The day was too short. North Avenue exit, head west. Traffic’s backed up, so why not turn here and look for parking? North on Paulina. Boom! Silver car pulling out, and my dented Cavalier fit the spot perfectly. There wasn’t even a need to do one of those classic Chicago parking jobs where the front driver’s side bumper juts out into the street slightly. Wasn’t a permit parking only, either. No risk of a ticket. The need to urinated consumed. Gallery Café should have a bathroom. Yeah, with purchase of a tiny piece of carrot-pineapple bread for $2.75. The cashier couldn’t figure out how to make change from my ten, but I didn’t get pissed; I sympathized. My usual line: “Yeah, I’m an English teacher. No good at the math.” She laughed and admitted she suffered from the same affliction. Four girls in line ahead of me to piss, then only three, when the toothy yet coiffed young yup graciously let me pass her up. I just drove here from Milwaukee, I chattered. I really** have to pee. Oh, I understand! She said knowingly. You can go ahead of me. I babbled on while her friend finished up in the restroom, about the insane accident I saw on the other side of the freeway. Gnarly. Fire trucks, ambulances, several police cars. One car in the ditch, the other facing oncoming traffic, flung into the median. In my head, I couldn’t believe I was speaking to this looking like that girl, and I was even more amazed she was talking to me.
When I left, headed towards Quimby’s, I passed a store called Akira. 40% Off signs beckoned. I looked at the clothes through the window, glanced at the price tag. $30. A price I can afford! I eagerly entered. Soft wooley green thigh high socks topped with black lace trim caught my eye. At $24, they were definitely affordable. I filed their image away in my head. I had the excitement shopping dizzies. The drive had been stressful. WI drivers suck.
Headed over to the sale racks and fondled some really pretty Betsy Johnson dresses. I just took them in. White Marilyn Monroe style with black polka dots. So pretty. Most of the other items were to fit a midget, but there was a lot of denim on sale. Nothing stood out and not much was in size 30 or above, and I didn’t need any new jeans. Lacoste sweaters on sale for $60 but they were ugly. Cute Ben Sherman dress, though, but it would wrinkle easily and I’d never iron that shit. Then there was the really pretty black fancy dress for $20, but where would I wear it in fucking Milwaukee? I left.
Quimby’s slightly disappointed. I thought there was a new issue of Burn Collector out, but I didn’t see any. Sold out, maybe. I looked for Ben Weasel’s books too, but didn’t seem them. Didn’t ask, either. Was excited by a new Julie Ducette and Jeffrey Brown, but both weren’t of much substance. Ducette’s wasn’t a story and Brown’s story was about a cat, and I love cats, but I prefer his autobiographical graphic novels. Brown had put out a single issue comic I’d never seen, though, so I grabbed that an issue of the East Village Inky, more for a friedn, but I’ll read it first.
Stupid rain falling down on me as soon as I got outside. Wanted to walk down Milwaukee, but drove instead. Tried to parallel park on Milwaukee but failed miserable, panicked, afraid I’d hold up traffic. Randomly turned down a permit only street and parked. Just wanted to check out the used designer clothes store and the new Ragstock. Got a cheap necklace at the first place (Damn! The stretch Miss Sixtys were just a little too tight. But my ass really is big for my frame!) Ragstock wasn’t worth the trip, at all. It’s teeny tiny and features the lamest stuff from the Belmont store. Cheap tween wear. Quickly darted into the Brown Elephant, but realized that I wasn’t of the right mind to shop. Well, I’d realized that at Akira. Admitted to myself it wasn't a good day to shop.
But that feeling. Did I mention it? It was just same old trendy Wicker Park but the feeling of being there, among many people on the street, it affected me. My energy came burbling back, I started getting that feeling that I‘d like to write. Sit in the cafes there and write. I so rarely feel like that when I‘m out anywhere in Milwaukee. People, cars, congestion. Chicago people really aren’t that hot. They look Midwestern. But at least there’s more of them to look at, meet, maybe even, um....
It’s about 2:00 now, should get down to the southside. Well, near southside, between Pilsen and Bridgeport--McKinley Park, I guess. Okay, on Milwaukee, go to Division, jump on highway, it will be quicker. But I spaced and was still on Milwaukee. Didn’t mind. Not much traffic. Passed the Chopin Theater. Going further and further, feeling a little lost, damn! Highway entrance. Oh well, Halsted’s gotta be down here. Sort of close to LPC Group. Chicago…Elston….ah yeah, there. And I knew which way to turn, even though it was a confusing three-street intersection: Milwaukee, Halsted, and Grand. The Loop to my left, industrial vastness to my right. Stop and stall traffic, but it’s okay. It’s not that far.
Here comes UIC. Took a breath. How would it feel to teach here? To be involved in this academic community? It’s a real university….
Then Greektown. I was here once, I always think that, how I was only in this area really one time, well, except when I saw Vagina Monologues there. Who the fuck was I with? I think Theresa and Rachel, or maybe just Theresa. That Blue Line stop was shut down for a long time, I think. Be fun to go back again. Maybe not at night on a weekend, at prime dinner time. Be annoying.
Okay, here’s Roosevelt. Traffic’s moving really easily now. 18th St should be soon. Yep, here’s the Pilsen art galleries. They were okay, nothing really impressive the night I came last Sept. Jen’s seriously stood out, and I’m not even saying that because she’s my friend.
Cermak. Up and over a grated bridge. Slick. Go slow. Archer should be right up there. Okay, cool. Went too far past the address. Turned around. Parked in some random muddy lot. Got out. Realized there was no 2522 Archer Ave. That’d be where the train stop was. I ran 2521 anyway. A nice guy with braces came down and talked to me. He didn’t know what I was talking about, but at least he was nice. Okay, fuck. What to do?? Called Rachel’s house. Tracy answered, thank god! Pulled up the info from her email. The address was 2966!! What the fuck?!?!! So far off! Confused but relieved, I headed west. Crazy little random ramshackle house, so out of place. Some guy let me in and I walked through his shit to the back door, then down below to the basement, where Rachel, Sarah, and Eric, Sarah’s boyfriend, sat. The address was wrong! Whoever emailed it to me-----That was ME! Sarah yelled. You’re lucky Tracy was home I said! I was about to go shopping on Michigan Ave. They all laughed. Ah, anarchists with senses of humor….
Feeling a little light-headed in need of food. Nibble on a peach and have a chicken taco. Help seal up envelopes of books for quite awhile. Vic from the A-zone arrives. Hair much shorter and flippy, still the most bland dresser I’ve ever seen. She is smart. She rebukes some of my dumb chatty political comments. I sort of think her obnoxious, yet I don’t really think through everything I say. I’m not that well-informed. I said Bush was stupid for trying to charge immigrants thousands of dollars to obtain citizenship. She said he wasn’t, that he was smart, he’s getting what he wants done. But I don’t know. I just wasn’t clear. She did that a few other times. It was annoying, but overall it was okay. Just communication failing.
When the baby talk started I just kept thinking: My friend is right! It does never end! Only with radicals, they bring up terms like “co parenting” and use it contexts I don’t understand. Like two couples share custody of one kid? I don’t know. Rachel said she didn’t want to give birth but wouldn’t mind a child. Sarah said she felt the complete opposite way! Vic said she didn’t want either. Goddamnfuckthisbabytalk!
Rachel and I got to catch up a little, but we were working. She came with me to get the Mexican food. Weird not melted warm cheese enchiladas. Cold cheese. Still tasty. Bland rice and beans. Chicago style Mexican. It won’t kill ya, but it ain’t that good! Sarah must have grabbed some hot sauce, because her stuff tasted better. Horchata too, just too add more weight to that ass. Sigh….
I learned from Sarah and Eric that they only pay about $40-50 a month for their car insurance through Geico. That’s exciting…possibilities.
Around 6:30 they decided to call it quits. I really wanted to have a drink at Skylark, cool, huge open dive bar that apparently serves tater tots. But then I’d have to pee, and I’d be sleepier driving home…and Rachel was probably tired from being in Detroit and camping the week before. I didn’t want to sleep there or drive too late in the rain. So I headed back east. North on Halstead. East on 18th St. Boom. Highway right there.
As I rode up the on ramp, my heart beat. It felt full. I was resisting the idea of going home. Loop skyline right there, the cars, that feeling of needing to be aware, not get killed. Just the whole thing. It’s so hard to describe. Tightened throat. Near tears. I don’t wanna go back there! I was screaming inwardly. Don’t wanna. Fuck that place! This is home. Will this be home again? I don’t know! Avoided the rain successfully until Kenosha then it hit, hard. Scary on and off, blurry. Got off at Rawson and ended up north on 27th St, ugly, boring, depressing 27th with all of its random crappy small businesses and dozens of chain stores. Oh yeah, it’s convenient, but it’s…nothing. And there’s no energy here, but there’s angst. Milwaukee drivers are angst-filled. They can’t wait to be done doing the same shit they did yesterday or last week. They just want to go home or to where they go everyday and feel that normalcy.
I don’t.
When I left, headed towards Quimby’s, I passed a store called Akira. 40% Off signs beckoned. I looked at the clothes through the window, glanced at the price tag. $30. A price I can afford! I eagerly entered. Soft wooley green thigh high socks topped with black lace trim caught my eye. At $24, they were definitely affordable. I filed their image away in my head. I had the excitement shopping dizzies. The drive had been stressful. WI drivers suck.
Headed over to the sale racks and fondled some really pretty Betsy Johnson dresses. I just took them in. White Marilyn Monroe style with black polka dots. So pretty. Most of the other items were to fit a midget, but there was a lot of denim on sale. Nothing stood out and not much was in size 30 or above, and I didn’t need any new jeans. Lacoste sweaters on sale for $60 but they were ugly. Cute Ben Sherman dress, though, but it would wrinkle easily and I’d never iron that shit. Then there was the really pretty black fancy dress for $20, but where would I wear it in fucking Milwaukee? I left.
Quimby’s slightly disappointed. I thought there was a new issue of Burn Collector out, but I didn’t see any. Sold out, maybe. I looked for Ben Weasel’s books too, but didn’t seem them. Didn’t ask, either. Was excited by a new Julie Ducette and Jeffrey Brown, but both weren’t of much substance. Ducette’s wasn’t a story and Brown’s story was about a cat, and I love cats, but I prefer his autobiographical graphic novels. Brown had put out a single issue comic I’d never seen, though, so I grabbed that an issue of the East Village Inky, more for a friedn, but I’ll read it first.
Stupid rain falling down on me as soon as I got outside. Wanted to walk down Milwaukee, but drove instead. Tried to parallel park on Milwaukee but failed miserable, panicked, afraid I’d hold up traffic. Randomly turned down a permit only street and parked. Just wanted to check out the used designer clothes store and the new Ragstock. Got a cheap necklace at the first place (Damn! The stretch Miss Sixtys were just a little too tight. But my ass really is big for my frame!) Ragstock wasn’t worth the trip, at all. It’s teeny tiny and features the lamest stuff from the Belmont store. Cheap tween wear. Quickly darted into the Brown Elephant, but realized that I wasn’t of the right mind to shop. Well, I’d realized that at Akira. Admitted to myself it wasn't a good day to shop.
But that feeling. Did I mention it? It was just same old trendy Wicker Park but the feeling of being there, among many people on the street, it affected me. My energy came burbling back, I started getting that feeling that I‘d like to write. Sit in the cafes there and write. I so rarely feel like that when I‘m out anywhere in Milwaukee. People, cars, congestion. Chicago people really aren’t that hot. They look Midwestern. But at least there’s more of them to look at, meet, maybe even, um....
It’s about 2:00 now, should get down to the southside. Well, near southside, between Pilsen and Bridgeport--McKinley Park, I guess. Okay, on Milwaukee, go to Division, jump on highway, it will be quicker. But I spaced and was still on Milwaukee. Didn’t mind. Not much traffic. Passed the Chopin Theater. Going further and further, feeling a little lost, damn! Highway entrance. Oh well, Halsted’s gotta be down here. Sort of close to LPC Group. Chicago…Elston….ah yeah, there. And I knew which way to turn, even though it was a confusing three-street intersection: Milwaukee, Halsted, and Grand. The Loop to my left, industrial vastness to my right. Stop and stall traffic, but it’s okay. It’s not that far.
Here comes UIC. Took a breath. How would it feel to teach here? To be involved in this academic community? It’s a real university….
Then Greektown. I was here once, I always think that, how I was only in this area really one time, well, except when I saw Vagina Monologues there. Who the fuck was I with? I think Theresa and Rachel, or maybe just Theresa. That Blue Line stop was shut down for a long time, I think. Be fun to go back again. Maybe not at night on a weekend, at prime dinner time. Be annoying.
Okay, here’s Roosevelt. Traffic’s moving really easily now. 18th St should be soon. Yep, here’s the Pilsen art galleries. They were okay, nothing really impressive the night I came last Sept. Jen’s seriously stood out, and I’m not even saying that because she’s my friend.
Cermak. Up and over a grated bridge. Slick. Go slow. Archer should be right up there. Okay, cool. Went too far past the address. Turned around. Parked in some random muddy lot. Got out. Realized there was no 2522 Archer Ave. That’d be where the train stop was. I ran 2521 anyway. A nice guy with braces came down and talked to me. He didn’t know what I was talking about, but at least he was nice. Okay, fuck. What to do?? Called Rachel’s house. Tracy answered, thank god! Pulled up the info from her email. The address was 2966!! What the fuck?!?!! So far off! Confused but relieved, I headed west. Crazy little random ramshackle house, so out of place. Some guy let me in and I walked through his shit to the back door, then down below to the basement, where Rachel, Sarah, and Eric, Sarah’s boyfriend, sat. The address was wrong! Whoever emailed it to me-----That was ME! Sarah yelled. You’re lucky Tracy was home I said! I was about to go shopping on Michigan Ave. They all laughed. Ah, anarchists with senses of humor….
Feeling a little light-headed in need of food. Nibble on a peach and have a chicken taco. Help seal up envelopes of books for quite awhile. Vic from the A-zone arrives. Hair much shorter and flippy, still the most bland dresser I’ve ever seen. She is smart. She rebukes some of my dumb chatty political comments. I sort of think her obnoxious, yet I don’t really think through everything I say. I’m not that well-informed. I said Bush was stupid for trying to charge immigrants thousands of dollars to obtain citizenship. She said he wasn’t, that he was smart, he’s getting what he wants done. But I don’t know. I just wasn’t clear. She did that a few other times. It was annoying, but overall it was okay. Just communication failing.
When the baby talk started I just kept thinking: My friend is right! It does never end! Only with radicals, they bring up terms like “co parenting” and use it contexts I don’t understand. Like two couples share custody of one kid? I don’t know. Rachel said she didn’t want to give birth but wouldn’t mind a child. Sarah said she felt the complete opposite way! Vic said she didn’t want either. Goddamnfuckthisbabytalk!
Rachel and I got to catch up a little, but we were working. She came with me to get the Mexican food. Weird not melted warm cheese enchiladas. Cold cheese. Still tasty. Bland rice and beans. Chicago style Mexican. It won’t kill ya, but it ain’t that good! Sarah must have grabbed some hot sauce, because her stuff tasted better. Horchata too, just too add more weight to that ass. Sigh….
I learned from Sarah and Eric that they only pay about $40-50 a month for their car insurance through Geico. That’s exciting…possibilities.
Around 6:30 they decided to call it quits. I really wanted to have a drink at Skylark, cool, huge open dive bar that apparently serves tater tots. But then I’d have to pee, and I’d be sleepier driving home…and Rachel was probably tired from being in Detroit and camping the week before. I didn’t want to sleep there or drive too late in the rain. So I headed back east. North on Halstead. East on 18th St. Boom. Highway right there.
As I rode up the on ramp, my heart beat. It felt full. I was resisting the idea of going home. Loop skyline right there, the cars, that feeling of needing to be aware, not get killed. Just the whole thing. It’s so hard to describe. Tightened throat. Near tears. I don’t wanna go back there! I was screaming inwardly. Don’t wanna. Fuck that place! This is home. Will this be home again? I don’t know! Avoided the rain successfully until Kenosha then it hit, hard. Scary on and off, blurry. Got off at Rawson and ended up north on 27th St, ugly, boring, depressing 27th with all of its random crappy small businesses and dozens of chain stores. Oh yeah, it’s convenient, but it’s…nothing. And there’s no energy here, but there’s angst. Milwaukee drivers are angst-filled. They can’t wait to be done doing the same shit they did yesterday or last week. They just want to go home or to where they go everyday and feel that normalcy.
I don’t.
posted by Jen Threat at
7:23 PM
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