Bloghead
I just invented myself a yummy dinner. Cubed pork, olive oil, white wine, apple cider vinegar, rosemary, a little garlic, salt, let it cook down so the wine and vinegar sweeten and thicken up.... occassionally in all my kitchen disasters I manage to put together something that is actually good, that I would actually serve other people, and it causes me to say to myself, "Damn! This is good!" I love it when that happens.
So I have been commanded to write more things. I was beginning to feel maybe I had a case of bloghead (as my friend Shannon calls it). Who really cares what one person has to say anyway? Do I really think my own perspective on life is better or more valuable than anyone else's?
But if it's for the amusement and comfort of my readers, well then, who am I to deny you this priceless experience? I am your humble servant.
Lately for some reason I've been having flashbacks from junior high school. And not the good stuff either. The petty fights with friends that left you completely socially adrift within 24 hours, the insecurity, the awkwardness, wanting desperately to fit in and not knowing how.... oh my god it was awful. I think I had forgotten how miserable that time really was until it surfaced again. Bleeeeehh.
Our city is really segregated. It bothers me sometimes. Today as I walked to the bus stop after work, there was a convention in town or something at the Hyatt. About a hundred nametag-wearing people milling about. I counted 2 Indian guys, a handful of white girls, but mostly, mostly white men. (And, side note, about 40% of them were wearing blue shirts. I think blue shirts have reached a saturation point. Yes, they look nice and all, but if everyone wears a blue shirt, well then, where's the originality?) And I guess in itself that's not proof of the segregation, but today a black family got off at the bus stop where I catch the bus in the morning, and I thought, "That's weird. Wonder why they're here?" So obviously not a common occurrence. I could go days where the only black people I see are the bus driver, the cashier at the Quick-E-Mart at work, and a homeless guy, and the only hispanic person I see is Edith at the Quick-E-Mart on the way home about once every two weeks. Something is wrong here. Funny, I thought the suburbs were segregated, but Chicago seems more so, at least as far as neighborhoods to live in. Workwise, less so--you see a pretty good mix walking around the loop--but if the people working upstairs at my company are mostly white and the security guards downstairs are mostly black, you can't really say that's not segregated, either. You're just in different bubbles that happen to be close to each other.
I need to go to bed. But first, I'd like to send a shout-out to bus drivers. They can always tell if you're waiting for their bus just by the way you look at them; they wait for you if they see you running; and once you're on board they even accelerate slowly so you have a chance to sit down and not fall over. Now I don't know how other cities' bus drivers are, but I have had an overall pleasant bus-riding experience. Not always from the passengers (bad breath affects everyone, people), but as far as the drivers, I can't complain.
Big Event of the Day: It was going to be going to the grocery store, but it didn't happen.
Percent Chance: Earlier, I would have said 25%. Now it is 0%. Okay, well, maybe I'm supposed to plan for some statistical non-impossibility, so I'll give you 0.0075%. Just in case my house burns down suddenly and I have to find a 24-hour Jewel so I can buy....I don't know....a blanket so I can sleep in the park.
So I have been commanded to write more things. I was beginning to feel maybe I had a case of bloghead (as my friend Shannon calls it). Who really cares what one person has to say anyway? Do I really think my own perspective on life is better or more valuable than anyone else's?
But if it's for the amusement and comfort of my readers, well then, who am I to deny you this priceless experience? I am your humble servant.
Lately for some reason I've been having flashbacks from junior high school. And not the good stuff either. The petty fights with friends that left you completely socially adrift within 24 hours, the insecurity, the awkwardness, wanting desperately to fit in and not knowing how.... oh my god it was awful. I think I had forgotten how miserable that time really was until it surfaced again. Bleeeeehh.
Our city is really segregated. It bothers me sometimes. Today as I walked to the bus stop after work, there was a convention in town or something at the Hyatt. About a hundred nametag-wearing people milling about. I counted 2 Indian guys, a handful of white girls, but mostly, mostly white men. (And, side note, about 40% of them were wearing blue shirts. I think blue shirts have reached a saturation point. Yes, they look nice and all, but if everyone wears a blue shirt, well then, where's the originality?) And I guess in itself that's not proof of the segregation, but today a black family got off at the bus stop where I catch the bus in the morning, and I thought, "That's weird. Wonder why they're here?" So obviously not a common occurrence. I could go days where the only black people I see are the bus driver, the cashier at the Quick-E-Mart at work, and a homeless guy, and the only hispanic person I see is Edith at the Quick-E-Mart on the way home about once every two weeks. Something is wrong here. Funny, I thought the suburbs were segregated, but Chicago seems more so, at least as far as neighborhoods to live in. Workwise, less so--you see a pretty good mix walking around the loop--but if the people working upstairs at my company are mostly white and the security guards downstairs are mostly black, you can't really say that's not segregated, either. You're just in different bubbles that happen to be close to each other.
I need to go to bed. But first, I'd like to send a shout-out to bus drivers. They can always tell if you're waiting for their bus just by the way you look at them; they wait for you if they see you running; and once you're on board they even accelerate slowly so you have a chance to sit down and not fall over. Now I don't know how other cities' bus drivers are, but I have had an overall pleasant bus-riding experience. Not always from the passengers (bad breath affects everyone, people), but as far as the drivers, I can't complain.
Big Event of the Day: It was going to be going to the grocery store, but it didn't happen.
Percent Chance: Earlier, I would have said 25%. Now it is 0%. Okay, well, maybe I'm supposed to plan for some statistical non-impossibility, so I'll give you 0.0075%. Just in case my house burns down suddenly and I have to find a 24-hour Jewel so I can buy....I don't know....a blanket so I can sleep in the park.
posted by Becky at
6:17 PM
1 Comments:
Becky. Good blogging. So many interesting nuggets of things to think about and avoid work. I'll pick just one nugget to comment on, so I won't be accused of being a "comment hog", and because I'm very tired and groggy from a late night at the White Sox Game.
You used the phrase, "your humble servant". I have always thought that was the oddest phrase. People used to that phrase to close letters. I would never send a friend a letter and declare that I am their "most humble and obedient servant", or any kind of "servant" for that matter.
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Anonymous, at 5/11/2006 11:00:00 AM
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