Saturday, June 29, 2013


You Going to the Parade?

Pride- A feeling or deep pleasure or satisfaction derived from one's own achievements. Every time I hear someone say, "I love gay people" I want to punch them in a kidney. Expressions like this are symptomatic of overzealousness and are horribly transgressive. Really? You like ALL gay people? Don't get me wrong: I love quite a few. But I don't love every member of any group. But, You, asshole, have either met all of them (impossible) or you've accurately assessed the psychology of all of the LGBTQ community through a non-sample study (quintuple impossible, factoring in the idiots who say such things)? To say you love every member of a group as if they are all mascots out to amuse you, whether they be gay, black, disabled, dumb, tall, or a fucking dog, is to deny the individuality of it's members and, in truth, makes you sound like a bit of an asshole. I will not be attending the Pride parade. Granted, I am out of town. But, If I were home, I still wouldn't be there. Just like i don't go to St. Patty's Day, Bud Biliken, or Thanksgiving Day Parades. Or Wrigleyville. One of the inherent cross sections of any societal group are assholes. And they love crowds. I have known assholes of many colors, creeds, and sexual orientations. We can smell our own. Here's to the true nature of the Pride Parade. May the gay assholes find the straight assholes and agree to disagree with with every other asshole like me who thinks that these assholes are being fucking ridiculous.

Monday, June 17, 2013


While you guys were off sniffin each others bung holes at the Noam Chomsky film festival, I watched Fast and Furious 6! Shit was awesome and the little teaser for 7 made my butt pucker a bit. I hope my career takes me on a trajectory where I can be in #20 because that shit will probably be in space and have Tupac in it. Also, big up to the Ladi Dadi siutting next to us. You weren't super cute but seeing Fast and Furious by yourself is STUCK ON SEXY!
 #mofosjumpingoutofcars #downtonassey #walkingthroughflames#hashtagonfacebook #boxsetexceptfortheBowWowone
To Vincent Terry, My Father.
Wild, outgoing, sometimes and asshole, a great man to have in your corner (when you're in a corner), wayward, quick-tempered and very. very funny. It's sad that my dad and I are nothing alike. Thank you pop for being the man who decided I should take the bus by myself at 8. And thanks for following me for 2 weeks when I started. I owe a ton for my mother's gentleness and a ton to my father's calluses. Happy Fathers' Day, Vincent Terry. You are are the reason I insist on all three names.

Best Quote: He must have a horseshoe up his ass.

When I was 21 I sat at the Starbucks under Second City and had coffee with this man. I really just wanted to know what the secret to a long career in the theatre might look like for me. He asked me. "Well, what do you want to do?" In my earnest and unwavering voice I said simply said, "I want to WORK." In one of few moments, his smile left his face and In that familiarLY soft, wavy, gentle voice he chastised, "Well, that's boring. If you want to work, then go make it yourself." To this day, that moment drives me forward. I will always remember that the man who invited Heavy Hitters to see me in a fucking school play fell asleep as the commencement speaker to UIC's class of 2004 (and multiple rehearsals, of course). He may have no natural born children, but I'm sure many will be wishing this man a happy and peaceful Fathers' Day. Rest in peace, Bernie. "Yes, and..."

Saturday, May 4, 2013

Verizon Wins

Sponsored by Verizon. As I sit at the airport across from the charging station I look directly ahead of me. Sitting directly 10 feet in front of me is a very beautiful woman. She sits, her hand resting over the retractable handle on her cheap, Target-born luggage. Not even American Tourister. She looks about 26–or 36. It’s hard to tell these days. She is raceless. Her lavender fleece demures her slight, cute frame. 

Probably Asian. Weird.

Her phone charges as she sits, angled away from the station hunched and facing the passing crowds. Away from the mess the power outlets make. People huddle around them as if it’s a garbage can fire burning unsold streetwise newspapers. Somebody needs a fix. They stack over and snake around each other like the plugs and cables they withdraw from backpacks-with-wheels and gym bags. I wonder what she is thinking.

“I’m hungry.”
“He probably can’t wait to see me.”
“Who the fuck is this stud looking at me, typing and sitting on the apron of the people mover?”

For a moment Verizon loses… Then Wins.

Only once has she checked her messages or emails or tweets or what-the-fuck-ever. And in that moment she looked exactly like the man in that oversized blazer/khaki/oxford combo, that little idiot girl in the headphones, that mother who looks at her and smiles and considers her own life over, or the Asian couple I assumed was a couple because they were sitting next to each other and sucking on the electric pipe til their pupils dilate. They don’t even notice her. They actually don't notice each other. I notice I'm prejudiced.

Her chin rests on her hand: "I don’t need to check it. Nothing has happened."

Verizon loses.

People hunker down around to recharge and reconnect with the world that does not live here and. They remain ignorant of their place in this painting framed perfectly for and by Verizon. As do I. Which is why I watch them. I sit, a parasite to power parasites.

Verizon wins.

She gets up after putting her sporty, ear-wrapping headphones on and I realize how slight she is. Still pretty. Not Asian. Weird. I’m usually good with that. She walks out into the world she no longer hears. She is replaced by a man who click-clacks in all black like an accountant for a Gamestop that his dad owns.

Click clack click…
Verizon wins.

A cute girl I deemed asian earlier lifts her head as a young man chats her up. She’s a Latina. He is human. She laughs. And puts her phone down. And forgets about her boyfriend. He charms and it is clear he will not get her number. Perfect.

Verizon loses. Twice.

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Tracking disabled, you rotten sick sonofabitch.

"Do you want to disable tracking"? Does a bear shit in the woods? But, I have no choice. Of this I am certain. (can I "like" the idea though?) I tend to be a bit of a conspiracy theorist. In fact, any minority that isn't I admit I view with a bit of apprehension, dismay and perhaps disdain. A minority friend recently said to me that getting involved in thoughts of conspiracy are pointless because it doesn't matter how much you think about it because there is nothing to you can do about it. I think this is in itself a conspiration of silence in which we are encouraged to participate. If those in power can convince you to say nothing about the moderately-to-obviously questionable then they can convince a person to simply agree on the mild, but deadly offenses one sees everyday. Shit is shoveled into our faces daily and we digest it—in every sense of the word— simply (in our metaphorical stomachs, our brains, and on social media) as long as the cookies we get after our blood is drawn is made with splenda (like) because we have can always say we've swallowed worse. I strive to simply not learn to tolerate the taste, even if it's sugar loaded and sprinkled with government-issued crack (like). Perhaps I have spit it out on others once too often. But, even regurgitated I sadly predict that most will swallow it in my stead like malnourished chicks. To not think of conspiracies that may exist simply because its easier to do so or for fear of sounding crazy DETERMINES that you can and will do nothing about them... ever. Count on it: Those in power do. Prophecy fulfilled. The bear has taken the diarrhetic and is headed into the woods. Also, while typing this "facebook" pops up as a typo until I capitalized the "F". (like). Fuck it if I'm the only non-crazy one around... I understand and accept exactly what that means. That you think I don't makes YOU crazy. (like) Now, if you'll excuses me, I have to finish chopping this tree down in the forest... and I spit that fucking pill out.

On the NYT Book review... FUCK "OUR" "BLUE COLLAR" OUTRAGE!

I can completely understand that the reaction of many to what I have to say may make me sound like a turncoat, but "We need to talk about Kevin". But several facebook friends posted this and I had to get in on this. for those who haven't read this hilariously brave review (Chicagoans is crazy about Chicago!) see below.

Interesting read. I wanted to comment on this because the jingoism associated with the "BLUE-COLLAR type of town" mentality is simply no longer true, belies our citizens' (righteous, in my opinion) own cries of inequality, and the evidence supported by the empirically measured migration rate and anecdotal listing as a city only less miserable than Flint, Detroit and Rockford (GODDAMN!)  Chicago has a history of deep deep segregation, isolation, nepotism, cronyism and political/slanted rhetoric (where "Windy" comes from) that no longer works. the Stockyards are gone, fuckers.  Save that shit. I live in a city where far too many think the Blue Collar part isn't even "The City".  Fuck off! Can we really hate on NYC while adapting such ridiculous syntactic segregation They give Manhattan (not the Harlem part)?  You mean to tell me Ford City, Evergreen Plaza and Mega Mall ain't the city?! Then where the fuck was I when I got those Airmaxes and Jincos in 95, Chump?! WHERE?! "Jewtown", was (admittedly) too blue-collar.  Then Maxwell Street was too blue-collar.  University Village... ain't. Nor is Target.  When Target moves in, it's a wrap. Target is the awesome Death Star to blue-collar-ass neighborhoods, zapping halfway houses with it's laser... but ain't no exhaust port, son... not a one.

The Fulton district features fine dining spots. Shit EVERYPLACE is about fine dining where you can qr code the ferret that shit out your coffee bean for that nutty taste in your flour-less cake and colorful cocktails where the bitters are made of belgian monkey musk and turkish rose testicles   Blue-collar, my taint!  Somebody's lying.  Blue-collar doesn't infuse it's gin with lotus fetus; it drinks Old Granddad, punches you in the face to toughen your eyes and tells you to call your mother.  Blue Collar goes to BREAKFAST on Sunday.  Wicker Park, once an artist colony, is now a place similar to shopping malls in Kuwait and the nightlife in ANY place where people go to look cool, ahead of the curve and cutting edge.  Blue-collar has to get that shit done with a butter knife, Bitch!  Do I go to the apothecary?! Fuck yes! Do I gets down on some fuckin Korean tacos with the fuck truffle aioli butter and butter-creamed celery root? YOU DAMN RIGHT! So let's stop frontin on this Blue-Collar shit.  PBR ain't blue collar anymore.  STROH'S is, dickbreath.  That's a dude who's check-to-check!

  As a Chicagoan with a fascination for Detroits plight, I have seen a correlation myself. I understand the ire people feel toward the review, I do. It hurts to not only hear this criticism but, in many ways, to agree with it. I was born and raised here in the city. I LOVE Chicago but it is a shockingly and deathly corrupt place to those have-nots that seek a chance at success here.  Simply loving a place does not mean LIKING it.  Sometimes I worry if we are better as friends.  I know this sounds negative but that is what people do in Chicago, they complain.  Welcome home, mothafucka.

As I minority (and I understand that sounds dismissive to the dominant group, though I include, of course, women, poor and under-represented folk of all walks of life) Chicago is one of the most segregated cities I've been world-wide (Seattle has a lead by a single bag of dicks but, again, Chicago is not in contextually good company... again.) Chicago's history is crippling it's future.  The sociological term "hypersegregation" was create by demographers for the study of Chicago.  I would never forsake my love for this place, but I understand, if a hard choice must be made, the desire to be a rat of necessity on this ship than its volunteer captain.

I consider this city my home, I grew up in uptown, went to public elementary school, Chicago Catholic League for HS and College at UIC.  Iunderstand more and more, however, that simply because it's my home doesn't mean it's mine. It is sad to acknowledge that many places have proven more welcome to me and people "like" me than the place of my birth.  Take that how you want.  I also have to admit a severe distension from all this "blue collar" shit-sandwich-eating. The "Blue collar kind of town" thing is played out.  "The city" now favors sterile neighborhoods that adapt high end franchises, the safety of homogeny (not new) and the ignoring of/indifference to those who are not able to enjoy that safety.  For the Chicagoans whose love has them fighting the good fight: godspeed!  Chicago is a city that needs that kind of attention.  

Next time you fret about the train construction, school/teacher conflict, school/teacher conflict, school/teacher conflict, gun violence, segregation and traffic please please please acknowledge the real... these problems are historic ones. Let us not also forget that some of the most violent, racism, xenophobia, and bigotry may be instituted through white-color organization, it is quite often enforced on the corporal level by the collars that are blue... Take that how you want.  Time to take some lumps Chicago. Be mad if you want.  Ignoring says more.

 #mixed feelings. #isthiscroworganic? #hashtagsdontworkonblogger #whendovescry #yeahisaidit