And 3 AM it is, folks
Briefly, I was at work last night. Well, kind of - I should say, I was there through the night and into early morning today, Saturday. Yeah - if you've never stayed up till 3 AM putting labels on folders, and putting folders in boxes, then you have not lived. Add in some frantic organizing and you've got yourself a party. Which, seeing as Chicago tends to still be a 2 AM city, is all the more remarkable. Man.
But in other news, I have moved house, successfully. In a feat of unanticipated kismet, I am currently sitting in a cafe called Filter - it was actually the first place that I went to when I first visited Wicker Park last fall. So, yeah - full circle or some such bullshit, I don't know. Regardless, in only two weeks of living here, I have made some important and valuable observations. I will not be sharing any here.
Oh, I kid, I kid. see, that was the unexpected answer, and would thus be the one I am always a big fan of employing. 'cause that's my schtick. Err...
Midnight Dodgeball is alive and well -- Twice now, I've been walking home at about midnight (on a week night no less, the scandal!) and have seen a rousing game of midnight dodgeball in progress. There's this bank down my block and sure enough, there can be found 20-30 people - probably my age - playing dodgeball. now, my own feelings about dodgeball are complicated. I tend to be good enough at dodging the ball, which is good and, ultimately, the primary goal. But then there comes the time when I am the only person left in the game and it falls to my shoulders to bring the rest of the team back in (we would often play variants allowing for ousted team members to return; ie. German dodgeball [I wonder, is that a racist term?]). Generally, this involves throwing a ball at a certain target, or otherwise catchign the ball, or, I don't know. You get the idea. This is where my lack of skills present themselves - I can't throw for shit, and it is only by the grace of God himself that I ever successfully complete a 'pass' to the appropriate target. As a young kid, I didn't care so much about letting my whole team down - they were my peers, and peers only, and as such, I didn't really give a damn. however, later, when I worked as a camp counselor, my kids would count on me to get them back in. They were relying on me, more so than in any other camp-related environment. never mind that it was because of me that they weren't getting lost while trekking through the woods, they wanted to get in and play dodgeball, damnit!. I generally don't do well when I'm under pressure, so hitting the basketball net - our nominated target in our games - became an even greater unliklihood. Maybe I should have just run drills with my kids, to better train them to *dodge* the ball, thereby extending their playtime and decreasing their reliance on me.
All of which is to say that dodgeball is no new topic of thought for me, and it is with a certain mix of joy and aggravation that I see my new peers and neighbors playing dodgeball nowadays.
Cubs fans are dicks -- I did not move to Wrigleyville for a host of reasons, the least of which was to avoid a certain breed of Cubs fans. I mean those that really, really like the Cubs and waste no oppotunity to loudly and drunkenly profess their fanhood. And yet, in the building next to mine, where the balconies all face my building directly, and more to hte point, my main bank of windows, there can be found numerous Cubs fans. People looking for parking beware - one such fan has a prominent sign prohibiting parking by anyone that is not a Cubs fan (Sox fans, especially should beware this dude, also according to the sign). and so what has happened already is that I can hear everyone cheering each and every play while a Cubs game is on, and again, their balconies are across from my windows, and all is open for the neighborhood to hear. My own television can only get so loud, my own music, too.
And it's not that that's what's so bad. My boss is certainly as a big a Cubs fan as these neighboors, and my old roommate is a fan, too. but my neighboors are those particular Cubs fans that also have big dogs, and who play shitty craptacular rap music. not to be judgemental, of course. The dogs, though, are often left out on their balconies, where they bark. There are two of them together, and apparently their mutual companionship isn't enough to keep them quiet. And so, it's mornings like this one where, after working until 3 AM, I don't want to get woken up at 8 because the dogs' owners went out for their morning run and latte leaving the dogs on their balconies to loudly bemoan their temporary abandonment. I have never, ever wished harm towards any animal, no matter what. That's just the kind of guy that I am. And yet... well, I'll leave it at that.
And just a brief word about the rap music today. There's good rap, and then there's bad rap. White people, it seems, have the uncanny ability to find and loudly play the crappiest of the bad rap music. I don't even know what was playing today, but was all stuff from when I was in high school, and it certainly has not improved with age. For only the second time in my life, I found myself "hatin'" as I said, "Man, I hate white people". The first, FYI, was when I was making a tomato remoulade involving a lot of mayonaise - nearly a nauseating amount of mayonaise, really. And so, as I was scooping out lump after lump of that gelatinous white mass from the jar, I could only fund fault with my entire race, as we're to blame for the prominence of mayonaise in our fridges today.
A great number of my neighboors are tools -- In my last neighborhood, there was a dearth of.... well, everything. Well, no, there were some fine cook-outs. But otherwise, I'm talking shops, restaurants, people, etc etc. And so here in Wicker Park, it's quite a change. And generally, a change for the better. And yet, already I am seeing that it's a double-edged sword. As I sit here, I am listening to a rousing game of Egyptian Rat Screw. No, it's not that I dislike cards - hell, it's all I did while in Rome. but, the people playing are. such. tools. And I know a tool when I see one. The alpha girl is A. ugly (which by itslef wouldn't earn my enmity; I'm not that big of a dick) but B. loud. And that's the kicker, everyone. If you're going to be ugly, please don't draw any more attention to yourself. So do I hold her accountable for all her friends? Well... yes. It was her idea to play cards in the first place. And, I don't know - earlier she was talking about horny she was, and I wanted to be like, "dude... uhhh, maybe you shouldn't plan on getting those urges taken care of so soon..." This same girl also wants to be described as a "bitch". And not just in a playful, sporting type way. no, apparently, she wants people in bars, clubs - maybe even coffee shops - to honestly consider her a bitch. Honest-to-God bitchiness cannot come by way of wishful thinking. I mean, I don't know how to become a bitch myself, but I'd wager that blogging about ugly, card-playing tools might be a good way to start.
If I could do footnotes, I would, but in case you're wondering what has possessed me to pronounce this girl ugly? Well, and this might dissapoint some people, it's primarily the hair. it's curly. And you know how I feel about curly hair. but the cut of the hair does little to improve the situation, and her eye make-up is equally as unflattering. It's like she's got little piggy-eyes. And again, she's loud. Shrieky, screamy, and easily excitable. God. I don't even care that my battery is about to go, and I will have to return home to the Cubs fans and their dogs.
So it might sound as though I'm not happy with my choice to move. I wouldnt' say that. What would I do if I couldn't complain about somehting? That it what I do. It's what I do well. And so I'm glad, almost, to have such fertile ground from which to plow annoying weeds and pests. It almost gives me a sense of direction and satisfaction that maybe I've been lacking. Here's to Wicker Park, then. To annoying hipsters, annoying Cubs fan (and their damned little dogs, too). To the lack of cell phone reception in my apartment and to SBC. To crowded el trains in the morning and poorly stocked Jewel's (however close they may be to my apartment). here's to my new neighborhood, and my new annoying, stupid and ugly neighboors. Huzzah!
xoxo,
ddm
email me
Briefly, I was at work last night. Well, kind of - I should say, I was there through the night and into early morning today, Saturday. Yeah - if you've never stayed up till 3 AM putting labels on folders, and putting folders in boxes, then you have not lived. Add in some frantic organizing and you've got yourself a party. Which, seeing as Chicago tends to still be a 2 AM city, is all the more remarkable. Man.
But in other news, I have moved house, successfully. In a feat of unanticipated kismet, I am currently sitting in a cafe called Filter - it was actually the first place that I went to when I first visited Wicker Park last fall. So, yeah - full circle or some such bullshit, I don't know. Regardless, in only two weeks of living here, I have made some important and valuable observations. I will not be sharing any here.
Oh, I kid, I kid. see, that was the unexpected answer, and would thus be the one I am always a big fan of employing. 'cause that's my schtick. Err...
Midnight Dodgeball is alive and well -- Twice now, I've been walking home at about midnight (on a week night no less, the scandal!) and have seen a rousing game of midnight dodgeball in progress. There's this bank down my block and sure enough, there can be found 20-30 people - probably my age - playing dodgeball. now, my own feelings about dodgeball are complicated. I tend to be good enough at dodging the ball, which is good and, ultimately, the primary goal. But then there comes the time when I am the only person left in the game and it falls to my shoulders to bring the rest of the team back in (we would often play variants allowing for ousted team members to return; ie. German dodgeball [I wonder, is that a racist term?]). Generally, this involves throwing a ball at a certain target, or otherwise catchign the ball, or, I don't know. You get the idea. This is where my lack of skills present themselves - I can't throw for shit, and it is only by the grace of God himself that I ever successfully complete a 'pass' to the appropriate target. As a young kid, I didn't care so much about letting my whole team down - they were my peers, and peers only, and as such, I didn't really give a damn. however, later, when I worked as a camp counselor, my kids would count on me to get them back in. They were relying on me, more so than in any other camp-related environment. never mind that it was because of me that they weren't getting lost while trekking through the woods, they wanted to get in and play dodgeball, damnit!. I generally don't do well when I'm under pressure, so hitting the basketball net - our nominated target in our games - became an even greater unliklihood. Maybe I should have just run drills with my kids, to better train them to *dodge* the ball, thereby extending their playtime and decreasing their reliance on me.
All of which is to say that dodgeball is no new topic of thought for me, and it is with a certain mix of joy and aggravation that I see my new peers and neighbors playing dodgeball nowadays.
Cubs fans are dicks -- I did not move to Wrigleyville for a host of reasons, the least of which was to avoid a certain breed of Cubs fans. I mean those that really, really like the Cubs and waste no oppotunity to loudly and drunkenly profess their fanhood. And yet, in the building next to mine, where the balconies all face my building directly, and more to hte point, my main bank of windows, there can be found numerous Cubs fans. People looking for parking beware - one such fan has a prominent sign prohibiting parking by anyone that is not a Cubs fan (Sox fans, especially should beware this dude, also according to the sign). and so what has happened already is that I can hear everyone cheering each and every play while a Cubs game is on, and again, their balconies are across from my windows, and all is open for the neighborhood to hear. My own television can only get so loud, my own music, too.
And it's not that that's what's so bad. My boss is certainly as a big a Cubs fan as these neighboors, and my old roommate is a fan, too. but my neighboors are those particular Cubs fans that also have big dogs, and who play shitty craptacular rap music. not to be judgemental, of course. The dogs, though, are often left out on their balconies, where they bark. There are two of them together, and apparently their mutual companionship isn't enough to keep them quiet. And so, it's mornings like this one where, after working until 3 AM, I don't want to get woken up at 8 because the dogs' owners went out for their morning run and latte leaving the dogs on their balconies to loudly bemoan their temporary abandonment. I have never, ever wished harm towards any animal, no matter what. That's just the kind of guy that I am. And yet... well, I'll leave it at that.
And just a brief word about the rap music today. There's good rap, and then there's bad rap. White people, it seems, have the uncanny ability to find and loudly play the crappiest of the bad rap music. I don't even know what was playing today, but was all stuff from when I was in high school, and it certainly has not improved with age. For only the second time in my life, I found myself "hatin'" as I said, "Man, I hate white people". The first, FYI, was when I was making a tomato remoulade involving a lot of mayonaise - nearly a nauseating amount of mayonaise, really. And so, as I was scooping out lump after lump of that gelatinous white mass from the jar, I could only fund fault with my entire race, as we're to blame for the prominence of mayonaise in our fridges today.
A great number of my neighboors are tools -- In my last neighborhood, there was a dearth of.... well, everything. Well, no, there were some fine cook-outs. But otherwise, I'm talking shops, restaurants, people, etc etc. And so here in Wicker Park, it's quite a change. And generally, a change for the better. And yet, already I am seeing that it's a double-edged sword. As I sit here, I am listening to a rousing game of Egyptian Rat Screw. No, it's not that I dislike cards - hell, it's all I did while in Rome. but, the people playing are. such. tools. And I know a tool when I see one. The alpha girl is A. ugly (which by itslef wouldn't earn my enmity; I'm not that big of a dick) but B. loud. And that's the kicker, everyone. If you're going to be ugly, please don't draw any more attention to yourself. So do I hold her accountable for all her friends? Well... yes. It was her idea to play cards in the first place. And, I don't know - earlier she was talking about horny she was, and I wanted to be like, "dude... uhhh, maybe you shouldn't plan on getting those urges taken care of so soon..." This same girl also wants to be described as a "bitch". And not just in a playful, sporting type way. no, apparently, she wants people in bars, clubs - maybe even coffee shops - to honestly consider her a bitch. Honest-to-God bitchiness cannot come by way of wishful thinking. I mean, I don't know how to become a bitch myself, but I'd wager that blogging about ugly, card-playing tools might be a good way to start.
If I could do footnotes, I would, but in case you're wondering what has possessed me to pronounce this girl ugly? Well, and this might dissapoint some people, it's primarily the hair. it's curly. And you know how I feel about curly hair. but the cut of the hair does little to improve the situation, and her eye make-up is equally as unflattering. It's like she's got little piggy-eyes. And again, she's loud. Shrieky, screamy, and easily excitable. God. I don't even care that my battery is about to go, and I will have to return home to the Cubs fans and their dogs.
So it might sound as though I'm not happy with my choice to move. I wouldnt' say that. What would I do if I couldn't complain about somehting? That it what I do. It's what I do well. And so I'm glad, almost, to have such fertile ground from which to plow annoying weeds and pests. It almost gives me a sense of direction and satisfaction that maybe I've been lacking. Here's to Wicker Park, then. To annoying hipsters, annoying Cubs fan (and their damned little dogs, too). To the lack of cell phone reception in my apartment and to SBC. To crowded el trains in the morning and poorly stocked Jewel's (however close they may be to my apartment). here's to my new neighborhood, and my new annoying, stupid and ugly neighboors. Huzzah!
xoxo,
ddm
email me
1 Comments:
Hey, my friend Brian and I were taking a break from an all-weekend recording session, and we were next to you as you wrote this. I had to look you up because I'm addicted to blogs. Anyway, we were hoping to be loud and interesting/annoying enough to be written about, but I guess the card playing girl beat us out. Oh, well. I suppose I can just assume we were the aforementioned "annoying hipsters" and be happy with that.
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