Unplugged

Though I didn't apply for a digital converter coupon, I got one in the mail a few days ago, and suspect it was the work of my mother, whom must have signed me up. She can't bear to think about my living without a TV.

I just turned on my television, and it's all static. The coupon is for $40, and expires August 28. If the converter costs more than $40 I am debating tossing tv access all together. I can still watch dvds, and VHS, and in the case of a national emergency there's always the Internet, the radio, other people's tvs, and tvs at the gym.

My mother is also campaigning for me to buy a microwave, but I left that behind in 2006, and haven't missed it.

Though I am kind of missing PBS right about now...

Area Woman Has Had Enough of Her Cat

CHICAGO-- In an effort to upset her cat right back at him, Aly Hensler, whom has failed to workout on a semi regular basis despite not having a job for the past five months, whipped a pillow in the direction of her cat at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m., and sprained her right shoulder.

"In what world is it okay to wake someone up by biting their foot?" Hensler wondered aloud to no one in particular because there really was no one around, and the idea of writing a letter to Jared Fogel the no longer popular Subway guy whom probably doesn’t know anything about feline behavior anyway just didn’t seem like it would solve anything.

In an interview exclusive to this lameass blog, Hensler admitted that she had "had enough," and described living with her cat like living with a shark, constantly on the prowl for a bare foot near the edge of a bed, or an arm, or really anything he can scratch, or bite at that is attached to something that can bleed, and fight back.

“I feel so guilty,” Hensler explained, noting that she should be able to love her furry rascal unconditionally like most other single, thirtysomething woman whom otherwise purport to love cats, and have feline shaped collectibles around their apartments, like a spoon rest that always seems to make Hensler smile when she is stirring Ragu sauce, the idea of a cat perhaps more appealing than the one she has lived with for the past eight years whining, and forever circling her feet, his tail raised in anticipation for what Hensler has no clue.

According to Hensler, other cats she’s lived with haven’t acted like this one, and she’s been wondering if it is something about her that is causing her cat to behave so obnoxiously, and erratically, and if he might be an embodiment of all the stress she has felt of late, from the exhaustion of working on various low, or no paying but nonetheless time consuming projects, to an impending cross country road trip with a gentleman friend that most normal, technically unemployed people would be excited about, yet is sparking feelings of regime disruption, and general uprootment, albeit temporary.


“He has a fresh water bowl at all times,” Hensler asserted, adding that since the onset of cystitis, or irritation of the bladder, common in older, male cats, her cat has been on a wet food only diet, and plenty of it at that, so he is not lacking for food, either, nor company given the fact he often roams the hallways, playing with other cats in the building. Last night Hensler noted that her cat received undivided attention, as she succumbed to sleep alone, a chick lit book beside her, fully clothed, on a sheetless bed with a plastic mattress cover due to her cat's aforementioned cystitis, and because her laundry was at her gentleman friend’s place.

It was in this uncomfortable condition that Hensler awoke, and, after throwing the pillow at her cat with great force, banishing him to the hallway, albeit a bit early for a Sunday morning, applying Neosporin to the latest wound, making coffee, and changing out of the previous day's clothing, and into pajamas around 7:30 a.m., Hensler is ready to start her day, and is going to make it a good one, whatever that means these days.

Oh yeah

Yellow Labs Need Not Apply

There were three dogs at the park, and all three were black labs.

Here's S., kicking it at 15 years old, and going strong, so strong that she dominated over this younger dog, and took his squeaky toy as her own, until it was time to go home.

As with Jimmy John's, "smells are free" at the park, too, and there was no shortage of sniffing among the four legged sect.

When Truth is Stranger Than Fiction

Okay, I'm rushing off to class, and I agreed to never blog about anyone in bad form, but something happened last night that was so jaw dropping, and unbelievable that I feel like I have to say something, even if it's only to the six people that might read this from time to time, and if I only have a minute or two before hopping a bus.

Last night A. and I went to a Second City show. Students get in free on slower nights, so we were excited to take in a free show, which was super funny, but this blog is not about the show. It is about what happened before the show started, when we were sitting in the bar across the street from Second City.

There was a huge stack of yesterday's Red Eyes next to the table, and I picked one up, enticed by the cover story which was about parking violations, bogus tickets, and outraged citizens.

The story featured a very large, nearly full page photograph of an unhappy citizen, upset over a dubious $50 expired meter ticket allegedly received after he claimed there was a receipt on his dashboard from a pay-to-park display box.

There was no such receipt on his dashboard. I know because I was with him on the night of Jan. 28th- a single date- there was never a second one.

One of his church buddies that met us out for dinner in Wrigleyville that evening drove a different car, and had actually given this guy HER pay-to-park display slip after he had received his ticket, and then told him to contest it using her receipt.

In reading the newspaper story from Thursday's Red Eye, I guess he had gone ahead, and used his friend's pay to park display to contest his ticket by mail, and then was so outraged that he lost, and according to the final martyr infused paragraph he has since contacted his local alderman several times, with no word back.

WTF?

And I thought I was delusional? To allow yourself to be featured in a newspaper article upset over a ticket that you were trying to get out of, using evidence that was not yours to begin with?? Wow...

Oh, and I just found out that a friend of mine was dancing at a club last night, met a guy, and gave him her number. It turned out to be someone I dated for three months three years ago. A third weird thing happened on Friday too, but I'll keep that one to myself.

It's a good thing full moons only happen once each month.

A friend didn't understand why I was so upset over this, yet as a former reporter long ago, I'd be annoyed if I found out a source was just an attention seeker armed with a bogus claim, and, as a reader of print newspapers, it's been tough to witness the watering down of news, which makes seeing see this guy featured as a lead source in a cover story all the more disturbing, but oh well, I think I'm over it now, plus he thankfully lost his case. I'm truthfully feeling guilty for calling him out, but I'm not going to delete this one just yet, plus if you go to the press, and raise a stink, I guess you're pretty much fair game.

I Said, She Said, Then I Lost Like Everyone Else

Two others plead their cases before I did in room 113 of the Central Hearing Facility at 440 W. Superior this morning. Flush with victory, Judge Deirdre C. was 2-0 when I got to the podium, nervous, clutching five exhibits, all photographs of the west side of Hoyne at Division, where I had parked late Friday evening. The Do Division Street Festival was the following morning, and while there were temporary 'no parking' signs on the east side of Hoyne, on the west side there was only one sign, and it was obscured by leaves on a tree to which the sign was affixed.

Despite the fact the photographs show poles on both sides of the tree, with none showing a visible no parking sign, JudgeD asked why I did not have shots of the entire street. I told her that in the background of one shot you can see that it's Division Street. I also explained I did not have much time to take the shots. I mistakenly thought that the two bare, sign-less poles on either side of the tree would be ample enough evidence.


Admittedly, l was running low on time on Saturday morning so that I could get my car from the pound on the west side, and take photographs of something, and someone much more important than street poles, and trees: my young cousin on her bat mitzvah day. I had been looking forward to photographing the event for the past year, and I arrived late to it due to the towing, and frantic retrieval of my car. As I spoke to JudgeD, my voice wavered, and I was internally chiding myself for losing my cool, as usual, and getting too emotional thinking about the stress experienced from disappointing my cousin, and missing her rehearsal. As there are no cameras allowed during a bat mitzvah service, many photographers take pictures during the pre-ceremony rehearsal.

In response to JudgeD saying that she cannot see the entire street in the photographs, to determine which street it is, I said there is an identifying mural at Division and Hoyne, visible in the background, to which she snapped, "There are murals everywhere."

She also challenged why I had two different sources of evidence. I noted that the camera on my phone could not get a wider shot to show the poles, so my boyfriend ran upstairs to get his camera, which supplied the other sources of evidence.


Then, I made the now very regrettable mistake of babbling about how it was a shame this happened, because as a contractor to the chamber of commerce I had been writing about the Do Division festival for weeks, and was looking forward to it...

JudgeD assumed I was writing for a newspaper, and I corrected her and said no, it is just a newsletter. She said I should have known about the no parking zones if I had been writing about it, and I told her that it was not a real story, and just a blurb about the event coming up, and it did not go into that level of detail about parking, etc. I'll have to write a few weeks of newsletters to make up the cost of this darn ticket, which makes me even angrier at myself for even mentioning the newsletter at all, though I brought it up to illustrate how I am a huge fan of this street festival, and my neighborhood. Despite the fact I sound like a raving lunatic right now, I love it here.

As JudgeD couldn't see the entire street in the photos, I lost my case, and am out $160. She wouldn't let me get another word in, and said I can file an appeal, though apparently no new evidence can be brought to the appeal, so I am wondering what the point of that is. The cost to file an appeal is $124, though the filing fee is waived to students, the disabled, and the unemployed. I am two of the three.

In the grand scheme of things it's just money, and there's no sense in being upset over it, or at least that's what I keep telling myself, along with a mental note to be grateful for my health, and energy, which allows me to be strong in tough times when people are losing homes, and businesses, and struggling to feed children. Suburban fathers are killing themselves over financial duress, and torching their homes, newspapers are folding, cities are bankrupt, respected actors are hanging themselves, our new president just starred in a prime time reality TV special about a day-in-the-life of his presidency, which makes our society seem even more surreal, absurd, and MySpacey than it already is, and in some areas of my neighborhood there are more empty than occupied storefronts, with each shop closing a dagger into the heart of a small business owner's dream. The polish on our country is tarnishing fast these days, and now, more than ever, I am thankful for my family, and friends, and cat, and A's dog sleeping beside my feet as I type this, and to books, music, comedy, the therapeutic powers of writing, sunny days, and to all the sweet things that make life worth living outside of the shitty stuff like this morning in court, when JudgeD headed off to her lunch break smug with a 3-0 record for the morning. A casino in Gary has better odds than this central hearing facility.

Faces like JudgeD's are just faces, though now after writing this vent I am finally relaxed, and slowly erasing the image of her face from my mind, hopefully for good, and forever. Though she claimed in her little intro speech that she is an independent contractor and not on either the side of the city or the people, it is clear she is on the side of the city. What, or whom does she see when she looks in the mirror each morning? Can she possibly feel good about cutting people off, and siding with a city that is so unspeakably corrupt? After the adventure in court I read Ben Joravsky's story in the Reader about the latest Olympic debacle, that being Douglas Park which was just remodeled to the tune of $30 million using taxpayer dollars. If the Olympic bid gets approved in the fall the plan is to raze the new park to build a bicycle racing track, despite the fact the people in the neighborhood were promised a new swimming pool in that spot, and that $30 million will go down the drain, only to spend more millions- of the people's money.

My heart dropped reading that article, and I felt guilty for my small little bitchy voice protesting a $160 ticket, when such bigger, and more evil forces spending millions upon millions of taxpayer's dollars are literally at play, threatening to demolish entire neighborhoods for the sake of one big dog, and pony show in 2016 that will benefit tourism, and not much else. To use a horrible analogy I'll probably delete in the morning along with this blog, it's like the smallest and most petite anime/comic character being f*cked from behind with an elephant dick, page after page after page until the ink runs dry, or the press runs out of money to publish the story, and everyone doesn't care because they're too busy celebrating the next new Wal-Mart, or watching So, You Think You Can Dance, which is actually a pretty cool show. There, I said it.

Am I the only one in this city thinking that if I had any sense, I'd move to the hills, or sell my car to avoid parking anywhere ever again? In the immediate future, though, the plan is to sleep. It's free. Whew!

"Conscience doth make cowards of us all."- WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, Hamlet

:)