Cathy 1 and Cathy 2

I joined a gym this week and it is actually wonderful. It gives me something to do and somewhere to go after work each day, instead of slugging it out at work and then going home to my television. I worked out yesterday, but next time I will remember my headphones as Cathy 1 and Cathy 2 almost buzzkilled my workout.

I was on one of the machines next to two girls who were obviously friends, or more likely, frenemies. They were the whiniest bitches I have seen in awhile, and some of their comments reminded me of the Cathy comic. Here are some snippets:

1) "I mean, I get my J Crew packages sent to my work, which I kind of feel guilty about, but hey - I need my khakis!!"

2) "So this pregnant woman at my work asked everyone at the staff meeting to stay home from work if they're sick because she's vuerable to illness. I was like, 'how about we call in to work if we're feeling sick and work can tell you to stay home.'"

3) "I was telling a new guy at work about my vacation days and he was like, 'I wish I had vacation days,' and I was like, 'I earned my vacation, ok? That's what happens your first year of work, you don't get vacation, ok?'"

3) "I hate this. I'm tired today. I hate this."

I mean, what Wisconsin puritans! The negativity pouring off these girls was disturbing. Then, during our workout an amazing rainbow appeared out the window. I'm serious. It was an incredibly vivid and beautiful rainbow. I looked around from side to side to see if the people around me would notice, and they didn't. So I said, "Cathys, see that rainbow."

What else could I do?

The death of the best dance party in town.

I went out dancing with a friend last weekend, to this place that USED TO be the best dance party in town. This bar had a warm fuzzy hipster vibe that made everyone feel comfortable to dance. Unfortunately, the owners sold it. The man that now owns it has painted the walls all black and installed flatscreens that play running text messages like "hey polka dot banana u r hot" and "bartenders here are the best" (which was posted by the bartender semi-anonymously.) There was also a fog machine and several "up in yo' face" disco lights. It was a little bit much, so I went over to the bartender and said:

Miz M: "can you chill on the fog machine?"
Dude: "the effect is psycho-somatic. i spent $2500 to make sure it was just shooting water. it's probably the smoke that is bothering you."
Miz M: "well, i guess i don't really like fog machines"
Dude: "well, we're a club so... (shrug). i'll be getting some smoke de-ionizers next month to help with the smoke. it bothers me too, and i'm a smoker"
Miz M: "okay, thanks."

Following the fog machine exchange, another semi-anonymous message appeared: "what this place needs is a fog machine". Hmm, that sounds kind of passive aggressive for someone trying to get a club on its feet. But maybe he's aiming for a different clientèle. An ass-holey, chauvinist clientèle, perhaps? Maybe that's harsh but I miss the old place and will probably grieve that my next year in this town will be sans a truly groovy dance party.

The Invisible Hand Is Gonna Knock You Out

I find myself in class sometimes trying to suppress boredom. I usually do this in one of two ways - cultivate controversy or cultivate apathy. Since it is the beginning of the semester, I've been choosing to cultivate controversy. Today, I said in class, "Well, I don't believe in totally free markets." I mean, how smug and fluffy is that?

I also told a story that I heard on the radio about a Muslim woman speaking out AGAINST cultural tolerance in European societies because it allows for extremist Muslim societies to practice oppression of women behind closed doors. I thought it was an interesting discussion point to wrap one's head around. But, I also hoped it might piss somebody off. Make this fun for me, people! Can I get a rise outta your tired asses?!?

Still, I admit that these comments could have been made with a little more sophistication.

I have a deep-seeded fear that I really annoy my classmates with these type of comments. On the other hand, I don't take myself too seriously either. However, there is a Spanish woman in my class, and she takes that shit SERIOUS! Our teacher was explaining an economics concept and she was all, "this doesn't make sense?! does that make sense?!" and it was kind of aggressive. And I was all, girl, you need to chill out on confronting the teacher. He's no Adam Smith! That invisible hand is gonna knock you out!

Odds and Ends from NC

Today I walked over to the university arboretum and spread out a blanket by a big old North Carolina tree. It was in the 70s, and though it was unseasonably warm, I savored an afternoon of the slow pace of life down here that everyone talks about. I sat in the sun and read some back issues of the New Yorker, soaking up months of culture that I had missed when my reading list was solely based on urban planning. Yep, three of four classes are now done for the semester.

After a few hours of reading, I drove over to a local coffee shop where I sort-of avoided getting hit on by some 60-year-old dude who was wearing some kind of cyclist windbreaker unzipped so that his gray chest hair poked out of it. He made conversation with me about the beautiful looking fruit tarts:

Him: Are you going to have a tart?
Me: Nope. (Pause) Just coffee.
Him: Oh! Good discipline. I really have motivation not to eat one either.
Me: Uh, yeah.
Him: I just had two apples and a piece of cheese for lunch.
Me: (Silence)

After that, I came home and watched some old videos on YouTube. Josephine Baker, Russian Ballet from the 70s, the new exhibit of Kara Walker's art at the Whitney in New York. You can really find anything you want to see on there. I guess it goes to show that I can only complain to a degree about being culturally isolated down here. To the degree of a 2" x 3" online video of about 5 minutes in length on almost any cultural topic in the world.

Also, I went to the "Short Circuit Traveling Film Festival" last week. It was a series of short films made by filmmakers of the Southeast US and it was really fun. My favorite short was called "The Language of Limbs: A Documentary on the Agrifolk Art Movement." It was hilarious and clever and southern. You can view a portion of it here.

Hippie-Ohs

Last night I bailed out of a big U sports event and randomly ran into a gal in my class who I think is pretty cool. She is more into the "alternative" scene here, and by that I mean the bike shop/organic farms type of thing. And sure 'nuff she invited me to an outdoor projected movie at the back alley bike shop of her friends. So, it was a kind of great and unique scene people-wise and I was excited to see another side of the town.

Unfortunately, my friend had to leave to catch the last bus to a neighboring town where she lives. So I was kind of left with some people I didn't know, watching a horrible torture scene in a...um... unique... mountain bike slasher flick. I had brought some Oreos thinking that it would be a hit (and help me make some friends) to share some cookies. Only, I found out that the bike community here also wasn't like the ones at home.

The bike messenger and bike shop kids that I knew in the Midwest were kind of grubby (okay, same), had alternative politics (same), and went dumpster diving (not same). When I passed around the bag of Oreos, the girls refused to eat any (frown), and some guy said, "Oh, these are real Oreos. They don't even sell these at the Co-op. They sell 'Hippie-oes.'"

I mean, he ate one and everything. Maybe even two.

But I thought, um..., really? These kids buy organic Oreos at the Hippie Co-op??? I mean, (1) aren't they expensive? and (2) why would you ever buy organic fake Oreos? Oh, and (3) is it really that rare that someone would bring preservative-ladden Oreos to one of their (OUTDOOR bike messenger slasher) parties?

Even "alternative" Southern culture is more puzzling that I even imagined.

When You Deserve To Get Treated Passive-Aggressively

My downstairs neighbor is a post-graduate school slob.
He never takes a turn to put out the trash (we share a trash can), nor does he ever bring the trash can BACK from the curb. He has poker parties where him and his friends drink a lot of beer, then he puts the beer in the recycling bin but never takes that out to the curb either. See exhibit A:

Note the huge cobweb from the recycle bin to the house because so much time has passed since dude took out the recycling.

Also, this guy collects his "junk mail" and throws it in some random bin that he keeps in the hall way. I have never seen him empty this bin, and the hallway is collecting additional detritus such as lint balls and dryer sheets, bits of plastic, and yesterday A HUGE PALMETTO BUG, which doesn't seem to bother dude at all. See exhibit B:Where I've started using my own recycle bin and just given in about taking out the trash, having his nasty trash overflow in the common space is really starting to get on my nerves. I was ranting to Mr. D about this, and he suggested that someone that behaves like my neighbor deserves to be treated passive-aggressively. And I had to agree. So, I'm thinking of writing him a note, in the spirit of one of my favorite websites, passiveaggressivenotes.com. Do you have any ideas for passiveaggressive notes, dear readers? I'll post some ideas too in the next few days.

BagThat Rocket

For those of you that don't read passiveaggressivenotes.com, you MUST MUST MUST at least check out this entry from August 20. Hilarious!

Common Sense for Pedestrians

I was riding my bike to work today and I cut through downtown to avoid the windy corridor of Oak Street and Taste of Chicago. It was a pain to bike through downtown because of all the stoplights, mostly. There was also an annoying pedestrian, a guy walking with his nose buried in the Wall Street Journal. In general, I don't have a problem with people walking and reading as long as they are will to be slow and kind of passive. In other words, they are fine as long as they follow the traffic signals and make it easy for people to go around them.

So I passed WSJ dude on my bike and then had to wait at a light. He proceeded to walk and stand directly in front of my bike at the street corner, only to begin reading his paper again. WTF?!

I had another similar issue with a pedestrian when I was visiting Chapel Hill last week. Some dude was standing on the street corner with his head buried in a map. The light turned green and there he was, buried in his map, not moving. I began to make a right turn, and lo and behold he stepped off the curb (not paying attention) and I had to swerve out of the way. "It's okay! I'll wait!" he yelled after my car angrily.

In these situations, both people have a responsibility to be attentive to their surroundings. Pedestrians certainly have the right-of-way, except when they are being total bozos and not paying attention.

Headscarf Hands-Free

This morning on the train I saw a twist on the "hands-free" cell phone thing. Honestly, it was so distracting! There was a Muslim woman who seemed to me a more *liberal* type of Muslim, which I am basing (in my ignorance) solely on her clothing choices. She was wearing a green headscarf with embroidery and beading, and a bright magenta shirt. She also was talking on a cell phone. She had her big ole cell phone pressed against her ear, tucked into her headscarf so she didn't have to hold it. It was convenient and somewhat practical, I suppose. But it was still weird. I wanted to take a picture with my camera phone, but I thought that might be disrespectful.

After my previous post, I was thinking about street corner preachers. What type of message would I actually be interested in or identify with from a street corner preacher? I decided that rather than a preacher railing on about cigarettes or weed or Doritos, I'd rather that he publicly condemned the people on the bike path that let their dogs drink out of the water fountains THAT ARE MEANT FOR PEOPLE. That would be awesome.

"Bring a water dish for your dogs, good people of Chicago, or you are going straight to hell!"

Don't Curse My Doritos

State Street in Chicago is apparently an informal entrepreneur's paradise. Last week I was walking around on a weekday after 5 p.m. On every corner, someone was trying to exchange something - change for beer, religious pamphlets, hip-hop CDs. The religious pamphlets were especially notable - I probably saw 4 different people handing them out between Van Buren and Monroe Streets.

There are different types of pamphleteers. There is the guy who lurks and just slides the pamphlet into your path as you walk by, there's the friendly pamphleteer, and an aggressive one. Then there are the street preachers giving their messages. There's one guy who always stands in front of Old Navy with an amp and a microphone, talking about the dangers of weed and cigarettes. At least I get him. A few streets down on this particular day there was another street corner preacher. As I walked by him, I caught an earful of him cursing Doritos. Doritos? Is that really necessary? I mean, nutrition is a serious issue but I don't think it's serious enough to take Doritos to task on the street corner. You know?

"Bitch, crazy." And How AC/DC Provided Me A Slice of Heaven

I used to work with teenagers for my job. One day, I told one of them, "The one thing I wished that someone would have told me in high school is that some people are just crazy." After I said it, I wasn't sure that my sentiment really translated to anyone else besides myself. But it took me awhile to learn that in the working world because I tend to internalize a good deal of problems or situations and try immediately to solve all kinds of problems that don't belong to me. Realizing that a lot of times that it wasn't about me and that I should just let go was a helpful lesson. So professors and parents and mentors out there, please tell your kids, "Kids - some bitches are crazy! And you can't really control that."

This past weekend I went to an AC/DC concert, put on by kids from Paul Green's School of Rock Music. It was the most fantastic show that I've seen in awhile. Little kids rocked guitar solos, banged on the drums, and screamed into the microphone. A little 11-year-old girl sang, "Highway to Hell" and it was absolutely precious and hilarious. The kids were having such a great time, and the moms were too as they slurped down Michelob lights at 1 p.m. on Saturday afternoon and "Whooo-" ed their kids. It was ferocious fun, and felt great to support a cool music program for kids. You can catch another fabulous show on May 19, when these little rockers will be performing Led Zepplin tunes. Don't miss it!

Making Friends on the CTA

I had to take a CTA bus to meet up with my Thanksgiving ride on Wednesday of last week. I met some really nice and outgoing people on the bus.

As you know from this blog, I love to eavesdrop in public places. The public conversation on the bus was a good one. I was sitting near the back of the bus and kind of listening to these two guys talking about the high corruption at the Salvation Army. Apparently, they just spent a bunch of money buying mansions for their executives in the suburbs. According to the bus passenger, the execs, and even the employee of the month, drive extremely fancy cars like Hummers, Bentleys, etc. Haven't you seen all those fancy cars in the parking lots? Etc. This guy really had a flair for the dramatic and it was great!

During this conversation, I was sitting in my bus seat, and there was a handsome young guy at the bus door, well-dressed and well-coiffed, who was apprently giving me the eye. When he got off the bus, Mr. Salvation Army was going on and on about how the guy was oogling me and how he should have just said 'hi' instead of staring and how I probably thought he was a sexual predator since he was staring so much but how he might of had a chance if he just said 'hi', etc. etc. He got so extreme with the conversation until I finally had to turn around and acknowledge the discussion.

"Yeah," I said, "he was a cutie. He should have said hi."

This illicited laughter and an enthusiastic, "See! She said he was a cutie! He could have had a chance! Guys don't know how to say 'hi' anymore. Times have changed where sometimes the woman can speak first but some guys don't like it and think the woman is fast, etc. etc."

Another guy on the bus who was sitting with his girlfriend said, "Well, she hollared at me first," and gave his girlfriend a big kiss on the lips.

The conversation went on from there, and Mr. SA and his friends were teasing me about my big suitcase for my short trip and all kinds of other stuff. But it was a friendly and fun exchange that started a great holiday weekend.

Fashion A-bomb - Pink Jean Jacket

I saw another fashion a-bomb on the CTA this morning.

A Man.
Wearing.
A Pink Jean Jacket.

Why? How did he even find a pink jean jacket in his size? Where did he even find one outside of 1987?

I can see wearing it for the irony, or the humor or something. Actually, no I can't.
He couldn't work the pink jean, because in truth, no one can. Not a woman. Not a hipster. Not a 5-year-old girl. Pink jean should have died with the career of Tiffany.

"You still a doll, you still a doll"

I was walking back from lunch today and a guy asked me if I felt like giving him some change. I was going to say no, but I had a dime in my pocket so I put it in his cup.

"Sorry, it's not a lot," I said.

"That's okay. You still a doll. You still a doll."

Your car is broke? Ask "The Millionaire"!

There is a particular coffee shop near my house that has extra-weird people working in it. I always have a slightly odd exchange with whomever is working there. There was a new barista there today, and while I was waiting in line, I overheard him talking to another woman customer.

She was relating the woes of her car being in the shop, and how she couldn't get her car out because she didn't have the money to pay for it.

He pointed his arm straight up to the sky, with his index finger extended and said,

"Ask the Millionaire."

New Age Mannequin - More Red Velour for February

Well, the new age mannequin in my neighborhood got all dolled up for Valentine's Day.
She's wearing a red velour dress - she just loves red velour - and red strappy prom shoes.
Aside from the velour material, it's a much more modest cut than her previous outfits.

I think this mannequin needs a name.
Something perfectly new age-y... anyone have any ideas?

• Chakra Khan?
• Starfish Sally?
• Molly Moonbeam?
  

My Local Neighborhood Mannequin

There's a "new age" store that opened relatively recently in my neighborhood. It's kind of an anomaly because it exists in the between a crappy Chicago sportswear store and a package shipping business - not exactly a high traffic area for people that want their auras read.

The store has a mannequin in the window that truly puzzles me. For the first few months, the mannequin was sitting in the window with a slightly tipped-back posture with one leg kind of kicked out, and one arm waving. She was wearing a red bra and some plaid boy short underwear for about three months. How that had anything to do with crystals, auras, or chakras was a mystery that I pondered almost every day.

In December, she was cloaked in a velour red Santa outfit.
I'm glad she was a little more bundled up, but honestly, the $4 Santa suit was not doing her or her chakras any favors such that I could tell.

In January, she is now wearing an African-inspired greenish cloak-dress that has some sequins. It fits much better with the store's atmosphere, but I still wonder... why did it take her so long to find the right outfit?

Thunderhawk

Recently, I was out at a bar. I introduced myself to a tall, cute, bearded guy wearing a blue t-shirt, black sport coat, and those black indie-style glasses. He introduced himself as "Bart", or as his new *real* name "Thunderhawk."

"Thunderhorse?" I asked.

"No!" he exclaimed, "that's an insult in my culture. Thunderhawk. I got a message from God when I came out of the bathroom, and he said that I should be named Thunderhawk."

Now, as written above, I assume that this conversation has already delivered a red flag to the reader. You may be thinking, "Obviously, this Thunderhawk is absolutely bonkers." But, you see, this line of conversation was delivered in very cute, very tall, very dimpled packaging. Here are the reasons I gave this guy 5 more minutes of my time:

1) You really never know who you might meet, and what their background is.

2) I'm not locationally prejudiced enough to think that a spiritual message must absolutely be delivered in a traditionally spiritual place.

3) Who would say that as a joke?

So I tried to talk to Thunderhawk some more about his name, and about other spiritual matters. But eventually I realized he was just another white hipster attempting to be ironic or something.

And thus, "Thunderhawk" and his friend "Fluffy Pillow Hawk" walked into the night.

P.S. I am NOT "Fluffy Pillow Hawk."

The Shuffler

I got on the brown line today, and my weirdo-meter was pinging slightly.

I spotted a guy on the platform who had two concern-causing indicators.
#1: Tinted glasses, the number one appearance indicator that warrants suspicion.
#2: An intense stare at everyone who was coming up the stairs to the platform, like he's just waiting to catch someone's eye to strike up a conversation.

Anyway, we all got on the train and settled in for our 45 minute ride downtown.
I sat kitty-corner from this guy, who I noticed took off his gloves and was shuffling a deck of cards. He was the kind of shuffler who doesn't just split the deck into two piles and flip them together. But he splits the deck into all kinds of little parts and combines them in complicated shuffling ways. In other words, a pro.

But also, weird.
It's 10 degrees outside, the brown line is dead quiet with everyone either reading or listening to their earphones, and dude took off his gloves to shuffle cards at 9 a.m.

He kept this up for the entire 45 minute train ride. Not only that, but he was giving everyone an intense vegas stare as if to challenge people to come up to his imaginary blackjack table.

Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.
Five of spades.
Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.
Five of hearts.
Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.
Five of clubs.
Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.
Five of diamonds.

Cards back in the deck, and repeat.

Shout-out to People-Watching in NYC

One of the best parts of the a holiday trip to NYC was the excellent and entertaining people-watching, and the novelty of a new city that allows for the time to notice. What follows is a shout-out to all the characters my brother and I saw...

• Blow-up doll salsa dancer
• 15-year-old jewfro
• Pin-striped suit tourette's theater-goer
• Baldy in the Starbucks who asked if I was going camping
• "First woman actress" and Manhattan matron
• Dawn, who is "really is loved" by the guy on the message
• Farmer-blow guy on the Brooklyn Bridge
• John Nelson of the Navy Reserves