoid to FUCKING CAB (sorry, had a touch of road rage tonight) and then coast down towards a stale red light. I notice a Buick heavy with gang-bangers (or so I assume) behind me so I turn down the shit I'm bumping the shit out of to remain somewhat inconspicuous.

Once that light turned green, I released my clutch, and dropped 6,000 fucking RPM's of Japan's finest on Chicago's poorest excuse for asphalt. UGH. I got a grip though soon after, reminded myself, or rather realized that the herb smoked to me by the bartender was stronger than I first thought, and gingerly made my way home...until I decided that everyone around me (the asshole Cabbie behind me - sense a trend anyone?) needed to listen to the fatest cut from Kid Cudi's newest shit. Pretty sure I'm the only hoser rocking that shit at 3AM on the North Side.

This got unfocused...my bed is flirting with me. BURP.

25 THINGS THAT SUCK ABOUT CHICAGO

I had plenty of time to think up this list this morning, as I had to spend 2 hours waiting in traffic court to contest a completely unnecessary parking ticket (which was dismissed - WOOT!). Although I LOVE this city, enough to get it's flag tatt'd onto my arm, there are plenty of things that fucking suck about Chicago. Here's a list, which will be followed up by another of reason why Chicago RAWKS.

1. MURDER

Last year 510 people were victims of homicide in this city. If that's not awful enough, 21 students have already lost their lives, in 2009 ALONE. Many of whom were senselessly murdered in or near schools. With the economy in the shitter, and crime growing, this number is likely to increase this year. Sad. 

2. TAXES

Obviously, living in a big city means that your cost of living is going to be higher than living in the suburbs, but Chicago takes this trend to the next level. We even beat New York City with our sales tax, which presently is 10.25%. Fuck. Don't even get me started on tobacco taxes. Yesterday I used a $0.75 off coupon at a 7-11 for a pack of smokes; the total was $7.58 after the discount. Double Fuck. Chicago even taxes bottles of water to the tune of $0.05 per bottle (on top of the general 10.25% sales tax). That's some really fucked up shit.

3. THE WEATHER

Don't get me wrong, when it's nice here, it's NICE. But the other 11 months of the year mean living in sub-Artic and/or gawd-awful Humidity, sometimes within the space of 24 hours. I've adjusted to living without air-conditioning, but I don't think it's humanely possible to get acclimated to wind chills of -40 degrees. It's not a matter of comfort; the winters here can KILL you and the summers are capable of melting your mind. There's usually a few nice days in May though. 

4. POTHOLES

Technically this is an adjunct to #3, but still warrants it's own Bitch-Out. I understand the concept of freeze/thaw that forces the asphalt to expand, crack and open up a Buick-sized portal to hell. But I can't help to think that if the road paving industry wasn't totally FUCKING SHADY, perhaps the potholes wouldn't be as numerous in quantity or size. 

5. THE WHOLE NORTH VS. SOUTH SIDE THING

If it's not already totally apparent, I am a North Sider (i.e. Cubs fan/frequent cell phone user/college educated), and proud of it. But I don't understand why I should be. Maybe it's because anyone I've ever met that identifies as a South Sider wants to remind me how much of a pussy I am or how "gay" the Cubs are. Still, I was happy for the South Side when the Sox won the world series in 2005. Not "hey let's torch that fucking car" happy, but pleased nonetheless. If the Cubs ever win a world series (which I doubt that hey will within my lifetime) I imagine the city would BURN TO THE FUCKING GROUND. Again. 

6. THE CHICAGO FIRE

Outside of the total devastation and human loss caused by the firestorm that engulfed Chicago in 1871, it's legacy is one of absurdly strict fire prevention measures, namely a fire hydrant every 10 FUCKING FEET. Argh. Anyone that has ever circled Lakeview looking for parking spot on a Friday night knows how annoying it is to think you found a spot, only to glimpse the lonely fire hydrant surrounded by 15 feet of yellow curb. Oh, the loss of all that original architecture sucked too. 

7. ROB BLAGOJEVICH 

I don't think I need to go into detail about this one. I will say though that considering he lives near me, I've shown considerable restraint in not taking a dump on his front yard (yet). 

8. THE POLICE

Most of my interaction with Chicago's finest have been great. Although when I had to file a police report when my car got sideswiped, the Sargent was a total DICK. Oh, and apparently getting run over by a car doesn't result in a police report (or at least one they can locate). Also, STOP WITH THE FUCKING PARKING TICKETS ALREADY. 

9. "SECOND CITY" STATUS

Citizens of Chicago...despite it's faults you live in a world class city. There is no reason to apologize for not being from New York. It's a nice place and all, but this cow town has plenty of attributes. How about some civic pride people!

10. PARKING METERS

In an effort to stave off financial disaster (I think the budget deficit was around $500 million for this year) Da Mayor elected to lease the parking meter's to a hedge fund. Meter's that now cost $0.25 an hour and only need to be paid from 6 or 8PM, will soon increase to $0.25 for 15 minutes and will need to be feed 24 hours a day, including Sundays. Such bullshit X 10! 

11. NAVY PIER

Easily my least favorite part of the city. I'd honestly prefer sipping on a 40 near the burnt out ruins of an AMC Pacer on the West Side at 4AM on a Sunday, than to spend time at this tourist trap. Yes, the view is nice, particularly from the Ferris Wheel. But the rest of this slice of pseudo "Disney on the Lake" can sink as far as I'm concerned. 

12. FATTY FOODS

OK, this is kind of a good thing, but potentially a suck-y thing. Friends, there are none rarer pleasures in life than consuming a cheese-laden BRAT while drunk on shitty beer. At least for me. But if one isn't careful, you're liable to blow up like a fucking balloon. There's a reason why Chicago is a perennial fixture on the Men's Healths' "Fattest Cities" list (according to MSNBC we're #1! WOOT! COUGHCOUGHCOUGH). And that reason is called "ghetto fries".

13. THE KENNEDY

It often amuses and even more often-ly disgusts me that we would choose to name a cluster-fuck of an "expressway" after one of our most celebrated presidents (perhaps a result of Daley J and/or the Mob getting JFK elected?). Ever been on this road on a Friday afternoon in the Summer when both the Cubs & the Sox have games occurring? UGH X 10! I've been stuck in such bad jams that I was worried my bladder might explode. Not fun!

14. THE "LIVERY" INDUSTRY

If there is one class of people to universally dismiss with extreme prejudice in Chicago, it's the dreaded/certain to be a prick Limo Driver. I have a theory that they are actually taught to drive like such ASS-FUCKS; how else would one explain the driving dynamics of a Croatian piloting a 50' foot long Hummer through the Viagra Triangle? [BRAIN-FREEZE]

15. THE VIAGRA TRIANGLE

Speaking of douche bags, Chicago sports it's own take on "hell-on-earth", which in local parlance is pronounced "Rush Street". Imagine great floods of over-dressed/muscled gray haired guys trying to hook-up with 19 y/o Blondie girls. It makes Boystown look downright classy in comparison. I propose we burn it all down and begin anew. 

16. SHITTY WATER

My faucet is at the business end of the Lake Michigan, one of the world's finest bodies of fresh water. For that I am blessed. However, in the few days when the weather permits it, the beaches (yes, we have those here) are typically closed far often then they are open. The reason? Too much POOP in the water. Thanks Milwaukee (our neighbor to the north routinely dumps un-treated waste water into the lake which travels south to us!). 

17. THE COMCAST MONOPOLY

Anyone who has ever dealt with Comcast customer service can testify how bullshit it is to even think attempting to reason with this corporation. I feel bad too because I usually get a very nice/friendly person to answer my call(s) and they are tasked with giving me stupid information that make me want to break things. BUT...I have no choice. There is only game in my particular part of town; it's a necessary evil. 

18. MACY'S

Call me sentimental, but when Macy's took over Marshall Fields, I got all kinds of pissed off (see #9). Not for the chain (whatever) but in particular the main State Street store. My Mom used to work there in the 70's and I've been wearing shit from there ever since. My last purchase was a Calvin Klein suit. Now I refuse to walk through the doors. PssssssssssssH.

19. THAT ASSHOLE THAT PREACHES IN FRONT OF OLD NAVY ON STATE STREET

Citizens of Chicago know EXACTLY who I'm referring to. For those that are not aware, we here have had a very vocal presence telling us how we are ALL going to hell (whether you're a homo, a non-Christian or a drunk - fuck I'm all 3!) on a daily and very LOUD basis for at least 10 years. I've asked many people why he hasn't gotten a ticker for loitering, and no one can give me a straight answer. 

20. IT'S A SWAMP!

The word "Chicago" directly translates into "onion" in certain Native American dialects (namely the Potawatomi). The idea to build a major city on slowly sinking land resulted in some cool engineering feats (Caisson foundations anyone?) but the fact of the matter is that the soil beneath my building is as porous as a collection basket at a baptist tent revival. Kind of "un-settling". OK - that was a poor attempt at soil humor. 

21. TASTE OF CHICAGO

Ever wanted to eat a piping hot piece of deep dish pizza in 98 degree weather while surrounded by 500,000 of your "closest" friends? This event occurs every June and never fails to fuck up traffic for anyone within a 15 mile radius. Did I mention it's expensive too? And requires the purchase of tickets (which you always, always end up with extras) which means a third line to negotiate/sweat in? Not fun. AVOID.

22. THE WIND

Although this is NOT actually the windiest place on earth, it's still windy as FUCK. If I'm walking down the street in the winter, and wearing eye-glasses my right tear duct has a tendency to act up and spew tears forth-ward. It makes me look totally EMO, like I'm just walking down the street and crying at the very sight of puppies or newspaper boxes. I always find myself pulling a "Chandler-From-Friends" in that I'll randomly ask no one "could it BE any colder?"

23. DID I MENTION TAXES?

Oh, right. 

24. AL CAPONE

Last time I was in Europe, I was last asked "oh - Al Capone! rat-rat-rat?" (coinciding with dual gun-fingaz) by some vagrant in Frankfurt. Asshole. Another time I was in London and some dude trying to sell me weed said "don't worry! we're not you people here - we won't shoot you!" Thanks. Yes, Big Al was a large presence in terms of popular culture, but unbeknownst to some people that don't live here, us Chicagoans are not all 100% packing heat in the form of a Tommy Gun at all times (just sometimes). 

25. ASSHOLES LIKE ME!

Though I'm not good at describing my attributes or lack thereof, I am certain that I am a certified ASSHOLE. Having said that, I think it's fair to say that I'm a certain breed of asshole, one who is actually a nice guy at heart (but a dick just the same) who will hold the door open for you, just as easily as I'd shut on your person.

WOOT! That took FOREVER. Tomorrow or the day after I'll write the follow-up, "25 Reasons Why Chicago RAWKS WIT IT'S CAWK OUT". Consider yourself warned!

RADLEY BALKO IS A FUCKING IDIOT

This morning I awoke early and perused the Chicago Tribune on-line. The lead article was written by a guest editor from something called Reason Magazine ("Free Minds and Free Markets!") which apparently is some sort of libertarian publication. Said magazine recently compared 35 major US cities and ranked Chicago dead last in terms of "freedom"....and implying that Chicago has turned into some kind of a fun-free zone. To wit:

"Chicago reigns supreme when it comes to treating its citizens like children (Las Vegas topped our rankings as America's freest city). Chicagoans pay the second-highest cigarette tax in the country, and the sixth-highest tax on alcohol. Chicago has more traffic-light cameras than any city in America (despite studies questioning their effectiveness), restricts cell phone use while driving, and it's quickly moving toward a creepy public surveillance system similar to London's."

The previous facts are exactly that...a pack of smokes costs about $8, several major intersections near me have recently installed red light cameras, we are not supposed to use our cell phones when driving and there are surveillance cameras popping up like weeds.

On the surface, the facts suggest Chicago has lost is edge, but the reality is anything but. The Chicago City Consul routinely passes idiotic laws such as banning foie gras, but it's not as if such laws are enforced. When that particular law was enforced, the fancy places that serve that nasty shit simply changed the name of it on their menus. Case in point, we Chicagoans are clever sons of bitches.

While our local government may pass stringent laws, citizens in the City of Wind excel at evading them, because, well, we just don't give a fuck. You have to really suck at life to get caught breaking the law when it comes to things like drinking in public, blowing herb while walking down a street or engaging in random acts of sodomy in full view of your neighbors (I know nothing of such things...haha).

Like many of my fellow Americans, we here in Chicago easily adapt to whatever bullshit legislation is passed to appease a minority of stupid pussy fucks. Take prohibition. Alcohol is illegal? OK! Rather than complying with that edict imposed by Congress, we made a cottage industry out of circumventing that restriction, and profited handsomely (i.e. Al Capone). Chicago is still one of the few cities that I am aware of where bars stay open until 4AM, close, then re-open at 8AM (i.e. The Globe - great place to watch football matches).

It's true that we pay insane taxes. But at the same time, I can get a haircut at any number of places for $5 and on my way back to my 2 bedroom apartment (which rents for $925 a month) I can pick up a sixer of Old Style for $3.50. There's a Mexican restaurant near me that makes burritos twice the size of me face for $2.50. I can get my car hand washed, inside and out for $10.00. Rarely does a weekend go by that I don't have the option of seeing a sick live show for $12.

My point is, Chicago remains a great city in which one can work and play HARD in for not that much money. And you can act like a total fucking drunk asshole and not get popped by Chicago's finest. You just need to be aware of your surroundings...and not live in Lakeview if you don't want to get raped for rent. OK - I'm rambling, so I'll leave it up to Carl Sandburg to explain the city I still see:

Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders.

While we may no longer be the literal "Hog Butcher for the World" we remain so in metaphorical terms. Take that as you may, but this city is the MOTAHFUCKIN' SHIT and if anyone disagrees, you are free to meet me in the alley behind Cardinal Liquors on Lincoln and Ainslie to discuss your viewpoint.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to move my car because a block party is about to break out on my street.

LOCKED N' LOADED

Like a good Midwestern boy I'll celebrate Memorial Day by eating as much red meat and drinking as much booze as my body will tolerate. To prepare, I went and picked up a bottle of whiskey, a bottle of rum and a 30 pack of PBR. I even dusted off my "shotgun" (see below).

Some people may thing drinking whiskey and coke at 2 in the afternoon is "wrong" but those people are pussies. Bring on the booze motherfuckers! I really have nothing else relevant to write, except to say I hope to God we can end this fucking war and bring our troops home soon.

/end of mini-rant.

Now that that's out of the way, let's rock some tunes, mmmmkay? Here we have a video that combines several of my favorite things, Chi-Town-Hip-Hop, cars and satire.

Kidz in the Hall "Drivin' Down the Block"



Nice Ferrari Mondial.