Watership Down

Bunnies.

Their long eared, twitchy nosed, brown gray furred cuteness gently hoping along bothering no one.

That is until you plant a vegetable garden.

Then you look at them the way an anxious father looks at the boy his daughter starts dating---with a mixture of dread, fear and loathing.

I knew that the local flora and fauna thrive in our little urban-suburban paradise.

I also knew that rabbits had become a scourge of Grant Park gardens in recent years.

They cutely nibble away at the very expensive plants that both the Chicago Park District and the City put down to make our urban experience just a little bit brighter.

While this city has many issues, it’s apparently rabbit nirvana.

So much so, that the rabbit population has exploded in my neighborhood in the past few years.

I can see why they like the ‘hood; fresh water lagoons, tons of green space in two parks bridged by Midway Plaisance, few coyotes to hunt them and three urban gardens to nibble---that’s not a bad gig.

The average person takes this with a grain of salt. The average gardener would like to see Mopsy, Flopsy and Cottontail banished to an island never to return.

So it was with little surprise that I saw a young rabbit looking my way when I was walking home from the train one day.

While I hate those little buggers he was really cute with the previously mentioned twitchy nose and round furry body.

He was so young that he didn’t know that he should fear me and let me inch closer and closer.

And so this little dance continued between us over the next few weeks.

In fact I was able to get close enough to snap pictures.





But then it occurred to me that’s how they suck you in---they get you to like them, then you have a hard time putting them in a pie when they eat your collard greens.

Diabolical motherfuckers.

Elmer Fudd is my new hero. I wish I had a spear and magic helmet.

Snippets

The grass is growing back in the vacant lots around my house.

Japanese beetles are decimating my collard greens. Nonetheless, there was enough to harvest for a meal.



The new rentals down the street are accepting Section 8/CHAC vouchers and the grass is starting to look like a bag of ass (again).

It official: The neighbors from hell have moved next door. More on that later.

And if you didn't know it already, I'm very quotable. Read the latest story on yours truly. Note: If you're prompted to sign up for a newsletter, blow past the screen by clicking on the enter link to progress to the article.

Bullshit

Per my Twitter post, the parties at the Metropolitan still continue.

You know the thing that absolutely kills me?

Is that these parties wouldn’t happen if this facility was located in Hyde Park.

Or even next to Rev. Finney’s home.

For those of you who don't know, the Metropolitan is housed in the former Christ Apostolic Church which moved to Bronzeville several years ago. Public records indicate that the building is still owned by the The Woodlawn Organization which is closely identified with the good Reverend.

I’ll bet money that if this foolishness happened in his neighborhood, that his neighbors would have him tarred and feathered.

Yet for the sake of the almighty dollar, my block has to play host to groups of people who cannot seemingly act like respectful human beings.

Kind readers, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again---Whoever is booking these parties is courting disaster in so many ways it boggles the mind.

This facility is a lawsuit waiting to happen.

Security and/or supervision are non-existent.

Seemingly anyone who has the money can rent the facility.

Guidelines---What’s that?

It also seems that a majority of the groups that patronize the Metropolitan also attract a crowd that believes it’s a good idea to throw their empty liquor bottles and trash on the parkway.

Saturday morning the ‘hood looked green and pastoral, Sunday morning it looked like unadulterated shit.

It looked like a trash hurricane rolled through this bitch and deposited every liquor and beer bottle advertised on billboards saturating this side of town.

Now you would think that Mt. Carmel’s lawn crew would pick up the trash as they mow the lawn.

Unfortunately that is not the case.

Instead of picking up the trash, they simply throw it in the street compounding the problem.

Bottles break, gutters are blocked with debris, when it rains the street becomes a swamp.

Delightful. Simply fucking delightful.

So the question is this: Rev. Finney, why is this allowed to happen?

Oh yeah---

Have someone pickup the trash that is all over the Metropolitan’s lawn. It looks horrible.

Shoes

It's your turn to talk back.

Tell me about the wearers of these three pairs of shoes. Who are they? What do they do for a living? Where were the pictures shot?

Let's see if your perception equals reality.

Just Wondering

Jobs---Check.

A store full of fresh fruits and vegetables---Check.

Partnering in key community inititives---Check.

Tax Revenue---Check.

So why can't this Walmart get built?

Mystery Solved?

It appears that the mystery of the rehabbed building down the street has been solved.

It’s a rental. A few tenants are already in the building.

I’m gonna be honest with you, I really thought the project was going to go condo.

Why?

The finishes seem above the basic contractor staples that you see throughout most rental buildings.

The floors are gleaming (Real wood? Laminate?) and the appliances are stainless.

You heard me right---stainless.

That’s some high livin’ those kids are doing down there.

All this begs the question, is the building owner renting out the units until the real estate market turns around or is this their first development?

Because who would put high end finishes and a stainless appliance package in a rental?

This ought to be interesting.

Enough

Blaming Burr Oak families for this tragedy is like blaming Catholic families for not keeping their children away from pedophile priests.

Now mind your manners and act like decent human beings.

That is all.

Heavy Sigh

Frank (or one of his relatives)has decimated the flowers on the back porch.

My refrigerator just died yesterday.

This is on top of the huge vet bill AND the unemployment countdown.

Do not be surprised when the Paypal tip jar appears in the sidebar---it's coming.

Turn About, Part 2 or Who’s Really In Charge?

As I observed earlier, the proximity of urban living and natural living often provide for some interesting sights.

This is perfectly underscored when I go to tend to my little piece of paradise in the urban garden.

As a side note, I find it somewhat hilarious that my maternal grandparents came up from Mississippi in the great migration so I wouldn’t have to do this for a living.

That makes it deliciously ironic that I do this of my own accord.

Because of this, the urban garden is lovingly referred to as the plantation.

The glaring difference is that I don’t have to worry about an overseer with a bullwhip. I have to worry about ducking golf balls.

I wonder if slave holders seriously pondered the effective use of lobbing golf balls at the free labor pool as a means of physical intimidation.

I think they could have seriously saved money on security costs by simply installing a golf course next to the cotton fields.

Then it would have made the balls difficult to find.

But I digress…

As I tended to my fledging vegetables I noticed that a murder of crows quietly amassed on the new pergola.

They just sat there and seemingly stared at me.

I had already put two and two together and realized that they were just waiting for me to leave as my plot is close to someone who’s growing corn. Those bad boys just wanted to ravage the stalks for anything they could get.

At that time, I also noticed some shady, questionable gents loitering along the path.

You know the type---shiftless looking, poorly dressed in ill fitting attire who only come to a public park for reasons that isn’t entirely recreational.

At least in the “legal” sense.

The thought that popped in my head was “Great, I have two groups of murderers within twenty feet of me. They should get together and start singing ‘If I See An Elephant Fly’ from Dumbo.”

I started giggling. Sometimes I just slay myself with my own rapier like wit.

Luckily for me both groups eventually moved on.

As I was locking up, I heard a rustle by the tree line.

Much to my amazement (but not surprise) a HUGE raccoon came out and crossed in front of me.

I think he was just as befuddled to see me as I was to see him.

Like most of my other neighbors, I know he exists but I hardly expect to see him.

As he lumbered across my path with one eye on his destination and the other on me, I could have sworn he chucked the deuces my way.

Seeing that some of my animal neighbors could at times have rabies, I cut a wide berth around my masked friend.

When he reached a thicket of wild field greens and started to dig, I just looked. I didn’t want him to think I was trying to get anywhere near his territory.

Plus I was pondering how strong the fence was around the urban garden.

As he was searching for food, he looked up as if to say---“Is there something else I can help you with?”

I caught the hint and started walking home.

But the last critter in this hit parade of urban fauna is a cute little bunny I usually pass as I walk home from the train on Dorchester.

Or at least what I thought was one cute little bunny.

That, my friends, is literally a story unto itself.

Rack 'Em

I swear that animals will be the death of me.

After almost a week at the vet's due to severe constipation (don't ask), my cat Midas has racked up a whopping $327.81 vet bill.

Looming unemployment and now MORE debt.

Jesus take the wheel.

Turn About

I really love where I live.

That feeling only heightens in the summer time.

Now you’ve heard me piss and moan about trash, my neighbors---both in and out of the association and crime.

And make no mistake all are important factors in the livability of a neighborhood.

But despite all of that, I thank my lucky stars that I actually live within a stone’s throw from the site of the 1893 Columbian Exposition.

The impact of the fair cannot only be read on the pages of The Devil In White City, but also in Jackson Park and it’s lagoons parked off of Lake Michigan.

And as one can expect, that park is teeming with wildlife.

At any given moment I can witness a hustler in the middle of Stony Island selling laundry bags and socks while traffic completely stops to let a family of geese cross.

The urban/suburban juxtaposition boggles the mind.

The fact that you can have an occasional drive by shooting and see a raccoon larger than a dog going through your trash can make for an interesting neighborhood balancing act.

Frankly I think the animals that live by our side are so used to us that they consider us the attraction.

They very well may think that they are living in an open air human habitat in a very large zoo.

Now that I’m the farmer in the ‘hood I get to see just how our wild four legged friends interact with urban gardens and golf balls.

Garden Progress

Tuscany? No, just the entrance to the Urban Garden off the first tee of the Jackson Park Golf Course.


Side shot of the garden.


Garden overview. Those small plants on the outer rim are marigolds. They're supposed to keep the pests away.


Only two of my four collard green plants have really taken off. Check out my huge tomato plant on the far right.


Collard greens close up.


The peppers are starting to take off. They need the warm weather to really start growing.


Mr. Tomato plant.

D-Day

My job ends July 31st.

Unless my contracting company can find me another immediate gig or something miraculous happens, I’m back waitressing.

Paying my bills (and debt) on a waitress gig (again!)---that ought to be interesting.

I so miss having a good FICO score.

…And While We’re At It

I have it on good authority that the Roosevelt Collection is going rental instead of condo due to the housing meltdown.

To those in the know this ain’t exactly groundbreaking news.

My source also tells me that the earnest money is due to be refunded “in a timely manner.”

Now does that mean timely in a “it took you less than 48 hours to cash my check” type of way or timely in “If you piss me off I’ll make you wait for your money---and you’ll be lucky to get it” type of way?

Due to crappy protections afforded to home and condominium buying consumers, will everything be dragged out until the legal statute of limitation to recover earnest monies run out.

*Cough* Theatre District Lofts*Cough*

Time will tell.

But here’s something to ponder during your day.

While the pundits say that the economic pitfalls of this recession are easing, there are those of us out here in the real world who would beg to differ.

Worrying about money is a new thing to some people.

They played by the rules, they saved and invested and didn’t initially worry when they lost their jobs.

But then three months stretched into six and six months into a year.

And despite cutting their spending and living carefully, their money has run out.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, the shit is really hitting the fan.

Down payment money that was flowing so freely a few years ago is now the difference between putting food on the table and having to apply (and be rejected) for a Link card.

That money is the difference between making your mortgage payment and moving in with the relatives.

Yesterday’s yuppie or sink (Single Income No Kids) is today’s marginalized worker.

But marginalized on not, they want their money back.

Unlike other marginalized workers of old, this bunch is a lot more savvy and vocal.

I hypothesize that they will find a way to get their money back.

Whether it’s via social media, networking, writing elected officials or overhauling the whole freaking system, someone is going to make it happen.

‘Cause this time it’s not just the little guy who’s getting his house bulldozed by the city.

Everything’s been flipped on its head and now people are finding themselves in positions their grandparents and parents worked very hard to rise above.

This new class of marginalized worker is not used to being ignored.

Let’s just hope that change will come through positive and productive means and not as a result of chaos and upheaval.

But in the meantime the revolution might be forestalled if people were refunded the earnest money that’s rightfully theirs.

Just a thought.

Uptown Foolishness

The guessing game of the day:

Exactly when will buyers in the unfinished phase (phases?) of the Theatre District Lofts receive their earnest money back?

It's been over a year.

Looks like the lawsuits are starting to pile up concerning this little fiasco.

Just asking...

Hold Up

Yes, I know we’re all shocked and pissed by the Honorable John Fleming’s ruling.

But leave it to those kids at the Chicago Reader to show that this type of thing isn’t so uncommon.

Perhaps it’s time to focus outrage on the process that lets violent abusers walk and get the flipping laws changed.

And yes, that would require vigilance, follow-up and perhaps a letter or two to your state elected officials.

Most of us know that it’s not okay to beat on anyone but as the Reader article illustrates, this wasn’t the first time someone got their clock cleaned and the offender got a slap on the wrist.

Judge was simply the messenger.

No need to shoot him.

Zing

About a month ago, the bricks came raining down from the façade on the Blackstone side of our building.




Yes, dear readers---we’re having façade issues again.

Except this time it was a different section.

Once again we were lucky that no one got hurt. But unlike the last time, our little mishap didn’t go unnoticed.

Hence the love note from the city.

How did I find out?

Easy---the city sent out the notifications to the last information that they had on file. Seeing that no one has bothered to file an annual report or bothered to change our registered agent with the state, the city decided to send notification to anyone they could find.

That included my address.

Now before I get on my soap box, I will acknowledge a few things in defense of my neighbors who are doing the heavy lifting.

The focus at the time was on paying off our existing special assessment and continuously following up on those members severely behind in their monthly assessments.

That hand you see being raised would be mine. Guilty as charged.

The rigors of dealing with association business and your own personal life has been known to drive a person batty. Trust me, I’ve been there.

Watching your lay about neighbors make excuse after excuse on why they either won’t or can’t help; listening to empty promise after empty promise can wear on your nerves.

I can understand the frustration for those of you who take the mantle of leadership upon your shoulders.

I can also understand why you’d want to slap the living dog piss out of your neighbors.

Nonetheless, the burden is yours to bear until you say you don’t want it anymore.

So as long as you control the money or are on the board---you have a fiduciary responsibility to act in the best interest of the association.

That means filing the correct paperwork with governmental bodies.

That means applying for the refuse rebate from the city.

That means following up on capital projects despite the fact that no one wants to hear about another special assessment.

Because when you don’t----well---you have our little situation.

I personally used to handle those initially insignificant tasks that come back to bite you in the ass but personal matters got in the way.

Then the unemployment.

Then I was told I was a bad neighbor.

At that point, I decided why should I use my talents and connections for people who don’t fully appreciate them?

I’ve showed everyone what was needed to be done.

If you’re too busy or too lazy to print out a piece of paper, fill it out and find supporting documentation---shame on you.

I’m done enabling a group of grown ups.

I know it’s not all about me. I simply dug down deeper than most are willing to do and found the answers we needed for our multiples situations.

It’s not like I’m curing cancer.

But it appears that in my absence, things have been handled in a less than efficient manner.

Your condo is your home, you have to treat the association like a business.

Or at the very least insure that the city doesn’t come snooping around.

Make no mistake ladies and gentlemen, we have completely stepped in it---the proverbial shit is getting ready to hit the fan.

My concern is that when we get these violations repaired that our cash strapped city will find new ones.

If the city is trying to collect on Bears season ticket holders PSL's, anything's possible.

I predict that this is not gonna turn out well.

Not Good

Per my Twitter post yesterday, we received this "love note" from the city.



Jesus take the wheel.

The backstory about this avoidable mess will follow in short order.

60

Yes, that's the year John F. Kennedy was elected President.

And as luck would have it, it’s also the ranking my humble offerings were given by the Chicago Media Workshop’s report titled “Journalism We Want and Need.”

I’m wanted and needed? I feel very valued right about now.

You can find my blurb on page 19.

Chanting “I’m number 60!” doesn’t have the same ring as “I’m number 1!”

But sometimes you can't put a price on being wanted AND needed.

Restless

It seems that my fellow Woodlandites are none too happy with the shenanigans and foolishness going on around 61st Street/South Campus area.

If you didn’t know, South Campus is the new name for that part of Woodlawn just south of the Midway (60th Street). Commonly recognized as the dividing line between University of Chicago and Woodlawn.

In the past the University of Chicago specifically told their students and faculty not to go south of the Midway. While that stance has been eradicated, the perception persists that once you cross that boundary, your physical being and immortal soul are in peril.

Nonetheless, those brave souls who have done just that and decided to make their homes in Woodlawn are pissed.

Potholes and gunfire just don’t seem to be their cup of tea.

As a matter of fact, one new blogger is simply furious at The Woodlawn Organization.

So much so that his whole blog is dedicated to shine a light on what he perceives as mismanagement of the subsidized housing managed by the organization.

Oooh Whee…

South side stand up.

Salting The Earth---The Pictures

Vacant lots that until recently had grass and weeds in abundance. Then a few weeks ago---nothing.




Now do you see what I'm talking about?

Eye In The Sky

I noticed a new addition to the 63rd Street Metra commuting experience this morning: The platform is now equipped with security cameras.

You could have knocked me over with a feather.

As usual, I was running for the train when I saw a metal pipe-like structure attached to one of the wooden lamp posts. Imagine my surprise when at the end of the pipe I spied the unblinking eye of a camera.



Though I haven’t walked the platform to confirm it, there are probably cameras in plain sight of all four entrances to the station.

That suspicion was nearly confirmed as I looked across the way on the south bound platform and saw another camera pointing at its south entrance.

The scuttlebutt is that Metra in conjunction with Apostolic Church, had the cameras installed.

After all, the rapist still hasn’t been caught and the platform, stairwells and viaduct are extremely dark and isolated during the daytime much less at night.

While I welcome the cameras, I wonder if they’re monitored---If so, by whom? Dose this mean that they’re may be an emergency call box somewhere in our future?

If the scuttlebutt is true, it’s nice to see public and private entities working together to achieve a common goal.

Now I have to be careful if I have a “wardrobe malfunction” and go to correct the problem.

Unlike this crazy YouTube generation, there are just some things that just don’t need to be caught on camera

Hammer Time

If you think for one minute that I wouldn't be all over this if given the opportunity, you're nuts.

Ladies and Gentlemen, that was a big bowl of awesome!

A&E, let's flash mob Michigan Avenue.

Drop me a line, let's talk.

Salting The Earth

I noticed something the other day.

Nothing was growing on the numerous vacant lots in my neighborhood.

Not a weed, not a blade of grass---absolutely nothing was green.

And when I say nothing was green, the grass had been cut a few weeks ago and the remaining stubble was brown.

On its face and in the short term, that might be seen as a good thing. But natural things just don’t stop growing for no reason.

They definitely don’t all stop growing only on the vacant lots in Woodlawn at the same time.

Is it possible to save money on labor, gas and the wear and tear of equipment that the city may have literally salted the earth?

While I hate weeds and overgrown lots, the possibility that some type of chemical was applied to the ground makes me incredibly uneasy.

If this is what’s going on is this a new city policy? Is it safe for the ground and the water table? Hell, are we even by the water table?

What happens if a (reputable) developer someday builds on those vacant lots? If a chemical was applied will it retard any other vegetation growing?

Could you dig and put in a vegetable garden?

Note: Due to the high concentrations of lead paint in older buildings, it’s normally recommended to not use the grounds around the site of an older building or former building for vegetable planting.

I just find it extremely odd and the timing too close to be a coincidence.

Has anyone else noticed new “brown fields” popping up on city owned or vacant lots in their ‘hood?

Dodge Ball

The bad news is that I’m still losing my job.

The countdown continues.

The good news is that I’ve renegotiated my mortgage (*again*) where I now pay $300 less a month.

Believe it or not, my mortgage is near what it was when I first moved in 2001.

While that frees up money, it would be nice if I continued to have a steady source of income.

Reducing instead of increasing debt would be welcome right about now.

My roller coaster life would kill a lesser person.

Oh. My. God.

First we had to see this:




Then we had this:




And as of Friday, finally this:






Nice, eh? But based on past behavior, will they water the lawn so the turf takes to it's new home?

Now will the building be condos or rentals? Affordable? subsidized? market rate? If the building goes condo, will parking be factored into the equation? Who will market the property?

More importantly, who's the developer?

This story is moving forward (with a nice lawn might I add) but still developing.

Cock Starz, Part 2

All quiet on the western front.

There wasn't a wayward car, stripper or over stimulated party girl in sight Sunday night.

Methinks the message may have FINALLY gotten through.

Just Planted

Despite the fact that I live two blocks away from the urban garden, I'm still getting the hang of turning on the water supply from the golf course, ducking flying balls and not watering the veg so late that it's dark by the time you put the hose away and lock up.

I love our little patch of heaven but I ain't trying to get caught in a secluded grove of trees off a non-fenced golf course that's in a Chicago public park.

That's a recipe for a really bad time.

In fact, when I was watering last Tuesday about a 1/2 hour before the sun went down I noticed that random men were popping up on the golf course---without golf clubs and on the path surrounding the garden.

Creepy.

Unfortunately my time to water is limited as early in the morning isn't an option while I still have a job.

And no, there's nothing new to report on that front. Once I have news, I'll let you know.

Why do you think I'm trying to grow my own tomatoes, bell peppers and collard greens?

Anyhoo...

The potential for something very bad to happen back there is a real possibility so I always carry my cell phone and look for other people either jogging or on the golf course. So I try to very much stay aware of my surroundings while indulging my urban gardening steez.

Keep good gardening vibes coming my way. Keep your fingers crossed that a bounty is only a few months away.

Enjoy the pictures below.

Batty Batty Batty

After having a rare Saturday night off, I woke yesterday morning intent on doing chores.

Number one on the list was to start with the front porch.

I had filled up paper bags with stuff from the day before and was transferring them to the back porch to finally go to the alley.

The first bag---no problem.

But when I picked up the second bag, a loud and aggressive hiss came from whatever was under it.

Startled, I did what any self respecting feminist would do.

I screamed like a little girl, turned tail and ran into the house.

Sad, but true.

Perplexed, I went about my chores until I screwed up the courage to see what exactly was hissing at me.

Courage being my middle name (*ha!*) I opened up the window that leads to the front porch, opened it and took the broom handle and once again lifted the overflowing trash bag.

What revealed was an uglier version of a mouse with rougher looking fur.

Ladies and Gentlemen I believe I had found a bat.

This time he didn’t hiss at me so I assumed that he was dying.

My burning question was why a bat had suddenly appeared incapacitated on my front porch?

Despite their blindness, bats have built in sonar so it’s not like their going to slam into wall, objects or people.

Furthermore, they tend to avoid people and sunlight.

I could only deduce that Mr. (or Ms.) Bat might be infected with rabies.

Now I was tempted to let Mr. Puss out to make short work of the beast but the ensuing vet bill if the bat was infected gave me pause.

All I need is for my crazy cat to become rabid. He already has a questionable disposition.

The only reason why he hasn’t cut me is because I have opposable thumbs and can open his food.

So a few more hours pass and my intent was to scoop up the dead bat and throw him over the side where I imagine some neighborhood scavengers would take care of him.

But when I went to check on his whereabouts, he had moved.

@%^&*#$?!

I hoped he had taken flight and left me alone.

When I went to reach for the trash bag and disturbed some of the other stuff on the porch, that hiss told me otherwise.

*Cue Woody screaming and running like a little girl (again)*

It was time to call 311 (The City of Chicago’s non-emergency help line) for animal control.

While I missed them the first time, they did come within the hour and were quite courteous and helpful.

The ladies (yes, ladies---I felt so ashamed) popped in and scooped up Mr. Bat within 5 minutes.

They agreed with me that the beast was acting strange and they wouldn’t be surprised if it had rabies.

Their next concern was Mr. Puss’ exposure to the bat; as they were prepared to take him in as well.

I told them he rarely went out on the porch and had not been out on the porch yesterday.

After taking some additional information, they gave me a slip and said if the beast tested positive someone would call me within 72 hours and follow up with me.

So while I ran like a girl and immediately thought of how a man should help me; to my credit I did contact the proper authorities who in turn handled the situation with promptness and professionalism.

And they didn’t laugh at me.

Even though I had some laughable behavior.

With all the waste you hear about concerning the City of Chicago, at least you know that your dollars are being wisely spent at Animal Control.

I can stare a wannabe gang banger down like nobody’s business but a bat can make me his (or her) bitch.

Woody, redefining irony everyday.

Club Honey

I received this text on Saturday from one of my neighbors:

"I think there is something going on at the Metro Club. Gave some ladies directions to 'Club Honeys' at 1445 East XXth Street."

Yet when I came home the street wasn't mobbed with cars.

Odd.

The reason made itself apparent when I was walking to the train yesterday morning:



Is this lasting progress?

Jackson Park Urban Garden, 2

Clean and green volunteers making signs.





Garden view of the golf course.

Jackson Park Urban Garden

Yes, we're just that close to the Jackson Park golf course.


The start of a new fence.


A young helper digging post holes.


My little "half acre."


The compost pile.

Here Comes The Judge, Part 2

I just don’t get the Honorable William Pileggi.

He seems like the real deal.

He’s cosigned on common sense initiatives and has even received an award from Neighborhood Housing Services.

From what I’ve been able to find on the web and glean from my lawyer friends, Judge Pileggi is okey doke.

He seems like a jurist who will put some bite and muscle into the maze of building codes in our fair city.

This makes his rulings concerning the property at 1512-1514 E. Marquette and Mr. Knight all the more troubling.

Court records indicate that on numerous occasions Judge Pileggi has given Mr. Knight more than enough time to comply with the City’s order.

My question is why was he granted so many chances?

If I can find the numerous actions filed against Carlton Knight in Cook County court system, surely he can as well.

One would think that those records alone would serve as a litmus test of Mr. Knight’s actions & behaviors.

Clearly I’m in the minority on this one.

As a result case number 2007-M1-402799 has been dragging out since October 4th of 2007.

But as I was recently mulling over the judges’ actions, I took a gander across the way and saw something miraculous.

A brand new porch.

Maybe it’s because I rarely look out of my back window or raise the shade. Perhaps with the sun rising earlier and setting later, it gave me an extended opportunity to gaze across the way.

Whatever the reason, that looks like new porch construction to me.

If the porch is new, I would be the first to tell you that I have no clue why Mr. Knight would all of a sudden comply with the city’s order.

I could offer up any number of theories but it would be a waste of both blog space and your time.

The bottom line is that the porch was built.

Now whether it’s up to code is the city’s call.

Inspiration

This person is one of the reasons why I keep on titling at windmills.

Development Update?

The old fence has been removed from the front of the building and looking through the window, any passerby on the street can see a visible ceiling fan box.

This begs a couple of questions:

Is the building going condo or not?

Whatever it's fate, when will the construction be completed?

When, for the love of God, is the landscaping portion of the rennovation gonna happen? Overgrown grass and weeds are NOT attractive.

And last but not least...

They must have great security to leave a pricey looking ceiling fan box visible in the window. Normally that serves as a red flag to theives who prey on construction sites.

Developing...

Here Comes The Judge

You may be a little shocked to discover this but there is more than one questionable real estate developer in the city of Chicago.

I know---who'd thunk it, right?

And because the great city of Chicago is so vast, it’s been my experience that if you want something done you’re gonna have to get off your can and let the appropriate people know.

Appropriate people = government officials = the City of Chicago & the State of Illinois.

But as most of you know, that’s easier said than done.

Nonetheless, if you’re like me, you’ll tilt at windmills until you finally find the correct parties.

You know---the people who will listen to you AND do something about your plight.

That’s the route my concerns about Mr. Knight’s real estate development took to the Corporation Counsel’s Department.

That the nice way of saying the city’s law department.

It took a long time to find someone who would listen.

And when I found someone who would listen they’d get transferred to a different division or promoted.

Then I’d have to start over again with a new person.

Then the dance would begin again.

I would have to explain my issue with our development. Why it’s pointless to sue Mr. Knight despite overwhelming evidence that the “renovations” weren’t up to code.

But eventually, someone from the city did listen---and care.

They took up the banner in light of some egregious and flagrant revelations about Mr. Knight’s development practices. While it might be too late for our association (unless we find his money), perhaps someone else can be spared the same drama.

Successfully navigating the infrastructure that is the City of Chicago is a full time job in and of itself.

Getting someone to care and act is something I truthfully didn’t anticipate happening.

But it did.

So if the city feels that they have merit to drag Mr. Knight into court, why does one judge in particular feel the need to keep on giving him break after break?

Shooting? What Shooting?

This foolishness has now crossed over into just plain stupidity.

At least the police were able to apprehend the suspects (finally).

I wonder if they happened to be in the right place at the right time and were able to give chase or if someone from the neighborhood gave a piece of vital information?

...And it ain't even warm yet.

You Want To Know Why They're So Much Better Than You?

A small aside to athletic opponents of Mt. Carmel High School.

You want to know why they're always so good in so many sports? It's because they're up practicing when everyone else is in bed.

When I have to work early and leave the house before 6:00 AM, I notice that the lights in the new field house are on and there are people inside engaging in physical activity.

Or at least that's what I think is going on.

All while I can barely keep my eyes open schlepping to the train.

That my friends, is some crazy stuff.

That my friends, is dedication.

So the next time your team is getting ground in the dust by the Caravan, you'll know the reason why.

The Disappeared

I knew the minute I patted myself of the back about making progress, something catastrophic would happen.

This time was no exception.

Wednesday was a bloody and brutal day at the place where I work.

95% percent of my department as well as 9 other people from our location were laid off in a precise and efficient manner.

That’s if you’re looking at it from a corporate perspective.

If you choose to take the human view of things, you may have a different opinion.

Instead of retelling Wednesday’s bloodletting, I’ll tell you how my previous employer went about the process in the summer of 2007.

My whole group was notified 60 days out that our department was being eliminated and that we had that time to post internally.

Everyone and their mother knew that unless you had the in” with peeps from another department, you weren’t going anywhere.

But at least we had 60 days to wrap our head around what was going to happen, make financial arrangements, dust of the resume, clean out our desk and say our goodbyes to our work friends.

In short we had closure.

Now I know with people and things being what they are these days, you have to look out for #1.

No entity embodies this philosophy better than corporate America.

You don’t know if someone is going to screw with your internal systems or if they’re going to walk in with a gun and shoot the place up.

The world is a scary place.

That being said, it’s difficult enough to try to figure out your next move when you have 60 days notice. Imagine being called from your desk one minute and the next you’re being handed your severance package---if you’re lucky.

That might just screw with your head.

The flip side of the coin is that you’re good enough to secure employment and trusted enough to be granted access to a secure office in a secure building; it’s ironic in a manner of a half an hour you have someone looking over your shoulder watching you clean out your desk.

That’s some cold shit.

But you’re probably wondering, what does this mean for Woody?

That, my friends, has yet to be determined.

Progress

The back property taxes have been paid and my special assessment is now a distant memory.

Getting rid of debt is painfully slow but things are getting better.

A toast to progress.

Cock Starz

Exotic revues abound in Woodlawn but common sense seems to be in short supply.

It makes one ponder if the social service organization that owns the building knows about this foolishness?

Barter System

The paint job in my condo looks like a bag of ass.

Then of course it started looking like a bag of ass about the first anniversary of my move in date.

As I'm sure you can imagaine, a lot of high quality finishes went into our conversion. The paint job was no exception.

(Tounge placed firmly in cheek)

And while I like the colors I choose, I long for something new and exciting.

Becuase if you have a smudge on your wall it might be nice to wash it off without taking a large portion of the paint with it in the process.

So I want to paint my place but there are two glaring issues.

1. I'm not the best painter. I tried to paint my kitchen years ago and the efforts didn't exactly turn out House Beautiful worthy.

2. Money ain't exactly flowing around here so paying someone isn't in the game plan.

So I have a proposition---let's barter.

If you need a containter garden put down and can paint---high quality, I might add---then I think we might be able to help each other.

You'll advise me on materials, I'll advise you on materials.

You'll shop with me, I'll shop with you.

You'll paint and help me learn the skill, I'll plant and you'll get the hang of it in no time.

And when I say "help me learn the skill" and "you'll get the hang of it in no time" what I really mean is I'll plant and you'll paint and neither of will really want to learn the opposite skill.

'Cause if you really wanted to plant and I really wanted to paint, we would of learned how to do it by now, right?

But it's nice to aspire.

So if you're game, I'm game.

I'm not a master gardener but I have had some luck putting down well received container gardens for myself and others.

Because in today's economic reality, knowledge and know how may very well be better than money.

The Farmer In The 'Hood

Guess who applied for a vegetable garden plot in the Jackson Park Urban Farm?

It's like a modern day Green Acres---I don't have to say goodbye to city life in order to scratch my country mouse itch.

If I get it, be prepared for rants against all forms of small animals---squirrels, possums, raccoons, rats---you name an animal and I'm sure I will have sworn a blood vengeance against it by the end of the summer.

Now to find a floppy straw hat.

Passive Aggressive

I recently had a long overdue conversation with a lovely neighbor who also happens to be a new mother.

Not only are her real life I-just-had-a-baby stories eye opening, but they are Hilarious.

Laugh out loud, breaking into coughing fits HI-LAR-IOUS.

So because she has a new baby, a husband, and various animals around the house, I figure I'm not going to add to the burden by fulfiling my requirment as the "wacky neighbor down the street."

Dropping in unanounced when you're trying to put down a fussy baby may not lead to further social invitations.

Luckily a few days ago I had the priviledge to speak to the little mother and catch up on life and all things Woodlawn.

As we chatted she happened to mention that conflict resolution among her family tends to skew toward passive agressive tactics.

I paused on the other end of the phone and said "Passive agressive? And you live around black people? How's that working out?"

"Not so much." She replied.

As a rule, I explained, black folk don't really respond to passive agressive. You pretty much have to let us know what you want---hinting around isn't gonna make the magic happen.

A cultural exchange, neighborhood gossip and new baby stories all in the same conversation.

Enough Already

A sight recently seen at the 55th & Lake Park Walgreens in Hyde Park.

Everyone Has One

I just couldn't take it anymore.

After tweeting about the trash, when I got dropped off this afternoon it had seemingly multiplied. Naturally I was forced to pick it up.

But you’ve got to have limits so I only tidied up in front of my building.

Of course now that the weather is warming up, people tend to be outside so it was inevitable that I get to see neighbors I haven't seen in months.

Today was no exception.

So when I happened upon neighbors X and Y, our conversation eventually turned to the trash that had gathered in front of our home.

Of course the conversion morphed into our maintenance man not being paid enough (their emphasis, not mine) and other topics.

Then neighbor Y stated that she had questions about certain things around our happy little home.

She was a relative newcomer so it was only to be expected.

I suggested that she might want to check into my blog for a historical perspective of our happy little community since I am one of a hand full of people who have been here since the property went converted.

From a slanted, biased Woody perspective of course.

By this time she was on a roll but did manage to tell me that she’s not really a “blog” person so she wouldn’t be reading my humble offerings.

At this point I knew I was listening to another person who had more opinions than solutions. Inevitably that would translate into zero work done on the association’s behalf.

While I’m not feeling the love for all of my neighbors right now, I will say I do know who will actually step up and work on behalf of the association and who will sit there and flippin’ complain all day.

So it was with this knowledge I listened while I continued to pick up the trash.

Because I was dealing with someone of the later mindset, not the former.

This was later confirmed as X and Y were walking away and Y commented that she “wasn’t going to pick up anything.”

So in the end I guess I’m doing the right thing by limiting my involvement in my association---don’t forget I’m the “bad neighbor.”

Because people with big talk along with big ideas but with no follow through are “all hat and no cattle"

Because everyone has an opinion.

That and $2.25 will get you on the bus.

The Hood Is A Twitter

There are a few things that some people had wished I had never discovered.

I’m sure my mother never wished I had discovered boys, my developer wished I had never discovered blogging and my waist line wished I had never discovered beer.

But those pale in comparison to my latest, greatest discovery----Twitter.

While it’s new to me, technologically savvy cats have been “tweeting” (the proper term for a Twitter message) for awhile now.

For those of you who don’t know, Twitter is basically Facebook on steroids. It allows you to send a short 140 character message about what you may be doing, feeling or thinking at any given moment.

That way you can update people who subscribe to your Twitter account with what’s going on in your everyday life.

AND you can link your account to a website or blog.

For me, it’s the perfect way to transmit what’s going on in the ‘hood via text message “tweets” without going through the process of updating my blog.

‘Cause you may be surprised to find out that I don’t exactly carry my laptop around with me everywhere. Plus the added adventure of potentially dodging bullets may necessitate that I have to duck for cover.

If I do, I may potentially damage my laptop. That would be really, really bad.

But as a blogger, the upside for me is that I may “tweet” something that I see and later give you guys the full blown story by turning it into an actual post.

If you look over in the left hand margin, you will see that I’ve already started making observations about the little patch of paradise I call home.

So check into the blog to see what I’m “tweeting” about or you also have the option to subscribe to my Twitter account directly.

I’m telling you this is gonna be great.

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.

Number 29

Jesus.

And So It Begins

I was greeted by the sight of police tape as I was taking out the trash this evening.

This was not gonna be good.

Apparently the beefin' between young men who live south of us and the young men who stand on the corner of my street and Stony Island reached a violent conclusion a little after 4:00 PM today.

A young man was shot twice in the field behind my home.

I don't know the status of his condition. I can only hope that he survives.

A few neighbors said that he was a part of the Stony clique that hangs out down the street.

They also said that he was 15.

So the young men to the south of us are armed and I'll bet you that the young men from down the street are probably arming themselves now.

The end result is that all of the rest of us will be caught in the middle of a pitched battle.

One with no winners.

God, it's gonna be a long fucking summer.

Question Mark

I haven't personally seen any work being done on any of these buildings in several months. In the case of the trio of buildings on 65th place I haven't seen workers on the premesis since early 2008.

It goes without saying that the Living Green Lofts were never built. That's the picture of the huge vacant lot and the pile of wood that used to be the sign annoucing the development.

The question is can the 'hood (and the city for that matter) survive another round of broken promises and broken buildings?


This building's residents have been MIA. I suspected that this was going to be converted to condos but nothing has hapened to indicate which course the current owner will take.



Brand new development on 65th Place that sits empty. It's only a matter of time before squatters or a bad element take hold.



The sign for Living Green Lofts sits in pieces after the development was never built.



The vacant lot where the Living Green Lofts were supposed to be built.

My New Favorite Person, Part I

My fellow Metra riders and I have been on edge since the attacks on women started near our train stop.

A few weeks ago I saw Metra security making the rounds of the parking lots and slowly cruising under the viaducts where the stairs lead to the platforms.

Then of course that was during the day.

But for those of us who ride the 5:43 from downtown and arrive at our destination in the dark, the Mt. Carmel security guard is a welcome sight.

Apparently the lads at Mt. Carmel have had intermittent trouble in transit to or on the train platform. The school thought it was a good idea to hire a security guard to make sure the boys have safe passage.

While I don't know for sure, it's probably a safe bet that he gives the school parking lot the once over as a part of his duties. It makes sense, right?

But I when I exit the train I usually see him either on the platform or on the steps leading to the viaduct/64th street level.

While he dosen't have to stick around to make sure that the local commuters get down from the platform, I think it's awful stand up of him to take a few extra minutes to keep an eye out for us.

I may not know his name but he's my new favorite person.

Fractured Fairy Tale

There once was a lady who lived with her son on the south side of Chicago.

Unfortunately and unbeknownst to them, they lived in an apartment that had lead paint.

The exposure to the poison left the little boy with elevated lead levels in his blood.

So the lady left the building and moved to another place.

I can only assume to raise her child in the safest environment she could find and afford.

Unfortunately for her, the next place at 6959 South Paxton was no better than the first.

Or so the lawsuit allegeds (2008-L-005961).

Quadria Thomas and her son Danais Thomas are not only going after Merrill Square Cooperative and Quality Management Services---the first location; but also Carlton Knight and fellow defendants Walter Thomas and Theresa Thomas owners and/or property managers of the Paxton address.

Mr. Knight, Mr. & Ms. Thomas were the owners of the building where Ms. Thomas and her son “lawfully lived in and/or frequently visited an apartment in the said premises.”

I wish them luck.

I don’t think the esteemed lawyers of Conway & Conway know who they’re dealing with.

Even if they can prove that:

“…The said lead based paint to peel, flake, powder and otherwise deteriorate to the point where it could be and was ingested by the minor plaintiff;”
And…

“Caused other materials containing lead to be and remain on said premises and the apartment occupied by the plaintiffs, thereby creating a dangerous condition;”

And…

“Failed to warn the plaintiff’s parents and/or grandparents of the danger posed by the presence of lead on the said premises and/or apartment, though they knew that minor children were living on the premises.”

I’m mystified on how they’re going to get any type of financial relief.

I strongly suspect that legal shenanigans and delays will frustrate the plaintiffs and their lawyers.

And since a delayed payday is never on a lawyer’s agenda (or at least any lawyer I know), it’s within the realm of possibility that the plaintiffs may be dropped by their legal representative(s).

Leaving them up the creek without a paddle.

But when you think about it, would you really blame the lawyers?

You have a case constantly delayed with little if any chance of finding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow what would you do?

But I hope against hope that’s not gonna happen.

Because if anyone needs to fight out a lawsuit, it needs to be on behalf of a little boy who’s very sick and was injured through no fault of his own.

I’m hoping for the best but expecting the worst.