(black) card games.

So the other day when I was talking with a (black) administrative assistant at school, she had mentioned that on the weekend her friend had had a card party that she went to.

"Like what kind of cards?", I was like. "Poker? Canasta? Uno?"

"[the nickname version of my first name]," she was like, "Don't you know I'm black?"

"What does that have to do with anything?", I was like.

Then, she told me that the card game that (black) people tend to play - not just in the city, but across the U.S. - is "bid whist".

"It's like Spades," she was like, "Only with a different style of bidding."

Innovative utensils.

The other day when I was at school I had left my fork in my big backpack I had up in my day locker, so when I was sitting out at lunchtime with my tupperware full of pasta in onion-garlic-oil sauce, I used a pencil and a pen to make chopsticks.

The rest of the day, whenever I used my pencil, I noticed that it felt oily.

Driver rudeness.

During the really bad heat spell, I was downtown after working in a library all day, and went to this nice patio to have coffee.

I had to cross at an intersection on a small street to go lock up my bike, and when I was walking back (with the light), this *gigantic* SUV inches up in front of me into the entire crosswalk and just keeps creeping forward, so I step around in front, and give the driver a glare through her tinted windshield.

When I'm walking past, I hear this woman's voice be like, "Take a chill pill," and I look back and it's this 30-something (white) woman with makeup, and with some (white) guy in the passenger seat in sunglasses.

"I'm sorry," I was like, "But your car was in the crosswalk, and I had a light and I dislike being intimidated like that. Pulling your car up like that is like you're a bully or something."

"Take a chill pill," she was like, again, and then she was like, "Be careful, I'm 9 months pregnant, and vicious."

After that, she said something again, and you could tell she was just self-satisfied that she was a bitch with an attitude, and I was like, "Oh, go fuck yourself!", and walked away, and she just laughed contentedly.

It was such an odd exchange. I'm thinking she's a headcase, and she knew she was in the wrong, so she tried to get a rise out of me to justify to herself that she was all right.

I wonder if I should have called the cops. If I had had a dog or a toddler or something, she could have nudged her car into them, and she did verbally accost and threaten me. One day she's going to hit a pedestrian or biker, which isn't good.

In any case, I should have been calm, because getting pissed at her just gave her pleasure.

NEWSFLASH - GOING TO WISCONSIN.

I'm going to Wisconsin on Sat. to volunteer for a Dem in a Tues. Aug. 16th recall election. Commuter rail goes there, and though I'd have to get up at 7am and take my bike so I can get from the station to the campaign office, it's totally doable.

I called the office to confirm they needed get-out-the-vote volunteers, too.

"Our office isn't near the station, though," the woman said on the phone.

"No worries," I was like, "You can take your bike for free, so I'll just bike over. It looked bikeable on the map. It is, isn't it?".

"I guess," she was like. "But I don't know. People don't do that here."

Stereotypes and birthday presents.

The other week I went with my one (light-skinned black) friend from Arkansas to a free concert downtown, because it was her birthday.

Before some of her friends came, she was telling me how her friend said she'd bake her whatever she wanted, and though she requested some banana bread, her friend insisted on making a two-layer strawberry cheesecake.

"I really don't know why," she was like.

"Maybe the idea of banana bread made her uncomfortable, because of the racial stereotyping of Africans as monkeys," I was like.

At that, she laughed, and was like, "Yeah, she wasn't too happy when she made me that watermelon cake last year and I sat around with a big ol' grin on my face eating it all day."

3 beach conversations (3 of 3): Another (black) lady.

The other weekend I decided to go to this beach off a peninsula, that I had always heard about, but never went to because it's tucked away and the bike path goes right by the head of the peninsula without an obvious way to bike out there.

So, I get there, and it's this beautiful beautiful short beach that's tucked away amidst all these trees, with grassy hillsides going down to the sand, and all these peaceful families grilling out and playing volleyball.

So, I set up my towel and read my Patti Smith book and got some sun, but then after an hour a(n old) (white) security guy pulls up.

As it turns out, because there's an open-air stage nearby and a concert starting that night, they were moving everyone to the very north tip of the beach, and cordoning off the rest of it. When I asked him why, the guy was like, "For your safety."

As soon as he leaves, this middle-aged (black) woman ("Shara") who had set up with her family on the grass a few yards away from me was like, "For your safety my ass, they just don't want anyone getting to see the concert for free."

So, we bitched about that, and then we were saying we should just stay there until the guy made us leave, because the people farther down the beach weren't getting ready to leave.

We did that for a while, but then pretty much everyone was gone, so we gave in and packed up.

"Where you sitting, [my name]?", she was like, "You're welcome to come set up by us!"

So, I did, and I was talking with her and her sister as her husband was down by the water with the kids. They even watched my stuff for me when I went to go take a dip before I left. Then, I had wanted to bike down the peninsula to see how the park there was set up, and they said I should go through the police barriers, because they had seen bikers doing that.

"If they catch you, play dumb," she was like. "Just say you didn't know what the barriers meant."

So, I did go bike that way, and when security wasn't looking I scooted through the barriers and onto the bike path, and it turned out that there was an outlet on the other side that wasn't being blocked by security, so I didn't even have to go back the way I came in.

And, when we were talking right before I left, it turns out they had come to that particular beach that day to hear the Jill Scott concert for free, and that 2 years ago when they had last done something like that, you could still sit on the beach all evening, they didn't block it off.

We agreed to write the Parks District, and maybe Jill Scott, too.

3 beach conversations (2 of 3): A (black) man.

Like a couple weeks later, I was down there again, and had locked my bike up on the same bench because the bike rack was full, and when I went to go get it off, there was a (black) man there in a dirty t-shirt smoking.

We both said good evening, then we started talking about what a nice evening it was.

Anyways, it turns out there's a little scenic building nearby that the Parks District rents out for weddings and events, and the guy has been the building manager there for the past 5 years.

"I'm always around here," he was like, "5 days a week during the summer."

When I said I don't think I had ever seen him at the park before, he said that's because a lot of times he's busy, and when he's not, he's taking a nap in the building somewhere.

He also was telling me about the building, and how there's this huge empty basement beneath it, though there's no indications from the outside.

He was also also telling me about how they have this nice kitchen where the caterers set up, and how it's reasonable to rent the building, but you have to choose from a given list of caterers, and that's where it starts getting expensive.

3 beach conversations (1 of 3): A (black) woman.

A while ago when I was down in my old neighborhood I had an evening swim by the beach.

The bike rack was full when I got there, so I had locked my bike to a bench, and when I came back to get it, there was an old (black) lady and an old (Jewish-looking lady) on the bench, enjoying the evening.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I was like, as I went to go unlock the bike. "I hope this hasn't bothered you! There wasn't any room when I got here."

"Oh no, not at all," the old (black) lady was like.

Then, we got into a long conversation about how warm the water was, etc., and she was telling me about how she swims at the Y.

I said that that's safe, because sometimes you're not sure about water quality, but I figure, it's better to swim than not to swim, since if you're not active, you might die early anyways, of heart disease.

She laughed, and said she swims anyways, though the chlorine really frizzes up my hair.

"But I don't do anything about it," she said, raising her hands up on both sides of her natural, "At my age I don't care anymore."