One Day At Target

I'd locked my bike up next to a parking spot. Done with my business, I went out to unlock my bike. The parking spot was empty, and while I was there a car pulled in.

An SUV comes roaring around from the next lane, and the woman at the wheel lets loose: "You fuckers! You assholes! I was fucking waiting for that fucking spot! Assholes! Fuck you!..." and on and on she went.

Now, it seems to me that a) if you are waiting for a parking spot, then you're sitting there in your car waiting for the spot, not driving down the next lane looking for a spot and b) if, after 45 seconds of you screaming vulgarities, those people are not vacating the spot for you, they're probably not going to.

As someone who likes to be helpful and friendly, I got on my bike and rode up to her window and made a helpful suggestion: "Jesus Christ, you stupid bitch, find another fucking parking spot."

Curiously, she took exception to my suggestion and turned her attention to me. "You fucking asshole! Fuck you! You're an asshole!"

I tried again: "Shit, bitch, not like you couldn't use the fucking exercise."

"You asshole! Fuck you! I'm 126 pounds! Fuck you!"

"Maybe your head is a 126 pounds, honey."

It seemed a fine time to bring the conversation to an end so I pedaled off and went home. I don't know if she ever found her fucking parking spot or not.

The Man The World Revolves Around

I'm at the theatre. The phone rings.

Man on the phone: "This is Dale, I'm at Wrigley Field, dude, and it's thundering and lightening up here and it's my birthday and my birthday is ruined cause it's thundering and lightening so can I come trade in my tickets for the Cubs that I payed a lot of money for cause it's my birthday and then see your show?"

Me: "I'm sorry, no."

Him: "It's my birthday and it's ruined."

Me: "......"

Him: "So do I get a discount if I come to your show cause it's my birthday and it's ruined?"

Me: "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid not."

Him: "Dude, it's my fucking birthday and it's ruined. I come to see your show what benefit do I get since it's my birthday."

Me (that I want to say): "Dude, you get to see the fucking show. That's your fucking benefit."

Me (to him): "I'm sorry, we don't have any additional benefits to offer."

Him: "Jesus, Dude, you just don't fucking get that ---" At which point I hung up on his drunk ass.

For the record: I then went over and opened the office door to the street. It was not thundering nor was it "lightening." Nor was it raining.

Say Good Night, Gracie

So there I was up on Devon Avenue for a meeting. That area of Devon has the city's densest concentration of Indian businesses.

I wanted to get something to eat before the meeting started so I popped into an Indian restaurant.

I was wearing my new glasses (that's them, in the picture over at the right).

When I walk in, the host -- a handsome Indian fellow in his early to mid twenties -- looks at me and says:

"The glasses -- nice! George Burns!"

George Burns? I'd be surprised to find a mid to early twenties American who knows George Burns.

(He went on to tell me he was a big fan of the Rat Pack and of fifties and sixties American television.)

Another Friendly Conversation

So there I was, waiting, on my bike, for the light to change.

Woman walks up. Woman talks to me: "You fucking bicyclists, you're always in the fucking away! I fucking hate you goddamn bicyclists! Why don't you all get the fuck out of the way!"

"Ma'am," I say, "perhaps it would help the matter if you would kindly get your fucking fat ass out of the fucking bike lane and walk on the goddamn sidewalk like you fucking pedestrians are supposed to do!"

A Friendly Conversation

There I was, riding my bike east on Lawrence Avenue, in the bike lane, just like I'm supposed to do. And this car starts to drift into the bike lane.

The passenger side window was down, so I said "Hey." Didn't yell. Just wanted to make a noise to let the driver know someone was there.

The driver, well, he looks over at me. And he says: "Fuck you."

Okay, fine. I say to him: "Fuck you."

This bothers him. He says to me: "Don't you fucking swear at me!" Yeah. Swearing at me is the best way to convince me not to swear at you.

I say to him: "Fuck you, you fuck."

This bother him. He responds: "I told you not to fucking swear at me!"

So I say to him: "Fuck you, you fucking fuck."

Him: "Goddamit I told you not to swear at me!!"

Me: "Fuck you, you fucking fuckwad."

Well, by this point I was getting bored with the conversation, so I rode off. I wonder if he ever figured out why his polite request was so rudely ignored.

At the library

Customer: What time do you close?

Librarian: At 9.

Customer: 9 pm?

.....really? You need to confirm that a Chicago Public Library branch does NOT close at nine in the morning? Really? You're not willing to make that leap?

Overheard at Sidetrack, and gee, what a surprise

Good evening! I'm drunk!

Overheard At Big Lots

"But I know lots of guys with moustaches and they're not gay."

Overhear While Passing A Group Of Tough, Manly, Chaps-Wearing, Harness-Sporting Leathermen

I was SO disappointed when American Movie Classics started showing Molly Ringwald movies!

The Wife Took The Roller Skates

Thursday 23 August, approximately 7.40 am. Seen heading north on Michigan Avenue, near the Hancock:

A gentleman, in suit and tie, listening to his iPod. Skateboarding to work.

I Didn't Know She'd Bought Her Own Country

A Chicago tour bus operator has the following on its brochure...

Enjoy Chicago's ethnic neighborhoods: Chinatown, Little Italy, Greektown, and Harpo Studios.

What You Find Online...

You know how one thing leads to another. You start out on one website and end up many websites away.

So I found myself checking out a very entertaining blog...though not entertaining in the way intended by the author.

My favorite part was when the author related he had cried tears...from his eyes. Apparently, he usually cries tears from elsewhere, and so felt it necessary to specify where his tears were coming from in this instance.

A Walk Down Halsted

Sunday, I stopped in at the Brown Elephant. I decided that rather than ride my bike, I would walk my bike down Halsted to Sidetrack, where I planned to while away an hour or two enjoying showtunes.

The things you hear and see...

I passed three young queens, one of whom found it necessary as I approached to vigorously adjust his equipment. The queen in the middle said that was why she always wore a jockstrap. The third queen announced she was not wearing underwear: she was freeballing.

As I passed Halsted and Roscoe, there were several queens sitting outside Cocktail. One of them pointed at me... using a limp wrist to point with... and said something. I couldn't quite make it out. I was just tickled by the thought of someone so queeny they point with a limp wrist.

Methinks She Doth Protest Too Much

Overheard at Sidetrack:

"People are always asking me why I have a Hummer, since my dick is NOT small."

Or, in other words, I'm so embarrassed by my tiny dick I have to tell everyone in earshot it's not small and I have a Hummer which is also huge, don't you know.

Because Bike Rider = Wine Enthusiast? Regional Expert? Drunkard?

There I was, locking up my bike on Milwaukee Avenue for a visit to the Brown Elephant store.

A gentleman stops and asks me if I knew a store in the area that sold wine.

I apologized, telling him I wasn't familiar with the area and just wasn't familiar with stores in the area (aside from the Brown Elephant).

"Oh," he replied, laughing a bit, "I saw a guy on a bike and figured I'd ask!"

Thanks for the ... compliment?

As I was leaving Delirium, one of the rides at Kings Island, a ride op approached.

"Has anyone ever told you," he asked, "that you look like Rocky Balboa?"

Perhaps it was the ice cold chill in my "No," or perhaps it was the look of dismay at being compared to a over the hill actor who looks like he's gone a few rounds in the ring that prompted him to say "But that's a good thing, really."

Sorry To Wake You

I call my landlord. It's clear that I woke him up.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"Yeah, but that's okay, I was just thinking about refugee camps."

In Boystown? What A Surprise!

Deep in the heart of Boystown, a woman and her young child step out of a restaurant. A storm had just passed through, the pavement still slick with rain, but now the sun was breaking through.

And the woman said, in a Barney-esque voice, "Raaiinnbooowwww! Raaiinnnbboowww! I feel a raaiinnnbboow coming on!"

Guessing Game

So the phone rings at the theatre, guy wanting to order tickets.

How many, I inquire.

All of 'em, he says.

I'm sorry?

All of 'em. Unless you've got, like, 400.

I'm sorry?

Well, I've got a big house.

Um....it is difficult for me to determine the best available seats for your party if I don't have a general idea of how many people might be in your party.

Shit, you're gonna make me count....one...two...three...

....um, ten?

My Doctor Redeems Himself

Several months ago I went to the doctor. He wanted to take some blood, run some tests, and since it was best that I not eat before the tests my appointment was for 7:30 in the morning. I went, he tested, and when he was done he made a suggestion.

"Since you're here, we may as well take a look at your prostate."

Which is how I came to find myself, at about 7:45 in the morning, bent over, pants around my knees, regretting my choice of underwear for the day. (What seems whimsically amusing when you think no one will see...)

This morning I was back at the doctor's office. My blood pressure was down -- not to where it should be, but down. The doctor went into his litany of denial: watch the salt, don't drink too much, avoid fast food, restaurants, especially Chinese restaurants.... "Doctor," I said, "you've pretty much taken away every single thing I eat."

"Well, wait," he says, "it's not all bad news. You can smoke marijuana. Don't smoke tobacco but I have no problem with responsibly using marijuana. And you can have sex, all the sex you want, with whoever you want -- just wear protection if you don't know them."

How can you not like a doctor who tells you to get high and get laid?

I wanted to ask for a prescription, though. Take that into the Walgreen's: "I'd like to get this filled -- generic is fine, thanks."

And how handy would that be in a bar? "You're cute. I need you to fill this prescription for me. Your place or mine?"?