Sometimes, unexpected opportunities just fall into your lap.
It's been a stressful week at Large Metropolitan Non Profit, as well as with my other non profit board obligation, but all of that will have been worth it because of what's going to happen in a few hours. My CEO (a very generous woman) is giving me her credentials for the National Women's Leadership Issues conference, being held in Chicago today and tomorrow.
Barack & Michelle Obama, high-level policy makers, and campaign advisors will all be there and I, little ol' me, will be soaking it all in. To hear about issues directly from policy wonks I've only read about - for two days! This kind of access is unbelievable. I'm giddy! Thank goodness I brought a cute suit and shoes to work and have an eyebrow appt at lunch. Yes, I am a sucker for political celebrity.
(I'd Twitter it for y'all but, alas, my Twitter is under my real name and I'm not for blowing my cover right now. I'll do my best to post something about it, though!)
Showing posts with label city. Show all posts
Showing posts with label city. Show all posts
Friday, October 10, 2008
Monday, September 01, 2008
omg: fire in the neighborhood!
It pays to be the crazy lady who stays up waay past her bedtime to read.
Around 2 am, I was getting ready for bed and saw orange flames coming from the alley across the way. I thought I was maybe seeing flames from a deck party so I ran to the windows in the living room.
Shit! The trash behind one of the buildings was burning and the fire was slowly climbing higher. The houses are so close here, it would be no problem for it to spread.
I grabbed my phone, gabbled my information to 911 and pulled on jeans and a shirt over my nightie. I ran down the hall, the stairs, my flip flops really loud on the concrete. The sirens could be heard just about a street away. When the first engine arrived, I stood in the middle of the street pointing in the direction of the fire down the alley.
Standing in the alley behind my building I watched as the flames grew brighter, taller and reached the electrical and phone lines. Then I began counting how far in the fire was - about 5 houses, in the middle of the block.
My friend, G-, lived in the middle of the block! Running down the street, around the corner, to the front of the building on fire. I pounded on G-'s door, yelling her name. I called her cell phone - it said it was out of service. The condos behind and beside the building on fire began to evacuate. People carried their kids and their pets.
I called T-, another neighborhood friend, to see if she could track G- down then remembered that she mentioned going to DC to visit her brother. Her cat - ? No clue. T- left her a message to check in, if she was ok in DC. The fire was soon out in about 10 minutes.
The three engines are leaving now. The street next to the loft is a lake, practically.
SO glad I didn't fall asleep on the couch watching Law & Order reruns.
Around 2 am, I was getting ready for bed and saw orange flames coming from the alley across the way. I thought I was maybe seeing flames from a deck party so I ran to the windows in the living room.
Shit! The trash behind one of the buildings was burning and the fire was slowly climbing higher. The houses are so close here, it would be no problem for it to spread.
I grabbed my phone, gabbled my information to 911 and pulled on jeans and a shirt over my nightie. I ran down the hall, the stairs, my flip flops really loud on the concrete. The sirens could be heard just about a street away. When the first engine arrived, I stood in the middle of the street pointing in the direction of the fire down the alley.
Standing in the alley behind my building I watched as the flames grew brighter, taller and reached the electrical and phone lines. Then I began counting how far in the fire was - about 5 houses, in the middle of the block.
My friend, G-, lived in the middle of the block! Running down the street, around the corner, to the front of the building on fire. I pounded on G-'s door, yelling her name. I called her cell phone - it said it was out of service. The condos behind and beside the building on fire began to evacuate. People carried their kids and their pets.
I called T-, another neighborhood friend, to see if she could track G- down then remembered that she mentioned going to DC to visit her brother. Her cat - ? No clue. T- left her a message to check in, if she was ok in DC. The fire was soon out in about 10 minutes.
The three engines are leaving now. The street next to the loft is a lake, practically.
SO glad I didn't fall asleep on the couch watching Law & Order reruns.
Friday, July 25, 2008
on the bus
I am an observer. Or voyeur. Whatever. I like watching. Pervy? Sure; I blame my mother. She would sit on the couch and watch our neighbors like she was getting paid to do so.
She'd flip the blinds a little and say, "Hmph. Mrs. Jones is spending a lot of time at home."
"So are you, mom."
"Hmph."
Anyway, my genetically inherited practice of keeping an eye out on the world kicked in yesterday when I was riding the bus down Michigan Avenue. It was morning, one of those gorgeous robin's egg blue mornings, and the bus was not yet full. I stood by the rear exit since I was just riding up to the river and an older man sat to my right, in the seat closest to the aisle.
Halfway up the avenue, a dark haired young woman rang the bell for a stop and de-bused. (Like 'de-planed,' see?) As soon as she hit the sidewalk to transfer to another bus, the older man to my right slid quickly to the window, pulled off his sunglasses and pressed his face to the window where he began to devour that woman with his gaze.
(That's a phrase I used to read in my mother's old romance novels - 'he devoured her with hungry eyes' - and I could never picture what that looked like until now.)
I'm not kidding. He ate her up. Think of the look a person gets on their face when they pass a shop window and see something they want. I see it when I pass the Bentley dealership and a man is bumping his head on the plate glass to get closer. The man on the bus was like that. He kept his face pressed to the window, turning to keep her in view as the bus slowly pulled away. Then, when the woman was no longer visible, he just put his glasses back on and slid back to his original seat.
His face immediately fell back into the stoic, blank expression he was wearing before the woman got off the bus and he stared straight ahead, his eyes now hidden behind his glasses. He didn't even care that I had watched him do it. It was past since his object was gone.
I've seen this before. Just a week or so ago, I was standing at a LaSalle bus stop during lunch hour next to a short man in a gray suit. It was a hot, bright day. The street was crisscrossed with people rushing to and from lunch. I noticed the man had a pattern. He'd step into the street, look for the bus, grumble at his watch then, if a woman was approaching his location, he'd grow still, track her with his eyes, and as the woman passed, he'd turn on his heel and stare at her until she disappeared.
I did this with him a few times. It was creepy. It was like he was in a cuckoo clock and this is how he marked the minutes passing.
When you're a woman, you train yourself to be blind to these things. If you registered every gaze, every stare, or leer our brains would explode. It doesn't matter if we're pretty, old, young, plain, fat or thin. We still feel the eyes on us all the time.
It's maddening.
...
In related news, it was reported that "Nearly two-thirds of Egyptian men admit to having sexually harassed women in the most populous Arab country, and a majority say women themselves are to blame for their maltreatment, a survey showed Thursday.
The forms of harassment reported by Egyptian men, whose country attracts millions of foreign tourists each year, include touching or ogling women, shouting sexually explicit remarks, and exposing their genitals to women."
No, it's not about culture. It's about patriarchy.
She'd flip the blinds a little and say, "Hmph. Mrs. Jones is spending a lot of time at home."
"So are you, mom."
"Hmph."
Anyway, my genetically inherited practice of keeping an eye out on the world kicked in yesterday when I was riding the bus down Michigan Avenue. It was morning, one of those gorgeous robin's egg blue mornings, and the bus was not yet full. I stood by the rear exit since I was just riding up to the river and an older man sat to my right, in the seat closest to the aisle.
Halfway up the avenue, a dark haired young woman rang the bell for a stop and de-bused. (Like 'de-planed,' see?) As soon as she hit the sidewalk to transfer to another bus, the older man to my right slid quickly to the window, pulled off his sunglasses and pressed his face to the window where he began to devour that woman with his gaze.
(That's a phrase I used to read in my mother's old romance novels - 'he devoured her with hungry eyes' - and I could never picture what that looked like until now.)
I'm not kidding. He ate her up. Think of the look a person gets on their face when they pass a shop window and see something they want. I see it when I pass the Bentley dealership and a man is bumping his head on the plate glass to get closer. The man on the bus was like that. He kept his face pressed to the window, turning to keep her in view as the bus slowly pulled away. Then, when the woman was no longer visible, he just put his glasses back on and slid back to his original seat.
His face immediately fell back into the stoic, blank expression he was wearing before the woman got off the bus and he stared straight ahead, his eyes now hidden behind his glasses. He didn't even care that I had watched him do it. It was past since his object was gone.
I've seen this before. Just a week or so ago, I was standing at a LaSalle bus stop during lunch hour next to a short man in a gray suit. It was a hot, bright day. The street was crisscrossed with people rushing to and from lunch. I noticed the man had a pattern. He'd step into the street, look for the bus, grumble at his watch then, if a woman was approaching his location, he'd grow still, track her with his eyes, and as the woman passed, he'd turn on his heel and stare at her until she disappeared.
I did this with him a few times. It was creepy. It was like he was in a cuckoo clock and this is how he marked the minutes passing.
When you're a woman, you train yourself to be blind to these things. If you registered every gaze, every stare, or leer our brains would explode. It doesn't matter if we're pretty, old, young, plain, fat or thin. We still feel the eyes on us all the time.
It's maddening.
...
In related news, it was reported that "Nearly two-thirds of Egyptian men admit to having sexually harassed women in the most populous Arab country, and a majority say women themselves are to blame for their maltreatment, a survey showed Thursday.
The forms of harassment reported by Egyptian men, whose country attracts millions of foreign tourists each year, include touching or ogling women, shouting sexually explicit remarks, and exposing their genitals to women."
No, it's not about culture. It's about patriarchy.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Jack and Jill Politics: Rev. Michael Pfleger Holds It Down In Fox Interview On Wright, Farrakhan and "Hate"
Jack and Jill Politics: Rev. Michael Pfleger Holds It Down In Fox Interview On Wright, Farrakhan and "Hate"
Remember what I said about Fr. Pfleger when this whole Wright thing happened?
Well, now FOX News got the full on Pfleger experience - right in the face.
The last 3 minutes are awesome. I had to jump up from my desk at work and wanted to yell out, 'Preach!'
[and i'm really enjoying reading the folks over at Jack & Jill. they're on my feed.]
Remember what I said about Fr. Pfleger when this whole Wright thing happened?
Well, now FOX News got the full on Pfleger experience - right in the face.
The last 3 minutes are awesome. I had to jump up from my desk at work and wanted to yell out, 'Preach!'
[and i'm really enjoying reading the folks over at Jack & Jill. they're on my feed.]
fine. i'll watch the primaries.
a scene from yesterday, a gorgeously sunny day in chicago with relatively mild traffic while Roomie and Ding left their offices early
Roomie: so what's on your schedule this week? dates?
Ding: nah. a work event and a board meeting. maybe a boy later on this week but nothing's confirmed.
Roomie: what do you want to do? dinner?
Ding: (sigh) but where will we go? what will we do? what will we eat? choices...i'm incapable of making them.
Roomie: mmm, jibarito....
Ding: we can't have jibarito for dinner. that would totally mess us up for the rest of the night.
Roomie: (sigh) jibarito. what about tomorrow? let's watch the primaries at Enoteca Roma.
Ding: euww. no. i can't watch the primaries. i'll just get mad.
Roomie: o-kaay. no primaries.
(silence)
Ding: no, we can watch the primaries. let's do that. i'll just get mad if clinton wins. and the pundits, i want them to die. and i'm too busy this week to be pissed off.
Roomie: it'll be fine. wine, cheeses, nibblies, primaries with other obama folks. perfect.
so, even though my earlier enthusiasm about this election has practically been beaten from me by this too-long primary season (thanks for that, Democratic Party), i will endure one more night of primary returns and hope i don't slip into an election-induced depressive rage.
Roomie: so what's on your schedule this week? dates?
Ding: nah. a work event and a board meeting. maybe a boy later on this week but nothing's confirmed.
Roomie: what do you want to do? dinner?
Ding: (sigh) but where will we go? what will we do? what will we eat? choices...i'm incapable of making them.
Roomie: mmm, jibarito....
Ding: we can't have jibarito for dinner. that would totally mess us up for the rest of the night.
Roomie: (sigh) jibarito. what about tomorrow? let's watch the primaries at Enoteca Roma.
Ding: euww. no. i can't watch the primaries. i'll just get mad.
Roomie: o-kaay. no primaries.
(silence)
Ding: no, we can watch the primaries. let's do that. i'll just get mad if clinton wins. and the pundits, i want them to die. and i'm too busy this week to be pissed off.
Roomie: it'll be fine. wine, cheeses, nibblies, primaries with other obama folks. perfect.
so, even though my earlier enthusiasm about this election has practically been beaten from me by this too-long primary season (thanks for that, Democratic Party), i will endure one more night of primary returns and hope i don't slip into an election-induced depressive rage.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Mortified: sometimes you can't make this stuff up
remember when our mothers or our naughty aunts gave us our first blank journal? they told us to write our deepest feelings and thoughts and we did. boy, did we. and remember when you found your old diary and read through them and shuddered in absolute mortification?
well, now you can wallow in other people's shame.
i've been to the Mortified show twice and, each time, i laugh until i nearly pee in my pants. writers/performers get up and read from selections of their childhood/youthful/teenage diaries and journals and it's the most embarrassing night of spoken word performance EVER.
but it's also the most familiar. no matter what your background, your class, color or religion, there is something pretty universal about the act of writing down your myopic adolescent angst. i hear these stories and i recognize myself in all of them.
my favorite story has been from a guy who's now a youth pastor or something; he went to a pretty strict lutheran college and his piece is all about being 18, horny and sanctimonious. it's written in the voice of a regular, churchy guy who wants to be godly (desperately) but likes the girls, too, and it's basically the funniest, truest thing i've heard someone read about what it's like to be a young fundamentalist christian and a young horny bastard, all at the same time.
my favorite line went something like: "Daily masturbation does not lead to cascading joy."
it gets me every time.
Mortified: coming to Chicago
i'm so there and so should you be.
well, now you can wallow in other people's shame.
i've been to the Mortified show twice and, each time, i laugh until i nearly pee in my pants. writers/performers get up and read from selections of their childhood/youthful/teenage diaries and journals and it's the most embarrassing night of spoken word performance EVER.
but it's also the most familiar. no matter what your background, your class, color or religion, there is something pretty universal about the act of writing down your myopic adolescent angst. i hear these stories and i recognize myself in all of them.
my favorite story has been from a guy who's now a youth pastor or something; he went to a pretty strict lutheran college and his piece is all about being 18, horny and sanctimonious. it's written in the voice of a regular, churchy guy who wants to be godly (desperately) but likes the girls, too, and it's basically the funniest, truest thing i've heard someone read about what it's like to be a young fundamentalist christian and a young horny bastard, all at the same time.
my favorite line went something like: "Daily masturbation does not lead to cascading joy."
it gets me every time.
Mortified: coming to Chicago
i'm so there and so should you be.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
gird your loins. a work-related complaint is coming:
i have a blazing headache.
i'm putting together two earmark requests (whoo-hoo, 'pork'!) and i'm struggling with putting together boilerplate for our programs
i have two church meetings after work tonight and i'm really not in the mood to sit in a board room for two hours
i'm just bushed - my mornings have started earlier than normal and lasted later than usual.
and tomorrow! tomorrow, the cute plumber is coming by and i have to work from home so he can replace the sink and...and... hm.
maybe that last one ain't so bad.
i have a blazing headache.
i'm putting together two earmark requests (whoo-hoo, 'pork'!) and i'm struggling with putting together boilerplate for our programs
i have two church meetings after work tonight and i'm really not in the mood to sit in a board room for two hours
i'm just bushed - my mornings have started earlier than normal and lasted later than usual.
and tomorrow! tomorrow, the cute plumber is coming by and i have to work from home so he can replace the sink and...and... hm.
maybe that last one ain't so bad.
Monday, October 22, 2007
burning questions...
is it horribly wrong - when someone you've hooked up with in the past (and with whom you hoped to continue a casual liaison) appears to have taken advantage of an improved mental state and moved on - to feel sort of put out by it?
was watching the unbearable 'tell me you love me' with Roomie the other night; is it true that married women are really stunned that their husbands look at porn? i mean, really. who is stunned that men look at porn?? for that matter, isn't it understood by now that women also look at porn? (or is this a generational thing?)
speaking of TMYLM, how can i scrub the image of jane alexander, naked and having sex on a chair, off my inner eyeballs?
can we please have movies about neurotic people of color now? i mean, i'm getting sort of bored by all the representations of quirky/conflicted white folks in popular culture now. and i don't think the tyler perry movies count.
i guess what i'm asking is: who's the Wes Anderson for brown people? (great critique of wes anderson's work here.)
why is the #66 chicago bus the most crowded motherfrakker ever? hm? and why don't the folks who ride the #66 understand the Move to the Back rule ?
why isn't every parent of daughters reading Packaging Girlhood? i bought it for my sister and it's so good, i think everyone should read it with their daughters. (if i had a daughter we'd be talking about this book.) they even have a website.
was watching the unbearable 'tell me you love me' with Roomie the other night; is it true that married women are really stunned that their husbands look at porn? i mean, really. who is stunned that men look at porn?? for that matter, isn't it understood by now that women also look at porn? (or is this a generational thing?)
speaking of TMYLM, how can i scrub the image of jane alexander, naked and having sex on a chair, off my inner eyeballs?
can we please have movies about neurotic people of color now? i mean, i'm getting sort of bored by all the representations of quirky/conflicted white folks in popular culture now. and i don't think the tyler perry movies count.
i guess what i'm asking is: who's the Wes Anderson for brown people? (great critique of wes anderson's work here.)
why is the #66 chicago bus the most crowded motherfrakker ever? hm? and why don't the folks who ride the #66 understand the Move to the Back rule ?
why isn't every parent of daughters reading Packaging Girlhood? i bought it for my sister and it's so good, i think everyone should read it with their daughters. (if i had a daughter we'd be talking about this book.) they even have a website.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
pr0n preachers and dirty old men on buses
just think of the special homily he could give on pr0n sunday in october!
Man of the Flesh to Man of the Cloth - New York Times
...
i had to report a CTA bus driver today. after waiting for a bus that would take me back to my office i got on the #10, which had been slow coming up State street because of all the traffic and construction nonsense. between my stop on State/Randolph and my office, the bus driver had engaged in behavior so completely inappropriate i had to call the CTA: talking on his cell phone for the whole ride, being sexually lewd and suggestive to two african american girls on the bus and being so incredibly rude to the tourist passengers the rest of us took pity on them and tried to help them out.
was this some new CTA record? he was rude to 6 different people in under 10 minutes over the course of 3 bus stops.
but what really got me was the way he talked to the two young women. when they asked him if he stopped by water tower, not only did he ignore their question, he gave them that long, dirty look that older black guys so love to give a black girl and said very loudly to her, 'Unh, girl, just stand there! Come here and stand by me so I can look at you!' he said it twice: "Come here! Just stand here! Stand here!" then, when the tall girl turned away in disgust after not getting her question answered, he yelled down the aisle that she knew she was fine and she needed to come stand next to him.
yeah, dude, because that's what cute young 20-something girls are made for - to stand next to your nasty ass while you don't do your job.
i mentally made a note of the bus and route number so that when i got back to the office i could call CTA customer service immediately. after being on hold for 10 minutes i calmly described the incident, described the driver and gave the dispatcher my name and phone number. then i said to her: 'you know, he was unprofessional all over the place but as an african american women i was especially offended. no one should talk to black women like that. do you know what i mean?'
she said, 'ma'am, i'm african american, too, and you're right. i know exactly what you mean.'
here's to hoping some nasty old man gets fired today.
Man of the Flesh to Man of the Cloth - New York Times
...
i had to report a CTA bus driver today. after waiting for a bus that would take me back to my office i got on the #10, which had been slow coming up State street because of all the traffic and construction nonsense. between my stop on State/Randolph and my office, the bus driver had engaged in behavior so completely inappropriate i had to call the CTA: talking on his cell phone for the whole ride, being sexually lewd and suggestive to two african american girls on the bus and being so incredibly rude to the tourist passengers the rest of us took pity on them and tried to help them out.
was this some new CTA record? he was rude to 6 different people in under 10 minutes over the course of 3 bus stops.
but what really got me was the way he talked to the two young women. when they asked him if he stopped by water tower, not only did he ignore their question, he gave them that long, dirty look that older black guys so love to give a black girl and said very loudly to her, 'Unh, girl, just stand there! Come here and stand by me so I can look at you!' he said it twice: "Come here! Just stand here! Stand here!" then, when the tall girl turned away in disgust after not getting her question answered, he yelled down the aisle that she knew she was fine and she needed to come stand next to him.
yeah, dude, because that's what cute young 20-something girls are made for - to stand next to your nasty ass while you don't do your job.
i mentally made a note of the bus and route number so that when i got back to the office i could call CTA customer service immediately. after being on hold for 10 minutes i calmly described the incident, described the driver and gave the dispatcher my name and phone number. then i said to her: 'you know, he was unprofessional all over the place but as an african american women i was especially offended. no one should talk to black women like that. do you know what i mean?'
she said, 'ma'am, i'm african american, too, and you're right. i know exactly what you mean.'
here's to hoping some nasty old man gets fired today.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
lovely day
roomie was out of town all weekend and i took the opportunity to catch up on sleep, read, attempt to buy a bed, got rejected because of weird credit, got depressed, bought a pair of shoes and comic books and then felt all better.
today was the kind of day i seldom take: slow, meandering. there was no point to this day. no meetings. no urgent appointments. no real schedule to keep. no one to answer to. that kind of untethered freedom is rare for me.
i showered and dressed slowly, pulling on a floaty sundress, and watched as my neighborhood came to halting life, pairs of neighbors shuffling down to the coffeehouse, jogging or walking their dogs. i listened to the cta bus rumble up to my corner and blow past. i caught my bus just as i made it across the street to the corner. everything going my way.
downtown, on the red line, i was stuffed in a train with cubs and brewers fans and even this did nothing to sour my mood. and the relief when the train emptied at addison - ah! heaven. is it cliche to say how good it felt to sit on the train in a window seat and feel the hot sun on your shoulders while the train rocked back and forth like a hand on a cradle? sometimes, the red line can be too gritty, filled with grizzled men who stare a little too long or wrigleyvillians who are too drunk and too loud to tolerate for very long. but this afternoon, the red line was perfectly empty (past addison) and i was able to fall in love with this city again.
in los angeles, the city passes in a blur of bland. it's the same stucco, palm trees or mock spanish villas. every corner has the same strip mall and they all seem to have an el pollo loco in it. but chicago on the el gives me the backside of the city - the porches, rooftops, soccer fields and the rare glimpses into city gardens tucked behind fences or at the end of streets with no exit. to see chicago's backyards and alleys is like waking up with someone and not minding their morning breath.
on bryn mawr, i walked west to clark and the walk made me wonder why i had moved from the northside. everything was so pretty, so feminine - the winking shadows, the warm red brick, the houses with their demure porches and shaded windows. (but then i thought about how long the train had been to get me up here and i remembered why i moved.)
i met my friend W- at m. henry and we had a long, slow gossip over brunch and a cold bottle of wine he'd brought. the silent crunchy couple sitting next to us sent us disapproving stares at some of our topics (i really don't think she liked W-'s story about being saran wrapped to a pole while his dom cattle prodded him) but that didn't stop me from enjoying his company. when the bottle was empty and there was nothing to do but settle our check, we strolled back down to GirlsTown and ate an ill-advised scoop of ice cream (we're both growing more lactose intolerant, the older we get) while sitting behind a tree (W- freckles) and watching the people parade.
after a couple of hours, i looked at my phone, caught the time and we hugged goodbye just as the clark bus appeared in the distance. passing wrigleyville after a game from the height and distance of a bus makes me think of wartime montages, like a scene from Saving Private Ryan: the soldiers are on a truck rumbling slowly through some bombed out town, staring silently at the carnage.
by the time i got home i was relaxed, tired, smelled of sun and diesel and sweat, with enough dairy and sugar coursing through me to fell an asian diabetic. i settled in to read my last comic book when my mobile buzzed. a text: 'we'll be at fresco in 10 min. come join us!'
i went into my bedroom to change into jeans. the sun had dipped lower and it was chilly out.
[edited because previous post sucked. this one is much better.]
today was the kind of day i seldom take: slow, meandering. there was no point to this day. no meetings. no urgent appointments. no real schedule to keep. no one to answer to. that kind of untethered freedom is rare for me.
i showered and dressed slowly, pulling on a floaty sundress, and watched as my neighborhood came to halting life, pairs of neighbors shuffling down to the coffeehouse, jogging or walking their dogs. i listened to the cta bus rumble up to my corner and blow past. i caught my bus just as i made it across the street to the corner. everything going my way.
downtown, on the red line, i was stuffed in a train with cubs and brewers fans and even this did nothing to sour my mood. and the relief when the train emptied at addison - ah! heaven. is it cliche to say how good it felt to sit on the train in a window seat and feel the hot sun on your shoulders while the train rocked back and forth like a hand on a cradle? sometimes, the red line can be too gritty, filled with grizzled men who stare a little too long or wrigleyvillians who are too drunk and too loud to tolerate for very long. but this afternoon, the red line was perfectly empty (past addison) and i was able to fall in love with this city again.
in los angeles, the city passes in a blur of bland. it's the same stucco, palm trees or mock spanish villas. every corner has the same strip mall and they all seem to have an el pollo loco in it. but chicago on the el gives me the backside of the city - the porches, rooftops, soccer fields and the rare glimpses into city gardens tucked behind fences or at the end of streets with no exit. to see chicago's backyards and alleys is like waking up with someone and not minding their morning breath.
on bryn mawr, i walked west to clark and the walk made me wonder why i had moved from the northside. everything was so pretty, so feminine - the winking shadows, the warm red brick, the houses with their demure porches and shaded windows. (but then i thought about how long the train had been to get me up here and i remembered why i moved.)
i met my friend W- at m. henry and we had a long, slow gossip over brunch and a cold bottle of wine he'd brought. the silent crunchy couple sitting next to us sent us disapproving stares at some of our topics (i really don't think she liked W-'s story about being saran wrapped to a pole while his dom cattle prodded him) but that didn't stop me from enjoying his company. when the bottle was empty and there was nothing to do but settle our check, we strolled back down to GirlsTown and ate an ill-advised scoop of ice cream (we're both growing more lactose intolerant, the older we get) while sitting behind a tree (W- freckles) and watching the people parade.
after a couple of hours, i looked at my phone, caught the time and we hugged goodbye just as the clark bus appeared in the distance. passing wrigleyville after a game from the height and distance of a bus makes me think of wartime montages, like a scene from Saving Private Ryan: the soldiers are on a truck rumbling slowly through some bombed out town, staring silently at the carnage.
by the time i got home i was relaxed, tired, smelled of sun and diesel and sweat, with enough dairy and sugar coursing through me to fell an asian diabetic. i settled in to read my last comic book when my mobile buzzed. a text: 'we'll be at fresco in 10 min. come join us!'
i went into my bedroom to change into jeans. the sun had dipped lower and it was chilly out.
[edited because previous post sucked. this one is much better.]
Friday, February 23, 2007
back from springfield...other thoughts
i'm thinking about...
my old city. well, my old metropolitan area in southern california, anyway. it seems like some folks there don't like the way their neighborhood is changing: Some in Chino Hills nervous about ethnic shift exemplified by Asian supermarket [h/t from angry asian man]
i love how, if you study how (mostly white) communities deal with increasing numbers of non-white peoples, the discourse of protest hinges on 'community standards,' a handy code for racism and bigotry.
(it's basically the NIMBY argument: 'they can live like that around their own kind, but not in my back yard!')
it reminds me of a book i finished: There Goes the Neighborhood, a study of 4 chicago neighborhoods undergoing racial/ethnic demographic changes, how they either maintained their racial composition or changed and the strategies they used in 'fighting' the change. it's fascinating. in the study on the anonymous southside white neighborhood shows how inhabitants use the language of 'neighborhood standards' to justify keeping their community all white. it's a really interesting look at how ingrained, generational racism (not simply bigotry) affect quotidian details like, oh, where a person lives.
(it also explains why, 9 years ago, i probably stopped dating a guy who lived in one of those south side chicago ethnic neighborhoods. there were issues, the biggest being the fact i was the first brown girl to be introduced to his friends and family EVER.)
...
thoughts of the anti-asian sentiment in chino hills (no one finds it funny that 'chino' in spanish means 'chinese'?) also lead me to think of how we respond to racial or ethnic changes - but from the other direction.
for instance, when a brown neighborhood sees signs that it's getting less brown and more white it's funny that our discourse isn't about 'maintaining community standards' but a reverse narrative of imperialism. (for instance, imagine the story of 'settlement' told from the vantage point of native peoples.)
isn't that what gentrification really is - urban imperialism? a markedly capitalist, consumerist population running out of resources sees how other populations/geographies aren't exploiting capitalism as much as they can, so it moves to annex and control the population in order to benefit and spread itself.
i read the arguments in favor of manifest destiny and can't help but see similarities in chicago's language in favor of 'community renewal' on the southside and its heavy investment in development in places like hyde park, lawndale, pilsen.
of course this also puts me in a weird position since participating in this kind of urban imperialism is part of my job (but without displacing original populations, somehow.)
my old city. well, my old metropolitan area in southern california, anyway. it seems like some folks there don't like the way their neighborhood is changing: Some in Chino Hills nervous about ethnic shift exemplified by Asian supermarket [h/t from angry asian man]
i love how, if you study how (mostly white) communities deal with increasing numbers of non-white peoples, the discourse of protest hinges on 'community standards,' a handy code for racism and bigotry.
(it's basically the NIMBY argument: 'they can live like that around their own kind, but not in my back yard!')
it reminds me of a book i finished: There Goes the Neighborhood, a study of 4 chicago neighborhoods undergoing racial/ethnic demographic changes, how they either maintained their racial composition or changed and the strategies they used in 'fighting' the change. it's fascinating. in the study on the anonymous southside white neighborhood shows how inhabitants use the language of 'neighborhood standards' to justify keeping their community all white. it's a really interesting look at how ingrained, generational racism (not simply bigotry) affect quotidian details like, oh, where a person lives.
(it also explains why, 9 years ago, i probably stopped dating a guy who lived in one of those south side chicago ethnic neighborhoods. there were issues, the biggest being the fact i was the first brown girl to be introduced to his friends and family EVER.)
...
thoughts of the anti-asian sentiment in chino hills (no one finds it funny that 'chino' in spanish means 'chinese'?) also lead me to think of how we respond to racial or ethnic changes - but from the other direction.
for instance, when a brown neighborhood sees signs that it's getting less brown and more white it's funny that our discourse isn't about 'maintaining community standards' but a reverse narrative of imperialism. (for instance, imagine the story of 'settlement' told from the vantage point of native peoples.)
isn't that what gentrification really is - urban imperialism? a markedly capitalist, consumerist population running out of resources sees how other populations/geographies aren't exploiting capitalism as much as they can, so it moves to annex and control the population in order to benefit and spread itself.
i read the arguments in favor of manifest destiny and can't help but see similarities in chicago's language in favor of 'community renewal' on the southside and its heavy investment in development in places like hyde park, lawndale, pilsen.
of course this also puts me in a weird position since participating in this kind of urban imperialism is part of my job (but without displacing original populations, somehow.)
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
the moral budget
Let the budget games begin | Chicago Tribune
our new county board president has proposed several slashing cuts to the county budget. i happen to believe budgets are moral documents, prioritizing what a municipalities obligations to its citizens. while on the surface stroger's sweeping cuts make him look like a budget bulldog (and there is something to be said about the Trib's mention of ending the corrupt patronage cycle) there is also something to be said about the affect cutting public defenders, sheriffs, health services and women's services (or services to the poor) will have on this county.
is he shortsighted, too eager to put aside that whole nepotism thing that got him the office in the first place? or are these hard to make cuts that need to be made anyway?
our new county board president has proposed several slashing cuts to the county budget. i happen to believe budgets are moral documents, prioritizing what a municipalities obligations to its citizens. while on the surface stroger's sweeping cuts make him look like a budget bulldog (and there is something to be said about the Trib's mention of ending the corrupt patronage cycle) there is also something to be said about the affect cutting public defenders, sheriffs, health services and women's services (or services to the poor) will have on this county.
is he shortsighted, too eager to put aside that whole nepotism thing that got him the office in the first place? or are these hard to make cuts that need to be made anyway?
Friday, September 23, 2005
crafty. grr!
will be here this weekend as i hide from my birthday chin hairs.
maybe i'll pick up something cute and funky.
and maybe he'll go to church.
(heh heh. see that? i made a joke.)
maybe i'll pick up something cute and funky.
and maybe he'll go to church.
(heh heh. see that? i made a joke.)
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
morning commute
there was a woman on the bus monday night, the #66. she sat at the front of the bus and was in the middle of testifying to the rest of the bus. all the other riders were scrunched to the back, avoiding her eyes. she said, 'i used to be a liar, a thief, verbally abusive, and stressed out and now the love of jesus has redeemed me and i just want to tell you about the love of jesus. he can give you a new spirit, a good spirit. he can make your life whole again. all you have to do is cast your trust on him and give your life to him.' and so on.
when a passenger de-bused, she'd stop her story to smile and say, 'god bless.' they'd either smile nervously or say it back.
i went out the back door. i was uncomfortable. i couldn't help it. i've always been uncomfortable with public testimony - especially when it looks crazy. when i was a teenager, my youth group would get together every so often to do some witnessing role play. total nightmare. one day, a church leader told me i needed to be more of an example to the younger girls who needed to see me witness more. i just nodded and moved away from him.
there is no performance fear; i've given conference papers, taught and led presentations. i've given speeches to labor organizations, reports to university administration and hectored an english department. like my preacher father, all i need is a soapbox.
but all of these things make sense to me. testifying or witnessing? this makes no sense. my own conversion is barely understandable to myself, let alone to a complete stranger. my own wobbly christian faith is barely sustainable to me, much less some bored guy on a bus who just wants to get home in the cold night and have a beer. and the weird logic of witnessing - someone else's faith depends on hearing the story of my faith - creeps me out.
it's like the guy who told me once that i had a christian duty to tell all my gay friends they were going to hell. when i asked him why, what will change spiritually for either one of us, he had nothing to say except that i'm supposed to.
perhaps we've won a little heavenly gold star; we've shared our wretched tale of sin and redemption, forced it on a stranger and then we say, you too could live the life of grace i'm living now! we look crazy, like the man on those commercials for enhanced erections. ("look at bob! he used to be limp and lifeless - a vienna sausage. but now! he's got wood!") whether someone responds to us seems to be beside the point. the point is the telling. i think. what's the point again? honestly. i've forgotten.
the woman from the bus monday night was on my bus again this morning (the # 65); i couldn't believe it. i sank behind the person in front of me and watched her tuck her bus card inside her shirt, settle in, take a look around and announce, 'good morning everybody. i just want to share a little of my testimony with you all. i've made a change in my life and i need to share it. jesus saved me from a life of sin...'
when my stop came, i left out the back door.
if i see her again i will freak. out.
when a passenger de-bused, she'd stop her story to smile and say, 'god bless.' they'd either smile nervously or say it back.
i went out the back door. i was uncomfortable. i couldn't help it. i've always been uncomfortable with public testimony - especially when it looks crazy. when i was a teenager, my youth group would get together every so often to do some witnessing role play. total nightmare. one day, a church leader told me i needed to be more of an example to the younger girls who needed to see me witness more. i just nodded and moved away from him.
there is no performance fear; i've given conference papers, taught and led presentations. i've given speeches to labor organizations, reports to university administration and hectored an english department. like my preacher father, all i need is a soapbox.
but all of these things make sense to me. testifying or witnessing? this makes no sense. my own conversion is barely understandable to myself, let alone to a complete stranger. my own wobbly christian faith is barely sustainable to me, much less some bored guy on a bus who just wants to get home in the cold night and have a beer. and the weird logic of witnessing - someone else's faith depends on hearing the story of my faith - creeps me out.
it's like the guy who told me once that i had a christian duty to tell all my gay friends they were going to hell. when i asked him why, what will change spiritually for either one of us, he had nothing to say except that i'm supposed to.
perhaps we've won a little heavenly gold star; we've shared our wretched tale of sin and redemption, forced it on a stranger and then we say, you too could live the life of grace i'm living now! we look crazy, like the man on those commercials for enhanced erections. ("look at bob! he used to be limp and lifeless - a vienna sausage. but now! he's got wood!") whether someone responds to us seems to be beside the point. the point is the telling. i think. what's the point again? honestly. i've forgotten.
the woman from the bus monday night was on my bus again this morning (the # 65); i couldn't believe it. i sank behind the person in front of me and watched her tuck her bus card inside her shirt, settle in, take a look around and announce, 'good morning everybody. i just want to share a little of my testimony with you all. i've made a change in my life and i need to share it. jesus saved me from a life of sin...'
when my stop came, i left out the back door.
if i see her again i will freak. out.
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