Flying Under The Radar

Clearly I have not been paying attention to the goings on in the neighborhood.

It might have been because I was (am?) putting my life back together after 11 months of unemployment (Note: Not as easy as one would think).

Or it might have been the brutality of this slow moving winter and my knee injury.

Or it might have been because my head may have been firmly ensconced up my ass.

Either way, I had no clue that there was (is) a gang turf war in our little patch of heaven.

At least I didn’t know until it erupted on Monday night resulting in the shooting death of a 15 year old.

While the violence was a shock, I was fully prepared for the negative comments that usually accompany the subsequent Tribune and Sun-Times stories about the incident.

Luckily, the Tribune disabled the comments section by the time I had read the article.

Perhaps they already knew the caliber of commenter and simply disabled the ability to comment from the beginning.

No matter how you feel, someone’s child is dead.

While the consequences that led up to that fact are important, at the very least you should err on the side of respect.

Yes, I understand that some people cause their own problems.

But a majority of comments on articles about urban crime are mean and tip toe right up the line of being racist.

So it was with this in mind that I steeled myself after reading the Tribune’s article.

But it was all for naught.

I will say this to you who feel that “some people,” specifically black people, don’t care about the communities where they reside.

Let me preface my statements by affirming that while I may speak for myself, I also happen to know a huge swath of other black folks who feel as I do.

Yes, we care about where we live even though some may not think so.

Yes, we call the police.

In my experience the places that are usually the worst on the block are owned by either people who live in the suburbs or well meaning social service agencies.

Ironic, huh?

So the suburban neighbor that you so enthusiastically great each day may be the single largest contributing cause to crime in any given neighborhood.

Go cluck your tongue and pass your judgments on them.

Because lax tenant screening + credit requirements + non-resident management = a recipe for disaster.

But what do they care?

They keep on getting money that supports their comfortable lifestyles in their practically crime free neighborhoods.

And these well meaning social service agencies are no better.

I didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth so I very much understand people needing help.

So I know that a lack of financial resources does make you or your family bad people.

Yet because of the fact you or your family may not have the time or the resources to mount a time consuming, draining protest about issues in your neighborhood doesn’t mean you don’t care.

In fact, that’s what I think some dubious people look for.

They look for the people who are the hardest pressed and will squawk the least.

‘Cause it’s a hell of a thing holding down multiple jobs and/or raising children and/or staying on the straight and narrow AND trying to get people to do right by your neighborhood.

Trying to get long time institutions to respect where you live.

Trying to get landlords to treat your neighborhood with the same consideration that they treat their neighborhoods.

Trying to uncover the maze of LLC’s who illegally convert rentals to condos and leave them when they run out of money.

Trying to get the police to pay real attention to those no good thugs on the corner.

It’s exhausting.

If you let it, it can drain your essence.

Trying to fix something that has been broken for a long time takes patience and resourcefulness.

Rome wasn’t built in a day.

That’s a pretty tall bill for working class people who may not be well versed in how the city that works really works.

For those of you who can’t see beyond race, look up how UIC got built and get back to me.

So when I see these cowards hide behind a comment section and spout off about “why those people in that neighborhood don’t do anything” I know they have no idea what they’re talking about.

Because I know that I care about where I live---my neighbors do too.

Some things just fly under the radar.

...And You Thought The Firemen Were Hot

I preface this statement with my apologies to Mrs. Dart & Mrs. Yamashiroya. But I must say that you are both married to some incendiary quality hotties.

Yowsa!

Among the usual suspects at yesterday’s Gay Pride Parade were the delectable Sheriff of Cook County, Tom Dart and 23rd District Chicago Police Commander Gary Yamashiroya.

When did those who were sworn to serve and protect get so blazingly hot?

For disclosure’s sake, I have met Commander Yamashiroya as he and I know some of the same peeps back from my old ‘hood. He doesn’t seem like the ass kicking, name taking blue collar image you’d get of a Chicago cop.

From what the peeps have told me he seems to be measured, fair and an all around good guy.

He’s not a boozer, he doesn’t have a rep as being an asshole---‘cause the last person you ever want to meet is a cop with an attitude problem and you don’t hear about him being a skirt chaser.

Frankly, its cops like that who give the Chicago Police Department a good name.

Then of course that handsome mug don’t hurt either.

There he was, marching and waving with his lovely wife and young daughter. Always lean with a little bit of a tan.

A hot man who loves his wife and child and doesn’t try to kill them---Go figure.

In my limited view of the world there is nothing more attractive than happily married men.

No I’m not one of those skanks who sets her sights on the brass ring just out of her reach but rather it gives me hope that nice marriageable, non-commitment phobic, straight men do exist.

Was that our loud? I’m sorry---just step over all of that baggage I just dropped and we’ll continue.

There’s just something about a man who loves his wife and family that is very tantalizing. The irony is that, well---he’s married. So the chances of the hot man ever being that good to me is zero.

I know it’s warped but I suppose the grass always looks greener on the other side.

At least until you fall into the toilet and get the vapor lock of death around you ass because your husband left the seat up.

I suppose the hotness might wear off at that particular moment.

But boy howdy Sheriff Dart almost makes a sister want to go out and break the law.

I strongly suggest getting an honest to God look at that man in person. You’ll thank me later.

I was not aware that the good citizens of Cook County put eye candy in office.

Silly me I vote based on people’s record as it pertains to the office that they’re seeking, not their looks. But if I did Sheriff Dart would have won hands down.

Now it’s easy for me to extol the virtues of hot men while I sit anonymously (for the most part) behind a computer screen. The funny part is if I were standing next to them at a cocktail party I’m sure I’d make an ass out myself.

I am still very much the dorky sixteen year old girl who still can’t make small talk with the boy of my choice.

Now I’m many things, shy and under confident aren’t two of them. I am so the captain of my ship that I can put the wind in my own sails.

Nonetheless it never fails to surprise me that a person who can talk the talk (always) AND walk the walk (mostly), has not one word to say when a hottie walks in the room.

Go figure?

So if the good Commander, the Sheriff and I were having a chat I’d probably be giggling my way through the whole conversation.

Oh---and add some lip biting to boot.

I told you I’m a dork.

So I float on the outer peripheries, admiring the law enforcement man candy from afar.

Mrs. Dart and Mrs. Yamashiroya, do you ladies realize how lucky you are?