Last weekend I went to an Irish-American neighborhood in the far northwest of the city, and the 1st bar I hit up was this bar tucked away on a side street, where inside there were all these policemen badges from the city and outskirts and even beyond, pinned up on the bar.
Inside the men's restroom there was a corkboard on which someone had scrawled in pen:
UNION NEED NOT APPLY -
above which someone had scrawled at the start -
NON-
. . .
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Friday, July 27, 2012
My mother teases another mother.
The other day my mom was at the store and saw ahead of her with her back turned towards her a former neighbor from growing up, who is married to my friend from high school and has two small sons, who were with her and talking but weren't noisy or anything...
Approaching from behind her, my mom was like, "Hey, can't you keep those children quiet?".
At that, my former neighbor from growing up spun around and all straight-faced was like, "Hey lady, these children are fine, we're not in a library!".
My mom, who works at the local library, was very impressed by her response, since she came up with it almost instantaneously.
Approaching from behind her, my mom was like, "Hey, can't you keep those children quiet?".
At that, my former neighbor from growing up spun around and all straight-faced was like, "Hey lady, these children are fine, we're not in a library!".
My mom, who works at the local library, was very impressed by her response, since she came up with it almost instantaneously.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Bar Story (2 of 2): An Intense Bar Story.
A few weekends ago I was barhopping in the mixed Polish-Mexican-white townie neighborhood around the city's minor airport.
One bar I walked in I had heard about forever, it seemed like a white townie sportsbar, but I get in there, and it's full of Mexican biker guys in leather jackets with the word 'LOBOS' on them, as well as a mixed white and Mexican clientele.
Then, karaoke starts up, and the host does Tony Orlando and Dawn's "Knock Three Times", and all the people start singing along and motioning three knocks on the floor and two knocks on the pipe, and I realize that the crowd (except maybe not the bikers, who weren't singing), look Mexican, but they're actually Mexican-American, having grown up all their lives near the airport.
The guy next to me, this shorter long stringy-haired Mexican guy who sings several times (including "Spill the Wine"; the repertoire was oldies, and I joined in and sang "Tears on my Pillow") was Mexican-American too and had grown up in the neighborhood, and we chatted a bit.
I asked him about his favorite bars, and he said his favorite one was just up the road, but it wasn't open right then, since it had been firebombed.
As he told the story, the daybartender had been drinking a ton and his girlfriend was at the bar and cuts him off, so he leaves in a huff, "And the next thing you know, he comes back with a Molotov cocktail, and he chucks it on the back porch and the whole place goes up in flames."
He said he thought they were rebuilding. He also was wearing an Alice Cooper t-shirt, and said his little nieces call him "Uncle Joey Alice Cooper-head". Just that weekend, he had taken them and their parents to a show and then a restaurant afterwards, and he said the entire concert their eyes were just as wide as could be, so you know they liked it.
Later that night as I was going home, I ended up passing the firebombed bar, and you could def. tell it was burnt out some. Painted on the outside wall was an advertisement for the place, too - LUNCH SERVED TILL 4 A.M. . . .
One bar I walked in I had heard about forever, it seemed like a white townie sportsbar, but I get in there, and it's full of Mexican biker guys in leather jackets with the word 'LOBOS' on them, as well as a mixed white and Mexican clientele.
Then, karaoke starts up, and the host does Tony Orlando and Dawn's "Knock Three Times", and all the people start singing along and motioning three knocks on the floor and two knocks on the pipe, and I realize that the crowd (except maybe not the bikers, who weren't singing), look Mexican, but they're actually Mexican-American, having grown up all their lives near the airport.
The guy next to me, this shorter long stringy-haired Mexican guy who sings several times (including "Spill the Wine"; the repertoire was oldies, and I joined in and sang "Tears on my Pillow") was Mexican-American too and had grown up in the neighborhood, and we chatted a bit.
I asked him about his favorite bars, and he said his favorite one was just up the road, but it wasn't open right then, since it had been firebombed.
As he told the story, the daybartender had been drinking a ton and his girlfriend was at the bar and cuts him off, so he leaves in a huff, "And the next thing you know, he comes back with a Molotov cocktail, and he chucks it on the back porch and the whole place goes up in flames."
He said he thought they were rebuilding. He also was wearing an Alice Cooper t-shirt, and said his little nieces call him "Uncle Joey Alice Cooper-head". Just that weekend, he had taken them and their parents to a show and then a restaurant afterwards, and he said the entire concert their eyes were just as wide as could be, so you know they liked it.
Later that night as I was going home, I ended up passing the firebombed bar, and you could def. tell it was burnt out some. Painted on the outside wall was an advertisement for the place, too - LUNCH SERVED TILL 4 A.M. . . .
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Bar Story (1 of 2): Another Black Neighborhood Bar.
The other weekday on a Tuesday I had to be at school and then go to near downtown for a movie, so I brought my bike with me on the subway, and I tried to stop through a (black) neighborhood bar in a really really violent place.
It was like 6pm on a weekday and not crazy hot out, so I thought it was safe, and in face as I biked over, there were small (black) children playing on the sidewalks, and normal-looking (black) people out everywhere strolling, and when I passed by the bar, there was a table set up next to it, with a guy selling snow cones and bags of snack foods out of a plastic-wrapped cardboard tray like from CostCo.
The bar itself was pleasant, and the counter was painted red and had a plastic sparkly laminated edge like a bowling bar. I talked with the bartender some, and she told me about live blues they had on Mondays, and about some other bars with the same. Outside, I talked with the (older) (black) guy who ran the snowcone table, and I gave him my bullshit story about why I stopped through (I had heard about the bar from someone and stopped through to check it out). He talked up the blues, and pointed to an open window on the story above the bar, where the sounds of a radio were coming out. "That's the player's apartment," he was like, "And that's some of his movement." He talked more about the blues, which I kindly listened to, since they're not my thing but I'm finding out about places for a friend, and then finally he said something about how every other Sunday they have free soul food, and my face just lit up without my even thinking about it, and I was like, "Really!?!". At that, he laughed, and was like, "[My name], you're okay by me." When I left, he gave me a hug, as a friend, and said to come back any time.
It was like 6pm on a weekday and not crazy hot out, so I thought it was safe, and in face as I biked over, there were small (black) children playing on the sidewalks, and normal-looking (black) people out everywhere strolling, and when I passed by the bar, there was a table set up next to it, with a guy selling snow cones and bags of snack foods out of a plastic-wrapped cardboard tray like from CostCo.
The bar itself was pleasant, and the counter was painted red and had a plastic sparkly laminated edge like a bowling bar. I talked with the bartender some, and she told me about live blues they had on Mondays, and about some other bars with the same. Outside, I talked with the (older) (black) guy who ran the snowcone table, and I gave him my bullshit story about why I stopped through (I had heard about the bar from someone and stopped through to check it out). He talked up the blues, and pointed to an open window on the story above the bar, where the sounds of a radio were coming out. "That's the player's apartment," he was like, "And that's some of his movement." He talked more about the blues, which I kindly listened to, since they're not my thing but I'm finding out about places for a friend, and then finally he said something about how every other Sunday they have free soul food, and my face just lit up without my even thinking about it, and I was like, "Really!?!". At that, he laughed, and was like, "[My name], you're okay by me." When I left, he gave me a hug, as a friend, and said to come back any time.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Addendum.
I think I blogged about this a long time ago, but years ago at the grocery store in my old neighborhood around Christmas I was asking the (cheerful) (mid-20s) (black) cashier who I always talked to about her classes with about what she did over the holidays and if she had spent time with family, and very matter-of-factly (but not meanly), she was like, "I don't have family like that."
I've thought of that many times since, and that has made changed the way I phrase things to people, since you just don't know where they're coming from.
I've thought of that many times since, and that has made changed the way I phrase things to people, since you just don't know where they're coming from.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Renter.
My one lawyer friend from Missouri hired this (shy) (African-American) (20-something) graphic artist who's originally from St. Louis to help her with a children's book she's working on...
The graphic artist is really sweet, and, as it turns out, grew up with a really broken family that somehow nevertheless left her a house in St. Louis that she rents out. Every once in a while she goes back to take care of it, and last time she was there, she met up with the renter, this (kind of out of it) (older) (black) man who tries to hit on her.
As it turns out, they were somewhere, and he was like, "You know, we can always take this back to my place."
"I think you mean my place," she was like
The guy also had one of her t-shirts from high school on, and she was like, "Where did you get that?", and when he said he didn't know, she said it was from her closet in the house, and he was just like, "Uh uh uh," all confusedly.
The graphic artist is really sweet, and, as it turns out, grew up with a really broken family that somehow nevertheless left her a house in St. Louis that she rents out. Every once in a while she goes back to take care of it, and last time she was there, she met up with the renter, this (kind of out of it) (older) (black) man who tries to hit on her.
As it turns out, they were somewhere, and he was like, "You know, we can always take this back to my place."
"I think you mean my place," she was like
The guy also had one of her t-shirts from high school on, and she was like, "Where did you get that?", and when he said he didn't know, she said it was from her closet in the house, and he was just like, "Uh uh uh," all confusedly.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
2 dreams (again)...
I always somehow keep coming back in my dreams to normal things from my life that are broken or distorted:
1) I dreamed I had a mug sitting on the counter by my sink. It had fallen, and most of its side was broken off, but I thought you could still use it, and tried to ladle water, but it was more broken than I thought, and hardly water could fit on the remaining side and bottom, even when I tilted it so the mug was sitting very shallowly.
2) I looked at the faint blonde hairs on my toes, and many were abnormally long, sticking up about a half-inch into the air, but you could only see them when they caught the light.
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