Rent In Chicago Is A Real Bitch

But I already knew that, having rented here for the previous eight years before this past February. I'm just being reminded of it looking over apartment listings as I get ready to get out of this basement by July 1. It's looking more and more like a tiny studio, like the one I had in 1997 and 1998 but hopefully without the roaches and mice. There's not much in a one-bedroom in the city that I can afford on my salary. I've had "Laurie" in Detroit and my friend in Memphis tell me how cheap their respective cities are, and I remember "Sarah" telling me how little it cost to get a place down in Springfield, IL. Hell, I even remember "Giselle" telling me between kisses during our little "high school reunion" in 2002 that when she was going to school in Florida, she and her man were renting a two-bedroom house for much less than the one-bedroom apartment that I was living in at the time. So the solution is clear: Move to some city I don't know and hopefully find work there while rooming with someone...oh wait, I was going to do that with my last three girlfriends. Never mind. Guess I'm staying here.

I've got a couple of offers to contemplate in the next couple of weeks. My gambling buddy, who just accepted an envelope stuffed with cash from me a couple of months ago thanks to the motherfucking Steelers, owns a building on the far South Side, and he wants to give me a two-bedroom for $600, which sounds way too good to be true. And today my aunt told me that the old lady on the first floor here is out at the end of the month, and she would give me that one-bedroom for $600, which sounds great since I'm already here, except there's no laundry on the premises and it's not easy to get to work from this area. But it's definitely a fallback that I would not be upset with. So at least I now have a plan of action: Look for a place closer to my job with the amenities that I want for a few weeks, and if I'm disappointed with my findings, get ready to move all my shit upstairs. Either way, no more fear of a sewer blockage and subsequent flood by the end of this month. Celebration time. Come on!

For Once, Turning My Stubbornness Into A Positive

I am officially a full-time associate at J.P. Morgan Chase as of June 1st. As you remember, I posted a few weeks ago that I was not pulling any overtime hours despite their desire to have me work six days a week while they're backed up because I would be doing more than full-time hours at part-time status. I distictly remember a recent Tuesday when a co-worker was scheduled to go to training and therefore leave a void on the floor. They separately sent two floor leads and my supervisor to request that I come in that Tuesday, which is one of my off days. I had to resist laughing in their faces. The corporate decision when I was hired along with several other new workers was to give some of them full-time status immediately, but not me and not a couple others. Why? I don't know. But I knew damn well that they were not about to screw me with that decision, then turn around and have me put in forty plus hours anyway. Not a chance in hell. So basically, by asking for full-time status and indirectly refusing to do overtime until then, I held my breath until they gave in. Finally, being a Capricorn paid off.

Speaking of the gig, I believe I called it CEDA Lite after the first week or so because of some oddities and inadequacies that I felt were not befitting a professional corporation. After three months, it's not as bad. I am getting a clearer and clearer picture of how they do bidness up in there. I can't complain about the constant meetings because at least they're trying to keep us informed of some of the goings-on. I am not letting the personality quirks of some colleagues get on my nerves as I would before. Quite the opposite, I'm making those quirks the highlights of my day, enjoying the entertainment value of the one chick who still has yet to come in on a Sunday morning sober from my observation; or the team lead who didn't start her new job that long before I did, leading to consistently inaccurate advice on basically every problem I've approached her with; or the supervisor with the broken English who learned her people skills watching "Happy Days," sticking a thumbs-up at everyone when she praises them (or a "hang-ten" sign on one occasion, throwing the earth into reverse rotation briefly); or the old lady who thinks she knows everything better than everyone else and takes Godfather-like scorn on anyone who thinks otherwise and doesn't kiss her proverbial ring. And what can you say about the older woman who smiled upon learning my name and softly asked, "You're not crazy, are you? I've never known anyone by that name who wasn't crazy."

I could only laugh and assure her that, yes, this Dre is crazy, too.

Sports Weekend

Some of my worthless thoughts on this past wild sports weekend:

• Michael Barrett is a bitch who should be shot in the head. Barrett is the Cubs catcher who blocked home plate while White Sox catcher A.J. Pierzynski tried to score during the Cubs-Sox game Saturday, and he got ran over because he wouldn't get out of the way. He then staggered to his feet, grabbed A.J., reportedly said "I didn't have the ball bitch," and sucker-punched him. I listened to this happen live on the radio while I worked, and I couldn't wait to get home to see the highlights because the national media on ESPN Radio doing updates made a big deal about Pierzynski going towards Barrett after he scored, which wouldn't make sense because the play was over. Sure enough, the replay showed Pierzynski stepping in the direction of Barrett and starting to bend down to pick up his helmet. Barrett grabbed his arm, stood him up, and punched him in the grill. Why? Well, he is a Cub, and they haven't shown any spark all season--really, all of their existence as a franchise--so maybe this was his way of trying to rally his squad to show how tough they can be. Or maybe he was embarrassed because A.J. jacked him up like a linebacker spearing a running back. Either way, there's gonna be some violence in a month when the Sox go to Wrigley Field, and I'm not even talking about on the field. I'm just disappointed the Sox couldn't complete the sweep yesterday and shut the Cubbies and their fans up completely. But that's nothing new. The Sox often take two of three games from the Cubs at U.S. Cellular Field because they get tight and start making dumb errors and choke away one of the games. I went to a Sunday Cubs-Sox game several years ago where the brooms were out for a Sox sweep, and they hit five homers that day and managed to lose. It's frustrating to outperform a AAA team in every way all weekend and manage to lose the last game. Hopefully they will take advantage next go-round.

• I admittedly don't know anything about steroids and the effects the drug has on the body, but I remember when the rumors about Mark McGwire were flying in the early and mid-90s. A lot of the speculation centered around McGwire's frequent injuries and how he must be juicing because his muscles are just too big for his tendons and bones, making his body more susceptible to freakish breaks and strains. The same was said for many other muscular players who kept breaking things, including Kyle Farnsworth, who, as a Cub a few years ago, kicked a fan (a wind-blowing device, not a human) in frustration and broke his foot. Barry Bonds looks like he's in a severe amount of pain any time he has to run hard. His knees reportedly have no cartilage left, so it's just bone grinding on bone at this point. But his steroid use is said to have started around the beginning of the millennium in response to McGwire's power numbers and popularity. Perhaps Bonds avoided freakish injuries by maintaining a healthy body all of his life while starting to juice at a relatively later age. Perhaps the knee cartilage would have worn away anyhow; he is in his early 40s, after all. I'm not sure if anything can be definitively answered as far as steroid use and its effects until some weird science lab steps forward and starts a long-term test using human "guinea pigs." Until then, it's just a lot of speculation. By the way, freak steroid injuries came into my mind after seeing Preakness favorite Barbaro break his leg in three places shortly after the race began. Who knows if steroids are the reason Barbaro won the Kentucky Derby by the biggest distance in forty years. But one has to wonder after seeing him crack his rear ankle like an egg.

• As one of Michael Jordan's biggest fans, I am officially afraid of what LeBron James may be on his way to becoming. There are very few guys that had his combination of skills, determination, conditioning, and savvy at his age. I wasn't watching basketball yet when Magic Johnson led the Los Angeles Lakers to a title at the age of 21 playing every position on the floor, but that's the comparison I'm hearing most. And Jordan wasn't near this good at this point in his career. LeBron almost took a pretty weak Cleveland Cavaliers squad and led them to a series win over the Detroit Pistons, who damn near matched the 95-96 Bulls' 70-12 regular season beatdown of the rest of the NBA and who were heavy favorites to win the title, much less their second-round series with the Cavs. LeBron has several things that MJ doesn't. He has the court vision to find open teammates, which usually develops at that young age only in future point guards. Jordan was too busy trying to win games by himself to work on finding open teammates. He has a body of armor, which allows him to take the ball to the basket and score on basically anyone living as well as give people headaches when he plays defense because you're not taking him to the post and bullying him around, so scratch that strategy completely. Most importantly, he already has a sense of how to play the game at an NBA level. Consider that Jordan didn't make his JV high school team, whereas LeBron has been touted as a future star since before high school. In this culture, it's possible to ignore all other aspects of an impoverished ghetto upbringing and become a student of the game as soon as you can dribble a ball. And that's partly because of Jordan and Magic and the popularity explosion of the NBA twenty-plus years ago. Whereas parents were more likely to take the ball away and try to guide their kids towards a different goal, now they're much more likely to encourage practice and playing as much as possible, seeing the riches potentially awaiting the next young baller and his peeps. And if you've read anything about LeBron's upbringing and his mother, you know why he is the latest product of that mentality of sweeping aside all other things and devoting oneself to basketball very early in life. And because the game is so much a part of who he is, that's why he could become the greatest of them all--there's never been anything else for him to concentrate on.

"Fuck The Cubs"

That was White Sox manager Ozzie Guillen's eloquent response to repeated questions about the Cubs-Sox series this weekend. Glad to see Ozzie's been listening to me tell my friends what the huge banner I'm going to put in right field at U.S. Cellular when I buy the Sox will read. Seriously. I said that years ago. It was going to be the perfect rallying cry for the new attitude the team would have under my ownership--to stop focusing on the crosstown Cubbies and start focusing on winning baseball. But since they are now playing winning baseball, I would just put the banner up to piss everyone off.

Ozzie also said that if the Sox were playing shit ball like the Cubs are now, there would be like 2,000 people at the Cell. I love how Cubs fans take that as a sign that they are true fans--because they come to Wrigley Field knowing the team sucks and the Tribune Company, which owns the Cubs, won't do anything to improve it as long as dumbfucks keep showing up at the park and giving the team money. I don't think fans stopped showing up for the Sox and kept seeing the Cubs when both teams were bad because the Cubs have better fans. I think it's because Sox fans, unlike Cub fans, don't like being screwed from behind. Hey, I call it like I see it. A manager who can't manage, a president and general manager who know their two best pitchers are extremely injury prone and yet don't acquire any help, and ownership who could care less...and they still draw 38,000 fans a game? They must love getting it up the ass in Wrigleyville. The more they get screwed, the more they come. They just can't stop coming and coming and coming over there.

All that screwing up the butt with no objections...makes total sense that the Cubbies play in Boys Town.

Finally, Some Down Time

Boy does it feel good to come home on a Monday and not go straight to school after work. The semester crashed to an end last week with three finals exams for me on three consecutive days, and of course that was followed by my usual off-center work week of Thursday through Monday. And tomorrow starts my first weekend in a long time where I don't have to go anywhere or do anything. Naturally, my job wanted me to come in tomorrow and work overtime because they're a little short right now. Sorry, Charlie. You need people to work more hours, you should have hired me full-time instead of part-time. Just on principle, I'm not doing overtime until they make me a full-time associate. What's the difference? Well, full-timers get more performance bonus money and a higher ceiling in tuition reimbursement, among other perks. I also would have had insurance immediately upon my hire instead of waiting for my ninetieth day, which occurred this past Saturday. But really, I may have considered saying no to OT if I were already full time, just because I want the rest. My dad and I visited my aunt Sunday for Mother's Day after I got off work, and I was snoring on the couch within a few minutes because I was so tired. I need to chill, even if it's a couple of days. I bought a "Nature Boy" Ric Flair DVD on the way home, I found my tape of the 2002 World Series Game 7 so that I can remind myself why Dusty Baker sucks dick as a baseball manager, I got cold soda in the mini fridge, and I am ready to do some serious unwinding tomorrow and Wednesday. At least, as much unwinding as I can do in between marathon spider-killing sessions. Sigh. I hate living in a basement.

Oh, and it's not a good idea to try to be smooth and suave on the phone when you're this tired. My ladyfriend in Memphis was telling me a few nights ago how much she enjoyed hearing my voice and she said when I said her full name it was like she was hearing it for the first time. So I put on my sexiest voice and said...the wrong last name. Yessir, smooth as Ex-Lax.

A Possible Corollary?

Funny yet sorta eerie story about what happened to me Saturday and maybe an immediate strike of karma, or sign from God, or something else scary and unexplainable:

This actually starts Friday, when I took a box of Pop-Tarts to the Osco cashier along with a basket full of other groceries and he set the Pop-Tarts aside in order to ring up everything else and forgot about the Pop-Tarts. I got home and noticed the missing box, but when I checked the receipt it wasn't on there, so he never charged me anyway. No harm, no foul. So I went back to the Osco after work Saturday to buy the Pop-Tarts that I was feening for. The guy who was my cashier Friday saw me shopping and said that he remembered me and that I left my Pop-Tarts and something else, to which I replied, "Maybe some juice," and he agreed with me. I did buy a few bottles of juice, but I had all of them when I got home. I just said it because I wanted him to think that he forgot to put that in my bag too. He told me to let the woman working the register know when I got up there, and I wouldn't be charged for my Pop-Tarts and another bottle of juice. I said okay and even got his name so that I wouldn't have any hassle from her when I pulled my scam. But while waiting in line, I had a change of heart and decided that I didn't want to pull off the scam after all. I got in a bit of an argument with the little voice in my head trying to tell me that I would be a moron not to go through with it before compromising and deciding that I would pull off the scam anyway if the guy came to the register and told the cashier about the situation. I justified it by saying that it would be rude to not let the guy do what he thought was a good deed. But really, I knew that I was being a snake by not speaking up and telling the truth. Well, the guy did just that when I got to the counter, and I allowed it to happen and walked out with my free groceries feeling more ashamed of this minor theft than I ever thought I would. But I didn't turn around and fix things, I just got on my bus and headed home.

I have been very tired lately, so I usually doze off on the way home, and when I do that, I have my arm extended against the window so that I can set my Walkman on top of my forearm in order to get a good reception on the AM dial and listen to sports talk radio. This bus hung a hard right turn, and the apparently loose emergency lock on my window broke free. So in my sleepy daze, my arm pushed the window wide open, and my Walkman went flying off my arm and onto the street. I let out a girlish shriek at the shock of what happened, and then I had to wait for the bus to drive a block to the next bus stop before I could get off and retrieve my beloved old-school Walkman. But it was too late. When I made it back to the spot where we turned, someone had already ran over it, and the thing was lying in the middle of the street, flatter than a pancake. Two things survived this accident, however. One was the battery. Amazingly, I was able to open the destroyed personal stereo and retrieve my rechargeable battery, ever so slightly dented at one end but otherwise just fine. The other item that survived was the cassette tape that I was listening to that day, because the Walkman must have popped open upon hitting the ground and spit my cassette out. The tape was lying a few feet away from the flattened Walkman unharmed. If this whole scene was some sign from God, it was a very ironic sign, because of exactly what tape I happened to have that day.

It was Black Sabbath.

Now I'm totally fucked in the head, because I'm thinking, if this was God telling me to stop being a dick and always do the right thing, wouldn't He have spared the Walkman and gleefully destroyed the Black Sabbath tape?? Or was it just bad karma? Or am I reading way too much into the whole damn thing, as usual? I do know this much: In all my years of having a Walkman, almost every day of my life starting in eighth grade, I have never had something like this happen. I've dropped it a million times, on occasion near sewer grates and other assorted holes in the ground, I've banged it against walls, I even tried to change my batteries once while standing on an elevated platform, and I dropped a battery onto the street several stories below, but I've never had a Walkman destroyed like this. And I know one more thing: I'm holding my next Walkman in my hand at all times and getting the best reception I can in that manner, and if it's not a good reception, I'll just have to live with it.

Boy, the shit that happens to me...

The World Keeps Spinning, And So Does My Head

Just taking a moment to chill before classes tonight. Finals are next week, so lots of studying on the agenda this weekend, after work, of course. This weekend work schedule doesn't affect me until I have to get up and go to classes on my two days off, Tuesday and Wednesday. Then I start cursing and grunting, you know, acting like myself. I absolutely cannot wait until this semester is over, even if I will have to start paying my own way to work since my student bus pass will expire. I'm just too tired to enjoy any free time I have. I'm already sad because not only will I miss attending the Kentucky Derby this weekend, but things have been so crazy this year thus far, I had not even had time to watch any of the horses competing this year. So no Derby, no wild weekend in Louisville, not even an official pick. I'll just have to pick up where I left off next year. I'm so tired that I woke up one morning a couple of weeks ago sweating and trying to catch my breath, afraid to stand because I was so dizzy. The lady I visited in Memphis says that those could be symptoms of a mild heart attack. I don't know about that, but it wasn't a pleasant feeling. At least a couple of people who irritate me at work are off this week, so that's some peace. I will be finding a new apartment come June or July, I just haven't decided which ghetto I'm moving to since I can't afford to go back near the lake on this salary. But my ladyfriend has heard me killing spiders while talking to her on the phone several times, and she has indicated that she's staying her ass right there in Memphis until I get out of that basement. Can't blame her one bit.

Finally, I haven't decided if I think all of the attention that the kids going for the spelling bee title have received in the last few years is frightening or cute. There's the movies about spelling, as well as a play running here in Chicago. There's the national media focus on the most, um, unique spellers; they played that clip of the boy fainting last year so many times that I can see it in my mind's eye clearly as if I just saw it aagin. Today, I just read that the National Spelling Bee finals will be televised in primetime on ABC this year, following the ten years or so that it has been televised live in the afternoon on ESPN2. I guess that's not so bad. I didn't have cameras in my face when I misspelled "somizdot" in the 1990 National Spelling Bee, but I was already nervous enough in that auditorium full of people staring at me and my 14-year-old manboobs, so I don't know if cameras would have mattered. What sent me reeling a few years ago was finding an online gambling site with posted odds for each speller. I don't know how the hell anyone can handicap a field of over 200 8th-graders (actually, whatever grade each happens to be, but 8th is the limit) from all over the country, but absolutely any method is wrong. If you go by the stereotypical name of the contestant--i.e., making the favorite a girl named "Patel" because those India natives sure are smart--then that's ignorant and racist. If you go by location, then that's dumb because the best spellers don't come from the same city or area every year. If you go by past experience--some spellers have competed in the Nationals before, maybe even three or four times--then that's somewhat understandable, but then how do you rank all the ones that are rookies? And of course, you can't go by age because they're all about the same, with maybe ten or twenty outliers age 11 or younger. I don't understand it at all. It's enough for the kids to deal with just to have made it that far. Do they need Uncle Willie having a secret talk with them before they fly to Washington about how they really have to do their best because there's a C-note riding on it? Do they need Vito and his henchmen approaching them outside their hotel rooms offering special favors if they slip on a word in the 4th round? Or threatening them if they don't slip? Seems silly, but when you talk about gambling, stranger things have happened.

And That's Why The Houston Texans Will Always Be The Houston Texans

The Texans tried as hard as they could all last season to suck dick bad enough to earn the #1 overall draft pick, and they succeeded. Waiting for them at the draft was the most talented college player and one of the most hyped players ever, USC running back Reggie Bush. But because Bush apparently wanted more money in his rookie contract than the Texans felt he deserved, instead of taking the best talent and negotiating with him, they passed him up and took some defensive lineman no one ever heard of.

In other news, Bill Gates announced that he didn't like the way the Lamborghini dealer wouldn't haggle with him over price, so he purchased a 1989 black Subaru Justy instead.

One More Post About Race, Then I'll Shut Up (Maybe)

Some excerpts from Rick Telander's column in today's Chicago Sun-Times:

"...it was with distress that I read Dwyane Wade's comment about teammate Udonis Haslem's tossing of his mouthguard at a ref in Game 2 of the Bulls-Heat series.

'I don't think he would do nothing like that intentionally,' Wade said.

The sentiment's fine.

I mean the grammar.

The double negative, harmless as it seems -- maybe used for effect, maybe not -- connected in my mind for an instant the depressing bridge between the tenuous, alluring fame of black male stars in professional sports and the reality of the failing young black male in American society.

...getting smart is too often ridiculed by black youths as 'acting white.'

Dwyane Wade always has seemed like a good sort, and his heart and talent are unquestioned.

But I can't help wondering about the message he and his peers give to scholastically impoverished kids, simply by doing things as apparently inconsequential as speaking incorrectly."

An open letter to Rick Telander:

Dear Rick,
You're a fucking asshole. How many columns have you done about Dwyane Wade donating money to his old high school here in Chicago, Richards High? What about the scoreboard he bought for the school? What about all of the other things he does for the community that I don't know about but you could easily discover if you felt like doing some actual Goddamn journalism? What about the fact that he married the mother of his children while in college at Marquette University and is one of very few sports superstars of any color under the age of 25 raising a family as a married man? What about his complete lack of a criminal record, or lack of embarrassing acts on or off the court, or lack of arrogance when dealing with the public, or lack of the potty mouth owned by people like me? This man is as much of a positive role model as arguably any other black athlete alive today. What the fuck would motivate you to tear him down because he used a double negative in an interview? What is your fucking problem?? Pretend for one second that you had never ran a positive column about Cal Ripken, Jr., and then when you finally decide to address him, it's to rip him because you saw him spit on the field. You would never do that, would you? Neither you nor any one of your white colleagues would EVER look at a white star athlete with a reputation as a great guy and say, "Boy, this guy did something small that showed his imperfections...I need to crucify him in my column for that." It would never happen. But you have no qualms doing that to Dwyane Wade. He's not one of you, so it's no big deal. You may not think you have anything in common with James Earl Ray or the lynchers in the South from the early and mid 1900s, Rick, but since you want to compare Wade using a double negative to the "failing young black male in American society," whatever that means, I'll compare you to the coward racists of the past: You can't see a good, hardworking, successful black person as just a person because that would mean true equality, which scares the shit out of you. So, just like Ray and the lynchers, you find a weakness in that strong black person and attack it, and you keep telling yourself that it's right and it's necessary because the blacks deserve it. You're a piece of shit, your column is birdcage liner, and you have no balls if you haven't taken this sentiment you feel right to Wade's face and confronted him with it, but I'm guessing you haven't because you know how ignorant it is.

And who are these black youths you hang around who think that getting smart is "acting white?" Because that sounds suspiciously like a stereotype with no actual basis, spewed not by anyone you've actually heard but by the voices in your little head.

In closing: Fuck off.

Would Jackie Approve?

Just saw a beer commercial with Spike Lee in which someone in a bar asks him what historical figure he'd like to have a beer with. He answers Jackie Robinson, and after some career highlights, the bar patrons, led by Spike, raise their glasses and toast JR. Imagine for a second that the product being hawked was a hit of X, or a doobie, or even a legal product, a cigarette. Wouldn't it be a disguting thought that Jackie Robinson's name was being used as a "tribute" and was being tied into that drug as if he endorsed it or possibly used it when he was alive? Wouldn't it seem totally inappropriate?

What's the difference??

Random Thought

I was listening to "Gonna Make You Sweat" by C+C Music Factory on the radio on my way to work Saturday, and it still sounded fresh, like it could be a club cut today. That made me think about when the song came out, and I realized that it was a hit around Christmas 1990. And I screamed out loud to no one: "THAT WAS 15 FUCKING YEARS AGO?!?"

Fuck, I'm old.

I Really Need To Stop Watching ESPN

The way ESPN has been hyping the NFL Draft for the last couple of weeks--even harder than they had been since the Steelers won the Super Bowl in February--I just assumed that it was going to take place last weekend. Nope. Not even this weekend, but next weekend. The reason this isn't good is because I'm all jacked up for this draft, anticipating that it's going to be the best and deepest in quite some time, but is that because of the players invloved, or because ESPN is hyping the hell out of it? And would they be hyping the hell out of it if they weren't televising the draft as well as, starting this upcoming season, Monday Night Football? It's reminiscent of the way they have been treating any Barry Bonds news with kid gloves. We're supposed to believe that ESPN ignoring a damning book about Bonds and his supposed steroid regimen that came out when spring training started just happened, that it had nothing to do with the fact that they started airing a reality series called "Bonds On Bonds" a few weeks ago. Barry Bonds is a black man that is hated by America because he doesn't know his place and won't bow and shuffle for The Man. Since when has the media tried to be fair and show his side of anything? But ESPN is bending over backwards, avoiding anything that may sound accusatory and begging those watching to please tune in to the reality show to get Barry's side of the story. How quickly will they return to making jokes about the size of his head on SportsCenter once this reality show has finished airing? And yes, I know he used steroids. It's pretty fucking obvious. My point is that ESPN should be reporting the news objectively, not lying in bed with the newsmakers and having those relationships color the way they cover the news. I'm not very far away from vowing to not watch ESPN anymore unless there's an actual game I want to see. Anything else on that network seems to be for the purpose of promoting its business interests, and that's a huge turn-off.

As far as the rest of my life, everything is very fragile and unsteady right now. The friend whom I visited last week told me last night that my lack of understanding about religion--she feels that I don't share her beliefs--is a major obstacle to anything further developing between us, and that whole situation is in limbo now. I am still trying to figure out how I am going to handle my expenses if I move into a new apartment on my current salary. A second job instead of summer classes may be in my future. And I just received a couple of errors on my first job, but I was supposed to be protected from errors during my probation period because the team lead is supposed to be quality checking all of my work before it gets to the point where an error pops up. Apparently, she's not. But, once again, that's not something that I should be getting upset about with anyone but myself. If I don't fuck up, there's no errors. Period. I could laugh at the e-mail that I received from a former co-worker at CEDA which indicated that the big boss and a colleague supposedly have been canned for screwing the female underlings. But that just makes me sad for two reasons: 1, that a couple of black men made it that far in their professions only to throw away their progress for some tail, and 2, that pigs like that even made it that far to begin with, since I will never sniff the top of any company because I'm not big enough of an asshole to join such an exclusive club. Nice guys finish last, indeed.

The Joys Of A Normal Date

Back home from my latest excursion, and boy, did I feel good about this trip. No sex, no making out, no pressure to perform, just enjoying someone's company and getting to know each other, the way it's supposed to be. We visited the Civil Rights Museum yesterday, and that was a sobering experience because it's built around the motel room that Martin Luther King Jr. was staying in when he was assassinated. So you see the Lorraine Motel sign out front and the old school cars parked where the room was, and you get to walk almost right up to the spot on the balcony where he was shot, and the rooms that he and his associates were staying in have been remade and preserved so that the day is frozen in time. Then you go across the street and see a recreation of the bathroom that James Earl Ray stood in to get the angle of the shot, and when you look out the window and see how easy it was to get a clear shot, it's very chilling. Combine that with the exhibits that give you a feel of how blacks have been treated throughout the years, and it makes you sad and angry at the same time. I realized during my stay that Memphis is the farthest south that I have ever been, and the waitress at IHOP constantly using "y'all" was a gentle reminder. But my friend recounting some of the times she's been called racist names was a harsh reminder, because I've never been called any of those names. The way Memphis is segregated was a very interesting thing to witness as well. I should be used to segregation here in Chicago, but seriously, we're very tolerant and mixed compared to Memphis. I hardly saw any group that had blacks and whites together socially, and I don't think I saw any Latinos at all. And I never saw so many pickup trucks, lol. But my friend lives right on the border of a suburb, a very peaceful neighborhood, and her life seems to be very calm and ordered, which I admire. She's grounded, she's intelligent, she's attractive, and she likes me. It was very easy to enjoy the two days I spent with her. I'm not sure when we will get together again, but when we do, we will continue to get closer and build on the friendship and trust that we established in our first meeting, and we will become more comfortable with each other, and the relationship will grow. Naturally. The way it's supposed to be.

So Far, So Good

MEMPHIS--Just wanted to hop online this morning and say how much I enjoyed spending yesterday with my new friend. We watched a couple of movies, talked about anything and everything until late last night, then I went to the hotel that she offered to set up for me. I will meet her today and see a little bit of Memphis before I have to get back on a plane and come home this evening. I don't want to leave. In fact, I woke up marveling over how happy I feel right now, how this whole situation feels so right...and how frightened as hell that makes me. There are a lot of obstacles in our way, such as the logistics, our jobs, the opposition of some people around us to our meeting in the first place, etc. But the way I feel after one day, I want to fight through those issues and give us a good, solid chance to work. I want this badly. And for a change, I think she does too.

...And The Scourge Continues...

Saying No To A Woman (For The Very First Time)

So I'm sitting there Friday night at my aunt's house waiting for my laundry to finish the spin cycle when I get a text message. I got excited because the lady I am visiting next week had not talked to me in a couple of days while preparing for a weekend retreat, and I assumed she was giving me a quick hello, which I would have done to her earlier but I didn't want to disrupt her. Instead, it was "Shelley" telling me that her school asked if she wanted to renew the loan that I co-signed for her at the end of last year. You know, the loan that she received and then dumped me right after getting the first check. Due to old habits of doing anything a woman asks me to do and the fact that I did tell Shelley that I would help her any way I could (before I read her e-mail and found out that she had multiple sex partners while telling me that she wasn't seeing anyone else), my first reaction was to text her back, "Tell me what I have to do." She tried to call again and talk, but I have been ignoring her messages and e-mails since she dumped me, and I didn't answer this call because I really had no desire to talk to her. So why did I arrange through text message to meet her Monday after I got off work to do the paperwork for the loan renewal? I'm sure there are deeper psychological reasons that I haven't explored, but the basic reality seems to be that I am so lonely and horny and desperate to be loved that my initial reaction to a woman walking all over me is to lay down and allow it. Even after all the reflecting and vowing to never let someone screw me like that again right after it happened, I had agreed to incredibly LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN.

But common sense kicked in, and I spent the next three days deciding how I was going to tell Shelley that I was not going to renew the loan after all. I knew that it would be hard, I knew that Shelley would give me all kinds of hell and guilt trips and sobbing, but I didn't call or text and cancel the meeting because the one-on-one face-to-face meeting had to happen sometime, and I wanted to be as soon as possible so that I could make it clear once and for all that I was through with her. Some people can be adults and do the grown-up thing no problem. I don't know how to be an adult. I have to basically guess at what an adult would do in certain situations and then attempt to copy that method. And I came to the conclusion that the most adult thing to do here would be to meet Shelley face-to-face, tell her that I'm sorry that I led her on and made her think that I was going to renew the loan but that I can't do it because I don't trust her, let her get her feelings and frustrations out, hang in there, don't give in, repeat that I can't let myself get used again, and leave.

And that's exactly what I did. Oh, she gave me the works too as far as trying every trick to persuade me and lead me to think that not only would she be willing to try again to have a relationship with me if I renewed, but that she would have to drop out of school and default on the loan if I didn't renew, putting me in the exact situation that I fear, having to pay the loan off myself since she doesn't work. So what she was saying is, either co-sign for ANOTHER $13,000 loan and take confidence that she will use that money to finish her studies, get a great job, and pay off the loan no problem, or don't co-sign for another loan and watch her have to default and stick me with the original $13,000. She completely ignored the possibility that she would default on BOTH loans and stick me with $26,000. She acted as if there was absolutely no chance that would happen. She said that somehow co-signing these loans work out great for me because they go as positives on my credit report. She didn't mention the negatives of the default that is sure to come. She claimed that the reason she was so bitchy to me all the time and the reason that she needed space when she dumped me is that she was dealing with the trauma of a miscarriage. This is the absolute first time she has ever mentioned a fucking miscarriage. One of her roommates was at the restaurant where we met, and she vouched for everything Shelley said, which made me wonder if she was just going along with Shelley's improvisations on the spot or whether they actually sat there and hatched this bullshit together in advance. It took all my strength not to laugh right in her face when she threw that at me. I give her credit, she gave a hell of show trying to convince me that she liked me all along and that she was feeling better about things and was ready to try again with me...if only I'll co-sign another loan for her. She grabbed my hands, she cried a river, she made her bottom lip shake when she described the horror of not knowing she was even pregnant until she lost the fetus while on the toilet, she begged and pleaded with me a million times to just trust her and that I was her last hope. But she did some things--besides dumping me when she got the money and giving me her e-mail password and letting me see what kind of a slut she was, of course--that betrayed her sob story. When I arrived at the restaurant, the first thing she did was hug me, but the second thing she did was whip out the paperwork for me to sign, even before I sat down. She was always about the money, from the moment she sensed that she could use me and that I would allow it. She claimed that she was just about to buy tickets for us to see the musical "Rent"--but if she has no money and needs this loan, where was she going to get the cash to do that? She once again never mentioned the possibility of finding a new apartment as a way of lessening her financial burden; I guess a crib overlooking the lake on South Michigan Avenue is too juicy to give up. And, most importantly, she never mentioned any other method of supporting herself. I must have asked her a hundred times what she would be doing now if I hadn't signed the first loan and what she's going to do now that I won't sign another, and she was so bent on making me feel guilty that she presented absolutely no contingency plan. "Guess I'll move back to St. Louis and be homeless," she had the nerve to say once. But I didn't budge. I suppose at some point I could have put the shit from her e-mails that I read on the proverbial table, but in a way that wasn't the point. Whether she's a cumsponge or not, I had to stand up and tell her in no uncertain terms that I was not going to do this "favor" for her because it jeopardizes my future and I have to think about myself for once instead of giving everything of myself to someone else and getting nothing back.

She said "I knew you weren't going to do this. Thanks a lot" as I got up and left. After all I had done for her, she still was spinning it in her mind as if I was doing her some great injustice. Unbelievable. But it's over. I looked a woman--a white woman no less, swearing her purity and innocence and trustworthiness as if it were the gospel--in the eye and I said no. And I'm not looking back.

Taking The Good With The Bad

Good news for those of you that hate me: My school bus pass got eaten by the train turnstile last Wednesday, and the CTA made me wait a week for them to mail a new pass not to me but to my school instead of just retrieving my pass from said turnstile and giving it back to me. Gotta love the CTA. They gave me a 5-day pass, but then told me that it takes 5 to 7 days for the new pass to be mailed to my school, in essence telling me in regards to those days after the 5-day pass expires that the U-Pass hasn't arrived at the school yet: "Uh, we don't give a fuck." And sure enough, the pass had not arrived yesterday, meaning I had to pay to get to school today. Oh, and this morning the sewer backed up and my basement flooded. Someone have a handgun I can borrow?

Bad news for those of you that hate me: The U-Pass was there at school today, and I just called my aunt's husband, who said that he got his crew and cleared the sewer blockage and that "everything's secured." Oh, and the lady that I am visiting in two weeks hasn't backed out yet. Guess I don't need that handgun after all.

The Three 6 Mafia Plague Continues To Spread

Priorities, Priorities

A couple of incidents where I wonder why I value the things that I value:

First, the reason that I am home today, Sunday, when my work schedule says that I should be at work, is because I used the one sick day that I have accrued by being at J.P. Morgan Chase for a month because I wanted to take part in the live fantasy baseball draft for the free online league that my friend "Jacob" and his friends and I have every year. I hated the idea of trying to rank every player in order of preference for a 12-team, 20-plus-round draft and letting the computer pick automatically for me because I always wind up with guys that I didn't want. I'm very glad that I was there live because I had the #1 pick and I was so proud to be able to click on Alex Rodriguez and take him live instead of getting home and seeing it later. Not the same feeling, not by a long shot. I was also happy to chat with the guys and Jacob's mom and girlfriend and talk shit with them. I think the best line this year occurred when someone drafted Alex Gonzalez. There are two different shortstops in the major leagues named Alex Gonzalez, and neither are All-World or anything, but one used to be a Cub and he sucked, so Jacob the Cub fan really hates him. So he says: "I hope that was the good Alex Gonzalez that got taken," and I said, "There's a good Alex Gonzalez?!?," and Jacob said, "Uh, there's a better one," to which I replied, "That's like saying one of my exes looks better than the other--they're still all crap." His girlfriend didn't appreciate that one.

The other measure of my priorities comes in the fact that I am once again planning a trip out of state to meet a woman from the internet. My aunt didn't like that idea, first obviously because of my poor track record with these encounters, but also because she isn't charging me rent to stay in the dungeon here and she wonders if I'm taking advantage of her by using some of my money to make this trip when I'm supposed to be saving up to get an apartment. I completely understand her feelings, but I'm actually not using the cash that I'm saving for the trip. I have always put those trips on my credit card, so technically, my actual cash flow is not affected at all. But my aunt knows that if she asks for money to help cover the costs of me staying down here, of course I would oblige. At least I'm not flying somewhere for a booty call. The woman that I am meeting is actually a virgin and prefers to wait until marriage to change that, so this connection is completely driven by our attraction to each other's spirits and personalities, and not our bodies. Hell, the most recent picture she showed me is a very conservative shot from four years ago, so I'm definitely not going there for the lust factor that has governed so many of my past poor decisions. This is about a potential soulmate and seeing if the spark and chemistry is as strong in person as it seems to be over the telephone. Of course, I have to wonder how much of it on my part is the soulmate factor, and how much is simply me prioritizing happiness and acceptance from a woman over everything else. And I have to hope that this does not turn out bad like all the other relationships I've had. No matter how much love and passion and caring I poured into the women in my past, I always came out hurt and heartbroken in the end. This should be different because my motivation is so different. Instead of looking for love and acceptance in the vagina of a woman, I'm sticking to matters of the heart and spirit, and so long as there's honesty and openness on both sides, whatever the outcome, it should be mutual and drama-free. And I'm at a place where I will not place all of the value and all of my joy on her shoulders, because I finally realize that I can't put that burden on anyone's shoulders. I am in charge of my happiness and joy from life. This lady, should she choose to accompany me throughout life, is only a potential partner sharing that joy, NOT the sole source of my future joy. As long as I keep that in mind and keep the pressure off of her, I anticipate things will go smoothly. At least, as smoothly as things can go between two shy, intense, passionate people who want a future with each other very badly.

Beat The White Sox If You Can, Survive...If They Let You!

I knew there was a reason why I've always loved A.J. Pierzynski and Ozzie Guillen.

http://deadspin.com/sports/baseball/why-we-cant-take-the-white-sox-seriously-161716.php