I love you, but not as much as that Twilight guy

Because of the latest snowpocalypse I decided to take public transit to work today. On the second leg of the trip (a lovely "express" bus to Hyde Park) there was a couple sitting directly across from me engaging in some PDA. They both seemingly worked at the Museum of Science and Industry (because it's a great idea to date people at work), where they got off the bus sporting their work IDs. I noticed the girl had a picture of a guy tucked into the back side of the plastic cover of her ID. It wasn't her boyfriend, though; it was Robert Pattinson.

Bizarro world

On Sunday I ventured out to the beloved Davis Theater to see New Moon with a friend. More about that later, because prior to the movie I saw something really weirdly amusing. There's a realtor who handles a lot of properties in my neighborhood. I won't divulge his name, but I usually refer to him as "Hummer Man" because he drives to his real estate appointments in a big, ugly Hummer. And yes, I do judge people who drive Hummers. Add to it that he sports a brown bomber jacket, and he has "midlife crisis" written all over him.

Well, the first thing I noticed was there was a Prius parked on the corner and the hatch was open. Inside the car were all these Hummer Man real estate signs. "No way," I thought. "No freaking way." Right then, who should be crossing the street and coming toward me but Hummer Man himself! And yes, he got in the Prius and drove away. Now that's quite a reversal, don't you think?

I actually felt sort of giddy about Hummer Man changing his eco-trampling ways. The state of the world has had me feeling down a lot lately. I was cautiously hopeful when Obama was elected, but I feel like he's treading too cautiously, there is so much vitriol and opposition to change, and we are in for a long, hard recovery. So many of my friends have lost jobs or are struggling, and it's a very scary environment. So in a weird and small way, seeing Hummer Man in a Prius made me feel a little better about humanity.

Actually, seeing New Moon made me feel better about humanity, too -- because everyone heckled it! It was so, so bad. I'm glad to see that the teen girls who are its target audience don't take it too seriously (or maybe that's just jaded Chicago teens).

Yes lady, you may rob me

Stopped in an odd little antiques shop in the 'hood today. Their hours sign actually says something like, "When furniture is on sidewalk, we're open." There was furniture on the sidewalk, so in I went. There was a vase in the window I'd been eyeing for awhile, so I asked how much it was. The owner was looking for a price (and I don't know why, but half the junk in there doesn't have a sticker). I noticed a sticker on the lip and pointed it out. "So, it's $15?" I asked.

She hesitated a minute, then started picking the sticker off and said, "That's how much I paid for it, so obviously it will have to be more." Then she tried to sell it to me for $30. A 100% markup! Is she totally insane? You don't take a price sticker off something then try to double its price. I think I'm done with that lunatic, although she does have some Tiki salt and pepper shakers for $2.50. Well, unless that was the price she paid for them or something.

Uptown woman arrested after punching men (c****!) on Lake View L platform

FROM STNG WIRE REPORTS

An Uptown neighborhood woman was arrested for allegedly punching two men on a North Side L platform Sunday night in the Lake View neighborhood.

Nicole Patrick, 39, of the 1000 block of West Lawrence Avenue, was charged with simple battery, a misdemeanor, according to police.

The incident occurred at 6:50 p.m. at the CTA’s Belmont Red Line L station when Patrick allegedly called two men who were standing together on the platform “c----,’’ according to police.

Police said one of the men “took exception” to the statement and she punched him in the chest and scratched his neck. The other man came to his aid and she allegedly punched him in the nose, giving him a bloody nose, police said.

Both men declined medical treatment. Other citizens intervened and she was held there until police got her into custody.

Officers said she was intoxicated, combative and very aggressive.

It was her first arrest, according to police.

Exuberant dancing

From the Chicago Tribune:

Two people were kicked out of a concert at Ravinia in Highland Park for dancing too exuberantly, police said.

The man and woman were dancing and "intoxicated and bumping into people" during the G. Love & Special Sauce/Michael Franti & Spearhead twin bill Thursday night, police said.

"They were just enjoying the concert a little too much, and they got to the point where they were interfering with others," said Highland Park Police Cmdr. George Pfutzenreuter.

Someone called security on the couple, and they were asked to leave, Pfutzenreuter said. The man complied, but Alexandra Thomas, 32, refused, according to police, who were brought in for reinforcement.

When they tried to escort her out, she "made physical contact" with the officer, who placed her under arrest for trespass and disorderly conduct, police said.

Thomas, of the 900 block of Wade Street in Highland Park, has a Sept. 23 court hearing.

Strange sights

Yesterday I was driving through the Uptown neighborhood on my way to work when I saw a pretty bizarre-looking dude. There are a lot of odd people in this city, but this guy really stood out. He was wearing sort of a women's "sexy police officer" costume with a badge, tight black miniskirt, and knee-high boots. He had a pretty slinky walk going on, but he also had a beard. I dunno, seems like maybe it would be worth shaving to get the full effect.

Cheetos: the breakfast of launderers

Going to the laundromat is one of my least favorite things to do. Back in Ann Arbor, I usually did laundry in my apartment building's coin laundry, and the rare trip to the laundromat was fairly civilized (driving to a clean, air-conditioned laundromat with a companion). Here, it is like Lord of the Flies.

My building actually has coin laundry, but I stopped using it after a number of unfortunate incidents: rarely being able to get one of just two machines that service two dozen apartment dwellers, a fight with a lunatic neighbor who was furious that I took her clothes out of the machine even though they'd been done for ages, grease in the dryer destroying one of my shirts, and general accumulation of filth. The laundromat is just as close as the laundry room, and I can get everything done at once.

Well, I can in theory. My laundromat, the trusty M&M Laundromat/Lavanderia, is, in the nicest possible terminology I can muster, a fucking dump. About half the washers are broken at any given time. They tore down a wall and left a pile of wood on the floor for months. I saw a roach there. But it's the people that really make it special. I will never understand why an entire family comes to the laundromat. Wouldn't it make more sense if, say, dad stayed home with the smaller kids while mom and the older kids did the laundry? Instead, it's a mob scene. And just because the parents bring the kids doesn't obligate them to, you know, supervise the kids or anything. I recognize that it's not easy to separate, load, drop coins, add bleach, fold, etc. and watch your children. However, the clientele of the M&M chronically manage to do the laundry while talking on cell phones and watching soap operas or talk shows. They just can't be bothered to add the child-watching into the mix.

The parents with foresight bring toys to entertain the kids. Not toys like a Barbie doll or a Matchbox car or anything logical and unobtrusive like that. No, we're talking roller skates and bicycles. In the laundromat. Please take a moment to develop a mental image.

Others leave the kids to their own devices. They get so bored (and who can fault them for that?) that they run in circles, press buttons on machines (nicely shrinking your tumble-dry-low delicates if you're not careful), and strike up conversations with strangers for entertainment. They also eat a lot of nasty vending machine food, which brings me to the Cheetos phenomenon. With their propensity for leaving neon orange dust on anything in their vicinity, Cheetos seem to be the worst possible food item you could sell in a laundromat, and yet they are oddly popular there. Worse yet are Flamin' Hot Cheetos, which leave neon red dust everywhere.

A week or two ago, I had the pleasure of witnessing the M&M's owner loading the Cheetos into the vending machine. What was really interesting to me was just how many bags of Cheetos she put in the machine. I was so intrigued that I took a photo, which I am sharing with you here. Go on, count the rows of Cheetos. Count them! If you counted ten rows of Cheetos, you are not, I repeat not, seeing things. It's almost as if the M&M is forcing Cheetos upon the launderers and their devil spawn.

Does anyone understand this? If so, I would love to hear your thoughts.

Strange days, indeed

Today on the way to the grocery store I saw a midget cab driver filling up his car at the gas station and a guy with a neck brace screaming at a hippie woman. I also saw a jogger get hit by a car on Thursday (he was not hurt). Something magical must be in the air...

Bizarre robbery

Cabbie bearhugs, teenage robbers in drag, vigilante Irishmen... a typical night in Chicago, I guess.

Terrifying Damen bus story #1

When I worked in downtown Chicago and took the bus or el to work daily, I had lotsa stories. Bad stories. Stories like this charmer:

It was the year 2000. I was a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed recent Chicago transplant (from Michigan) and was madly in love with my new city. I was working in a high-rise downtown and living in frou-frou Lakeview, mere blocks from the beach and in the middle of shops, restaurants, and tons of transit options. I didn’t know a lot yet.

Waiting at the bus stop the very first time I was to take the bus home from work, I saw a bus at the stop south of mine. It pulled over and stopped. And sat. And sat. And then a man came walking toward me from the direction of the bus. “If you’re waiting for that #36 bus up there,” he said, “it’s stopped and they’re waiting for the police because some passenger in the back was sniffing paint from a bag.”

There could not be a more proper introduction to Chicago transit, although frankly I preferred the time I came back from a fantastic trip to San Diego and got on the el at O’Hare airport only to discover I was sitting next to a steaming pile of vomit. Welcome home.

I don’t take the CTA much anymore because I drive to work, but on the random weekend jaunt it can be the easiest way to get somewhere. Last weekend I took the bus nearest my apartment, the #50 Damen Ave. and it was quite a treat. A couple boarded the bus carrying a big plastic bag and sat down across from me. The man began removing the items in the bag one by one. It was full of clothing, obviously from a Village Discount thrift shop — obvious because they staple the price tags on the clothes.

Out came a sports jersey. Off came the tag and on the floor it went. Out came a sports jersey. Off came the tag and on the floor it went. Out came a sports jersey. Off came the tag and on the floor it went. You get the picture, right? Something like 6 or more jerseys, representing all kinds of sports — football, basketball, soccer. And then, miraculously, two pairs of dress slacks, which didn’t seem quite the right type of pants for half a dozen or more sports jerseys. A couple of women’s items that couldn’t have been for the rather robust woman. Frighteningly, a bath towel (sorry, but I don’t buy used items that have touched someone else’s privates).

I had looked away when I heard the woman say something to me. “What?” I asked. “It’s cute, isn’t it?” she cooed. I looked up and saw the man holding a see-through floral nightie. “Uh, yeah, it’s cute,” I lied.

Then the man lifted up a pair of matching thong undies and snapped the side string with his mouth. That’s right — he put used underpants in his mouth. The horror! The horror! But it got worse. They started kissing.

Then someone got off the bus so they switched seats. And kissed more. Then they switched seats again, so they were seated two feet from my face. And kissed some more. Because nothing says romance like seeing your boyfriend bite a used see-through nightie that won’t fit you, I guess.