Through the Looking Glass

I arrived home the other night, from a surprisingly delightful evening at my parents. The old man and I had to play a round of Dr. Mario before heading to bed, and then as usual, we had to check our email; so goes the ritual.

As I made my way across the room primarily unscathed and sat before the monitor, waiting because our computer might as well be as old as a Commodore 64, I noticed a rock in the middle of the floor. My better half has a tendency to find things in nature that he wants to paint, brings them home and then does nothing with them; I figured this was one of those items.

Or so I thought until I noticed a trail of glass patterning a spray from the window in all directions. I glanced at the window to find a couple broken slats in the mini blinds. That's right, some bum (presumably, I can't discount that I pissed someone off) picked up a rock (it doesn't help that the outside of our property is lined with them) and launched it through our window with enough force to break the screen, both window panes and forcefully rip the slats of our mini blinds.

Despite the amazing feats the CSI team is able to accomplish, the police could offer nothing except a suggestion that we get our windows fixed as soon as possible. Plural, yes. While waiting for the blue man group we discovered that both our street facing windows were smashed by rocks.

What a friendly hello! Or maybe, I have a secret admirer that missed the lesson about throwing pebbles to alert your love interest, not ginormous stones.

Graffiti

Everyday I walk by the Hostel on 18th. Everyday I look at the massive 6'x10' sign that reads: OBAMA and some gibberish.

Well it reads: GIBBERISH and some other gibberish.

What I find both humorous and telling is that since the first day this sign was hung out to dry, it was painted with thick sweeping white strokes of graffiti. Since day one, others have added to the art by offering prostitutes phone numbers in the big letter of O, drawings of private body parts in B, offensive four letter words in A, pictures of lude acts in M, and gang poetry in the final A, not to mention a plethora of other choice narrative throughout the sign.

Isn't it funny that this sign represents Obama's entire political career? How he didn't do anything about crime rampant throughout Chicago? How he drove through the slums every day on his way to work, working tirelessly to do nothing whatsoever? How he is a dirty smoker pouring graffiti into his body daily? How he and his wife spout flem and diarrhea and bile every day of their waking lives?

I kind of like the sign now; it represents the truth.

Crosswalk x Deux

Hooooly Mackerel!

How many times do I have to explain how a crosswalk works? If you are driving a car and you encounter an intersection - stop. Put your foot on the brakes! If there is a person on the sidewalk, if there are white stripes on the concrete, and most importantly if there is someone in the middle of the street - don't take your foot off the brake. If you haven't stopped yet, and there is someone in the middle of the street - stop.

And that, people, is how a crosswalk works!

I was crossing the street today - at a crosswalk, white stripes across the concrete - when an idiot driving his car through the intersection decides he doesn't need to stop. I'm on his side of the street, just a few steps into the crosswalk. He slows down just a bit and attempts to inch past me. Maybe he couldn't see over his massive white beard - or maybe he was just too old to make out that the shapes in front of him were people!

As if this act alone isn't a big enough offense, I am walking my two dogs. One is ahead of me and the douchebag in the car, but the other is behind me just stepping off the sidewalk. At this point, the car is between me and my little dog. And, even though I am clearly, indisputably, no question about it holding two leashes in two separate hands, he continues to inch forward.

We are face to face. I glare, he looks at me stupidly. I call my little dog, and the driver thinks this is a signal for him to continue forward, even though I'm in FRONT OF HIS CAR!!

Finally, I've just had it with this bum, so I yell at him, slowly: "STOP YOUR CAR."

He looks at me even stupider than he did before, as if that's humanly possible. And I'm so mad, that I get in his face (through the window at least) and yell as loud as possible, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU???!!!!"

Fortunately, me and my two little doggies made it through the ordeal. Ridiculous!

After I made it across the street a woman pulled up next to me and rolled down her window, "I stopped for you." She tells me, almost asking to be granted clemency.

I assure her, "Yes, thank you! You are great! I can't believe that guy!"

She agrees, "Yeah, that was pretty awful!"

My back itches

We were technically driving outside of the technical downtown boundaries, but in a trendy area nonetheless, and I live downtown, so it all applies. We reached a stoplight at the top of a hill. On the corner a man was standing there with a sign. He was a ways off, so my husband and I strained to read it.

You have to read the signs here, without feeling ashamed, it's part of the culture. It's a competition among bums, of sorts.
"Too ugly to prostitute. Too Lazy to Steal."
"Help? (Other side) For Beer?"
"It's Hot! I need Beer!"
"25 cents for free insults."
"How dare you not help me!"

Much to our surprise this guy was not a bum, but a vendor. He was selling back scratchers, 3 for $5! What a steal! We watched him for a minute waiting for the light to turn when he pulled out a device, lifted his right arm high into the air, waved the wand around for a minute and began scratching his back as he wiggled his legs and body around performing a dance for us.

Okay, how can we just drive off at this point? I pulled over and the old man got out to buy a couple of scratchers. We received a fancy compact and retractable purse scratcher, a standard scratcher, and a scratcher that had rolly balls on the opposite end for therapeutic reasons.

The scratchers came with a card:

FRONT:

Grouped Thronged Collects Selected Conveyance

Back Scratchers

BSXBS

Benevolent Society

No/License # /Bond # /Insurance # Non /Taxable /Deductible

Not Associated with Back Scratchers Museum Museum: 60th and Belmont

B.S x B.S. and B.S.M. may or may not be independent creations of the Bills in mind

BACK:

B S & B S MISSION

In order to thank those who scratch the backs of those whose backs need scratching - We Thanks each Backscratcher with which to scratch their own backs so be it that we that can be scratched on the the back so can we scratch back the back of those back scratchers who have scratched our backs.

PARODY without parody, THANK YOU

SCRATCHERS GRANTED EXTRA SMILES PER GALLON

Permanent Fixture

With the exception of the overweight female who perches in front of the Washington Mutual Bank everyday, I rarely ever see the same bum twice. Well, make that two exceptions. The wig lady is a permanent fixture of this fair city. I encountered her just the other day getting advice from a fellow street traveler about where to get free meals.

I have always been under the impression that begging on the same street corner without variation would be counterproductive; apparently this is not the case though. I overhead the resident bank female telling her story to a pedestrian:

"We come out here everyday, me and my dogs, just long enough until we make enough to meet our needs for the day. And everyday, I see the crack dealers dealing drugs, pick pocketing and stealing, but not me. I'm not trying to fool anyone, and that's why I come back to the same place everyday."

I was reminded of this story today when I was at McDonald's. I was picking out a movie. A woman was walking out of the restaurant when a man says to her, "Is that your mother?"

"Yes," she replied annoyed.

With a sallow face he answered, "What a fine specimen!" and immediately began to cackle hideously.

I turned around to see who the ladies man was... and I found myself face to face with... none other than... I couldn't believe it! It was the defective counting death row dwarf!

He's a scary guy. Seriously.