Archive for the ‘Rants’ Category

These Boots Are Made For Burning

I was strolling down Clark St this afternoon, and I happened upon a two block stretch between Montrose and Wilson that I have fondly dubbed The Disposable District. I have never in my life seen such a high concentration of crap stores. One establishment after the next proudly displays rhinestone-studded, neon underwear that will surely transform every last item in the wash a pale, blotchy pink before disintegrating in the spin cycle. And I can only hope that the XXXXL airbrushed Tweety Bird sweatshirts disintegrate immediately after purchase, lest someone actually be tempted to wear them.
Shoes built to last for at least a quarter of a mile, pots and pans sets with specially designed fall-off handles, and porous umbrellas perfect for those rainy day strolls when you feel like gettin’ a little drenched–all these and more can be found in The Disposable District, so make haste! Your trash cans can soon be filled with piles of brand new items. Save time, and don’t even bother taking them out of the package. 1) Purchase item(s). 2) Place in trash. 3) Breathe a huge sigh of relief that America’s sacred landfills won’t follow in the doomed footsteps of our fast-fading ice caps. Whew.

Hi, I’m going to complain in my first blog here

So Hi, I’m Miss Betty Brown and I am an artist that works at John Fluevog Shoes in Wicker Park on Milwaukee Ave. And while I was at work yesterday someone stole my phone, again!! (yes this is the second time it has gotten stolen while I was at work) Plus it was a sidekick, not just SOME sidekick, it was MY sidekick. Like my little buddy. Oh man, its so frustrating. I want to stab someone!! Well okay maybe not stab, but you know, be really angry at them here.
I didn’t even get to see who did it. There are a few suspects….
And they took $20 that I made selling art too.
Sorry, I really had to get it off of my chest. Thanks I feel better now.

Celebrity Deathmatch: Chicago vs Cleveland

Bear Eyes

In all honesty, I have no authority to write about current Chicago happenings at the moment, because I’m missing each and every one of them. That’s right, I’m stuck in Cleveland. Why the picture of the dog? She’s the reason I’m here. I flew 350 miles to watch my friends’ dog while they’re zipping down Aspen’s trendy ski slopes. And how is this relevant to Chicago Metblog? Let me tell you. Devoted readers, you must cherish the hallowed Chicago ground you tread on day in and day out, even if you just tripped on that goddamn busted pavement square again or shoe-squished errant canine fecal matter, because a few too many dog owners are laboring under the misconception that snow neutralizes their pet’s crap. Love every minute of it.
The people, the restaurants, the smells, the public transportation (which goes hand in hand with the aforementioned smells), the politics, the shops, the shows…Chicago offers a little bit of everything for everyone, something I failed to appreciate fully until I spent ten days in Cleveland–so enjoy it, people!

[Photo courtesy of Luke Schierholz.]

PBR Light? WTF…..light

I found this in my local grocers beer section. I guess Pabst is trying to help Chicago lose its title of fifth fattest city in America.

Hypothermia 101

It is eight degrees out. That’s right–eight. What’s even more ridiculous is that I’m actually somewhat excited about this. Allow me to explain…
I was walking home from a friend’s last night, which was, quite possibly, the most idiotic thing I have ever done, and within ten seconds, my lungs were crystallizing and I couldn’t feel the first seven layers of my skin. Within two minutes, my cheeks were replaced by solid blocks of ice and my eyelids were permanently frozen open. The bank on the corner informed me that it was a whopping one degree, and fearing complete loss of my facial features to the elements, I wrapped my cheap scarf around my face, which created a hot, drool-y pocket of recycled air. My nose decided to join the party, and by the time I reached my doorstep, the bottom half of my face was smeared in snot and half-frozen saliva.
So…eight degrees? Eight entire degrees? I’ll take it, thank you very much.


So a bottle of water in my bag exploded on the Purple line train last Monday. I was rifling through it, trying to salvage the paper stuff. At some point, without really remembering I was in a public place, I pulled out some fake poop I had in my bag from a comedy show I am in. I just kind of held it in my right hand while rifling through my bag with my left hand.”Uuugh! Jesus Christ!” said the woman sitting next to me.”Oh, haha, sorry. Oh man, yea this is fake poo from a comedy show. I’m sorry I was cleaning my bag and I just forgot.” I said.”Ugh, ugh, that does NOT look fake. That is disgusting.””Oh, it’s totally fake. See?” and I did something I now regret. You see, I had the poo as a memento from the show and was not really familiar with it. In my embarrassment I forgot it was handmade fake poo. I thought if I squeezed it, you’d be able to see it was rubber. Maybe it would squeak or make a little whistling air sound. I knew it would be gross, but lighthearted you know? But no, it was made of stuffed felt, held together with glue from a glue-gun, and full of plastic beans. When I squeezed, a brown ooze came out, and a horrible crunching noise from deep within the tiny poo filled the air. Wet beans and dissolved glue dribbled with the ooze.The woman screamed, and got up and ran to another train car. I think she was sort of sobbing as she grabbed the door handle. Some other people were looking at me too, completely unamused, all of them gravely angry looking.The sad part is that, according to the Railway Act of 1892, I am now legally a hobo because while on a locomotive machine I did hold up a piece of feces and squeeze it in public view.

Not Everyone Does Things the Way We Do Them Around Here

I got a ticket on my car this morning — a $50 ticket for “Missing Rear or Front Plate” with “Front” circled. My car, by the way, isn’t really my car — I’m borrowing it from my brother and that’s why it’s registered in Tennessee.

Tennessee, and I’m guessing you can see where this is going, only requires a single plate, on the rear. So there is no plate on the front of the car on purpose. So now I get to have the fun of contesting the ticket by mail with printouts of Tennessee state code. Whee!

Security Theater

I’m doing a training class downtown in the Loop all week. I won’t say where, because I’ve seen similar setups at a number of downtown buildings.

Yesterday as I walked into the building I saw that there was some sort of letter-sized notice posted on the central reception counter in the middle of the huge lobby. Since my LASIK surgery, my middle-distance vision isn’t terribly crisp and I was running late for class, so I didn’t bother reading the sign and no one stopped me as I headed for the elevator. Going to and from lunch I was similarly unmolested.

This morning the “Director of Security” (according to his name tag) was on duty at the counter and he was not so easily escaped. He called out to me on my way to the elevator and asked where I was going. I answered, “to a training class upstairs”. He asked to see my driver’s license or a state ID and after a glance at it, handed me a badly photocopied piece of paper with the name of training center (which I’d never said explicitly) on it and said I could show that when entering the building for the rest of the week.

This is pure and simple Security Theater — if you don’t think about it much, you might feel comforted that someone is doing something to protect you from… something. But if you think about it for even a moment, it’s just a waste of everyone’s time that protects no one from anything. If only criminals and terrorists had ‘criminal’ stamped across their driver’s license… And were dumb enough to carry them…

It’s not, in the grand scheme of things, a big deal, but it bothers me both because it’s a waste of time, money, and effort and because it’s part what I see as a whittling away of our American notions of freedom. I can’t help it, I’m an idealistic patriot.

Welcome Home

Car window vs BB gun

After a delightful long weekend in beautiful Portland and Central Oregon, Chicago wasted no time in making sure that I had a proper welcome home. Which is to say, BB gun to the car window. Thanks, jerk.


July 4 weather

It’d be pure paranoia if I thought the weather knew that Wednesday was a holiday, right? I mean, it can’t be mocking us, can it?

(Thanks, Jason, for pointing this out.)

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