Frying Pan Into The Fire

It appears that the battle was won but the outcome of the war is severely muddled.

While the Friday night Juke Jams were shut down, the Metropolitan quickly rebounded by booking a “for ladies only” strip show in its space last week.

How do I know?

Easy---I simply asked a few of the ladies pouring out of the cars parked on my street.

They were all too eager to chat about where they were going and the type of show that was going on inside.

As a matter of fact, it seemed that tickets could be purchased in advance so there had to be some type of publicity or word of mouth. If I wasn’t in so much pain from my knee injury earlier in the week, I would have limped down there to see if I could have bought a ticket and seen the show.

More on my personal reenactment of the ice capades later.

These latest incidents reinforce my belief that whoever’s in charge at the Metropolitan is making some questionable decisions regarding the rental of their space.

Furthermore, I have serious questions about proper licensing and zoning issues.

Now I haven’t thoroughly checked everything out, but I believe our little piece of paradise is zoned residential, not commercial---but then of course I could be wrong.

Nonetheless, it’s always a good idea to run an party space in the same building as a substance abuse recovery program so what do I know?

Interestingly enough I did manage to find out that when one throws a large party or one where money an admission is being charged; it is the responsibility of the promoter or the host to make sure that the venue in question has all of the proper permits, licenses, safety features and apparatuses.

If the venue doesn’t have all of its ducks in a row, a responsible promoter would be crazy to stage his or her parties at the venue for fear of a possible lawsuit.

So caveat emptor when buying your ticket to these events. The party may be poppin’ but a panicked crowd of people in a venue that may or may have its permits, licensing and inspection by the fire department is a place that I have no desire to be.

Frankly speaking, that scenario is quite a possible with a novice or negligent party promoter.

I know what you’re thinking---Let’s not even talking about security and parking.

So while it would be easy for me to piss and moan about an impending disaster across the street, in actuality I don’t really know what’s exactly going on.

I don’t know who’s running the show.

I don’t know who’s promoting and hosting most of the parties.

I don’t know what type of setup the Metropolitan has or if our little hoody hoo is zoned for such a venture.

I don’t even know if neighborhood input would be welcomed or even considered.

But I’m sure as hell gonna find out.

Phyrric

Calls were made.

Concerns were raised.

The Juke Jame situation was assessed.

Long story short, it seems that some law enforcement types were none too pleased about an ongoing party for 14-20 year olds that they hadn't been informed about.

Discussion flourished.

But in the end the party was called off. Go figure.

A small victory for the 'hood, right?

Wrong---dead wrong.

Goodbye Juke Jam.

Hello strippers.

How Many Times Can I Invoke The Name Of Jesus In A Week?

You know what? I'm going to go and get a drink.

While doing so, I'll ponder the possible impact of this latest development on the 'hood.

Jesus take the wheel.

Milorad

The hair should have been the dead giveaway.

I knew I should have trusted my first impressions. But, no---I waved it off.

Then came word about the near daily commutes between Chicago and Springfield.

Then the family feud and all of the ensuing ugliness. That’s when the world was first introduced to the term “testicular virility.”

Sweet Baby Jesus.

Then he was the “first Black Governor of Illinois.”

Do not even get me started on that one.

Now rampant greed and runaway ego will cause the entire nation look on as yet another Illinois governor is under federal indictment.

But the cherry on top of all of this foolishness is how the Illinois voter is shocked by the goings on of Governor Blagojveich.

He got me once---I voted for him in ’02 hoping that he could wash away the stench of Ryan administration.

Yeah, I know I was a dumbass but I can dream the impossible dream can’t I?

After I got wind of the commuting foolishness ($26 million over the lifetime of his administrations), I knew this wasn’t the guy you let hold the cookie jar.

Yet more than one dumbass voted to have him hold the jar once again in ’06.

Now everyone wants to wag their fingers and cluck their tongues at his behavior when they as a voting body tacitly approved such shenanigans.

So now the great cry is heard and clothes are being rendered.

All they had to do was ask me. I’d would have let you in on the secret.

Never trust a man who’s constantly fiddling with his hair.

The More Things Change...

Just a few things that have been on my mind lately:

Despite the Chicago Transit Authority getting ready to committ legal robbery without a gun (translation: fare hikes), someone up there FINALLY started thinking from a rider's point of view by introducing the bus tracker program.

I swear it was sent from heaven.

You go to www.ctabustracker.com, click on the "estimated arrival times" link, find the line that you want, choose the direction and pick the stop. And right there before your eyes you have about the next three buses for your stop.

And when you're online the bustracker counts down IN REAL TIME!

Sweet Baby Jesus.

If you're getting dressed in the morning or trying to get somewhere on time, this thing is a godsend.

You want to know what's better?

This handy little utility can be accessed from any web enabled phone.

Now be forewarned, all bus lines aren't on the bus tracker yet but the CTA keeps on adding more with regularity.

Finally a real use for GPS. My days of running for the bus are over

Seemingly the more things change, the more they stay the same.

While I won't have to run for the bus, it won't matter much as I'm sure I'll slip and fall on the sidewalk that Mt. Carmel is supposed to maintain.

Long time readers know that this isn't the first time I've had issue with the snow clearing on the north side of the street.

It took forever to finally get a nice sidewalk. Even longer to get it plowed when the snow fell.
We haven't quite worked our way up to getting salt, but eyes remain heavenward and heads bowed.

Most people are griping that the city will let their side streets remain snowy and slick. Since we're used to the streets turning into sheets of ice before the plows get to us I say to the rest of the city----welcome to the club. Welcome to being treated like the colored.

Now you know how the folks on this little two block strecth of Nirvana on the south side feel.

Now we're back to practically begging Mt. Carmel to do what they should be doing in the first place.

The salt---that once again should be voluntarily spread on the sidewalk---would be icing on the cake

But no here I am again writing about the maintenance, or lack thereof, of our neighbor across the street.

You would think that at an school that prides itself on instilling moral character in young men would show a little to their neighbors.

Floater

While the turkey never slid off the table at my house, there were quite a few mishaps during my youth.

Don't ask.

Despite what's going on in the economy and this crazy mixed up world, here's to hoping we all have a safe remainder of the holiday season.

State Secret

Now let’s all put our heads together on this one.

Go to the Inauguration---nope, no way.

Freezing my ass off with a crappy view of the action is not my idea of a good time.

I would on the other hand, like to go to a state dinner.

So from now until President Elect Obama leaves office, I’m on a mission to get invited to the White House for a state dinner.

I’m pretty sure I can clear a Secret Service background check. And I promise to act like I have some home training.

Yet I’m not quite sure how I’m going to pull this one off.

Any ideas, folks?

Yes We Can

I have yet to have children.

I do not know how it feels to give birth to another human being and to experience that life long love---that maternal bond.

My friends with kids often remark they'd do anything to protect their children.

Playing devil's advocate, I jump on the bandwagon and ask them if they knew that their child (or children)commited a crime, would they ever turn them in to the police.

Every last one of them has said no.

They couldn't bring themselves to turn their children in---no matter how horrific the act.

I counter with the statement, "So why do you bother teaching them right from wrong and taking them to church?

That one is usually met with icy silence.

I guess it's difficult to turn over one's offspring to the authorities.

That's why this woman not only gets my praise but my prayers and respect as well.

Instead of turning a blind eye, she made a huge personal sacrifice.

She knows that all of the best examples begin at home.

Post Election Reflection

While President Elect Obama’s historic campaign brought out the worst in his opponents, I will say that his election last Tuesday brought out the best in Chicago.

I have never seen that much order and love among a large diverse crowd at a public gathering ever.

Makes you kinda wonder what else Chicagoans could do if we overcame the bullshit and ugliness and came together.

And while we’re on the topic, nuts to those doom and gloom naysayers and scared rabbits that left the city with a quickness on Tuesday.

Those who said that no matter what the election outcome there would still be rioting on the streets.

It’s nice to know that we proved them wrong.

A small aside to my African American brothers and sisters:

While President Elect Obama is an impressive figure, do not place ALL of your hopes and dreams on his shoulders.

While he serves as an inspiration of what hard work and determination can do, he is not the only Black person who can achieve in this country.

Let me reiterate that point: He is not the only Black person who can achieve in this country.

I’m not sure why some of us need this stunning example to underscore this point but hey---whatever works.

You don’t have to give me that look---I know the deck is stacked but like President Elect Obama you’ve got to be three times as good (Read: Extremely Qualified) and run a tight campaign.

Oh yeah---and build a coalition.

On that note I just want to put a few things for your consideration on the table:

Can we start respecting each other and the places where we live just a little bit more? Picking up trash really doesn’t take too much time, really.

Is it possible that we could stop killing and poisoning one another? When I say poisoning I mean drugs and drug dealing.

Now here’s the tough one---Can we start holding community and elected leaders accountable for their actions?

Since Black people were usually on the short end of the stick when it came to inclusion in this country, it seems like we fell for the heady promise of someone who happened to look like us being in power.

From Hatcher in Gary, to Coleman in Detroit, to Barry in D.C.----dreams were realized but at a heavy cost.

Each of those leaders had the best of intentions, but reality was quite a different kettle of fish.

Black folks were a little new to the game. We didn’t know 40 years ago that you have to build coalitions in order to preserve the tax base which in turns pays for the cops, the fireman and the teachers.

But we know that now.

So the moral of my little tale is we have no permanent friends, we have no permanent enemies but we do have permanent interests that have yet to be effectively served by some of those in power.

To that end, call ‘em on the carpet.

Not only the politicians but the absentee land and property owners---one person (or a group of people) can make a difference.

Yes we can.

Teacher Teacher

I should have known what was coming when The Teacher not only knocked on my door one Thursday evening a few weeks ago, but also tried my doorknob.

I mean what’s so urgent that you have to try the knob to your neighbor’s door?

Especially during Ugly Betty.

I thought there might have been an emergency.

But by the time I got to the door no one was there.

“Odd.” I thought.

I proceeded to call my first floor neighbor while I knocked on The Teacher’s door.

I wanted to make sure everything was alright.

That’s when my neighbor, The Teacher, lost her fucking mind.

I have never---not even once----attempted to shirk my fiscal or personal responsibility to my condo association.

For her to accuse me of “being a bad neighbor” is absolutely ridiculous.

Moreover, it’s completely unfounded.

An employment and cash flow hiccup---well perhaps we can call it a burp as I was unemployed for 11 months---cannot compare to the benefits MY efforts have brought to this association and our neighborhood.

So apparently she didn’t consider that while she was bumpin her gums attempting to bully me into paying money I don’t have.

But I tend to call that the Janet Jackson consciousness---The “What Have You Done For Me Lately” attitude.

Furthermore her husband, our association treasurer, fell derelict in his duties by letting so many owners get so far behind in their assessments.

And when I say behind, I mean to the tune of almost $10,000.

That’s ten grand. Ten large. Or to put it another way, a dime to those of you who speak Soprano.

So I wonder what it was about the mounting arrearage that didn’t set off the alarms in his head.

One may never know.

But I do know that the both of them have been lobbying for some time to be paid for their efforts.

Then of course I performed my contributions to our associations while working two jobs. Never asking for, nor expecting one thin dime for my quantifiable results.

Nonetheless, I was the recipient of The Teacher’s rage that fine Thursday evening.

Despite my efforts to make this a civil conversation I was called and or told the following:
I am a bad neighbor.
I am a deadbeat.
I’m hurting the association.

But the last three comments in this bitch session were priceless.

This woman had the stones to question me about the packages that were being delivered to me. Her inference was that I had money to buy things so I must be able to pay my back assessments.

Not that it was any of her business but I did celebrate a milestone birthday in late August and decided to use some of the gift cards that I had received.

You know---the ones you can’t turn in for cash.

Oh, but she wasn’t done by a long shot.

“You know if I had a storage room full of things in the basement, I would sell them----sell anything I had not to be in debt.”
I looked at her like she had just spoken to me in Klingon.

I remember thinking that she had to have been smoking something to come up with that one.

Can you believe the audacity?

No doubt she saved the best for last.

After all of this (and missing the first 10 minutes of Ugly Betty) I asked her a simple question: “Do you think I’m the type of person who would leave my neighbors in a lurch? Do you really think that I would leave you guys holding the bag?”

Without missing a beat she said “Yes.”

Wow.

Well there it is.

All I was initially seeking was an accurate accounting of my back assessments. Instead of our treasurer sitting down with me and making me understand his numbers he left his duties up to his wife.

What more was there to say?

I bid The Teacher and her husband good night. I turned on my heel and went back to my program.

Yes there was another knock at the door and yes I saw my treasurer on my doorstep. The association’s books in his hand, but I had more pressing matters at hand.

Betty was trying to figure out who pushed her best friend down the stairs.

I was done.

Absolutely, positively done.

The Bad Neighbor

I am a bad, thoughtless neighbor.

Again.

Or at least that's how my fellow board member who also happens to be my treasurer's wife sees it.

My 11 month unemployment jag was no secret.

And while I've been working for a little over three months, playing catch up on debt is a bitch. Frankly speaking, I knew that it would probably take six to nine months to get back to zero.

And yes, I am behind on my assessments.

Note: When I say behind I mean BEHIND.

I, of all people, know that good intentions don't pay a condo association's bills. Moreover I was one of several board members who voted for tougher rules on owners that fall behind on their assessments.

Irony is a motherfucker.

Like it or lump it I was (and am) behind in my assessments and had have limited e-mail conversations with our association treasurer about the actual amounts that were owed.

He said it was one amount, I disagreed and said it was another.

Because how can I start to formulate a repayment plan when I didn't have a starting out figure?

In all honesty our treasurer wasn't too swift about getting back to me and I was too busy trying to figure out how to keep a roof over my head and my utilities on.

Then I got my current position and set about making nicey with ComEd, Peoples Gas & AT&T.

But guess what happened?

Our treasurer's wife, let's call her The Teacher, jumped in the fray.

At first she called and stated that a lien could be placed on my unit.

And while I assured her that I would pay up as quickly as possible, at least things were somewhat cordial.

That changed a few weeks ago.

'Cause The Teacher took it from business to personal.

The Drama Continues

The letter finally came.

The City of Chicago Consumer Services Department has filed charges against that bootleg taxicab driver who wouldn’t take me home a few months ago.

It would seem that I have a knack of running into drivers that won’t take me to the south side.

It’s kind of like a gift, really.

While it sucks in the moment, at least in my own way I’m rooting out crappy taxi drivers.

Like a scrubbing bubble, I’m doing the hard work so you don’t have to.

Nonetheless, the form letter from Consumer Services states that the driver could “demand a trial.”

I say bring it on, homeboy.

We could have avoided this whole mess.

Everyone involved in this rigmarole could be going with the countless other things they have going on in their lives had the driver simply taken me home.

Personally I can name about twelve other things I’d rather be doing than taking a taxi driver to task over refusing me service.

It really is just that easy.

Why didn’t my cab driver think so?

If history is any precedent, the night driver of 6215 will think twice before he pulls that crap on anyone else.

South side, represent.

Tipping

Now that I’ve been on the hustle for about six months as a waitperson, I’ve come to recognize my favorite type of customers. This is in no particular order:

St. Ignatius Football Fans
University of Chicago Employees on a payday
Construction Workers
Groups of six or more---especially the ones who drink.

Now before you get your panties in a bunch, I closely monitor my customer’s drinking.

If I think you’re getting close to that line, you’re driving or walk in completely bombed, I won’t serve you. I don’t care how much money you’re going to spend. If you’re in a group I’ll at least limit you to 21 Jaeger Bombs (don’t laugh---that actually happened)

My least favorite types of customers:

People who start a conversation---“I’d like a (fill in the blank). How much does that cost?”
Demanding patrons who can’t ask for everything at the same time.
Anyone who treats you like and/or makes you feel like the help.

That last one would fall under the heading of asshole.

Now just because you or people like you may fall under the heading of “favorite type of customer” doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re a big tipper.

What let’s me know that I may get a decent (read: 20% or more) tip is the graciousness of a person's demeanor.

Not all gracious people are great tippers but all of my big tippers are gracious people.

Those are the ones I love to see coming.

But make no mistake folks, I bring a lot of waitressing skills to the table.

The busboy drops your waters, shortly thereafter I come over to greet you again and take your drink order.

Once I bring back your drinks I take your food order(s), come back with silverware, condiments and any think else I may think you may need for your meal.

In short, I make sure you don’t have to ask for anything unless you actually forget to ask me.

Despite my best efforts---and the best efforts of many other servers---these actions sometimes do not bring reward.

Most people don’t care that I have to tip out my support staff.

I lose 7% of my money off the top.

Most people don’t recognize seamless service and a pleasant experience until you forget one water refill and they base their tipping on that one incident.

Believe it or not, I’ve made my peace with those types of people.

What can a girl do?

I can’t control the world.

And for every cheap ass---and there are many---there are people who are so easy to deal with you should pay them for sitting in your area.

I get that these are hard economic times but if you have enough to go out, you have enough to leave 20%.

If not, me and the rest of my serving brethren implore you to stay home.

‘Cause in the end, you get what you pay for.

Drumbeats

It’s nice to know that I’m not stupid.

That what I’ve been seeing and writing about since 2005 wasn’t a figment of my imagination.

And because people were too greedy or too clueless to see the warning signs all of us are paying the price.

Yeah I know that borrowing beyond one’s means for a home they couldn’t afford played a huge part in this mess.

But if that was the beginning of the end, foreclosures were the final nail in the coffin.

Basing business decisions on asset back securities that can’t be reliably verified is little more than a shell game.

But I think the powers that be kinda picked up the clue phone on that one.

And now the American public is left picking up a 700 billion dollar tab.

And the punch line is it may not be enough.

But the fascinating wrinkle in this whole mess is how Cook County Sheriff Tom Dart has taken a stand against tenant foreclosure evictions.

A sense of moral justice and easy on the eyes? Like that happens everyday.

With Cook County’s foreclosures tripling this year to over 40,000, Sheriff Dart said that too many innocent renters were being evicted in a process not of their own making.

Now where did I hear that before?

Then of course a nice little community group from Albany Park neighborhood did their part by alerting the Sheriff to the fact of the innocents trapped in this foolishness.

And there’s the rub my friends.

While I’m a huge fan of personal responsibility, as a culture we’ve gotten away from the notion of looking out for the collective.

Or does that smack of socialism?

While potential subsidized housing and mortgage fraud may not necessarily be poppin’ off in
your ‘hood, it doesn’t mean that somewhere down the line it won’t affect you personally.

So while some people sat up and tisk tisked about the high mortgage defaults on the south and west side of Chicago, little did they know that similar situations were happening all over the country.

A financial storm was brewing and little was done about it in my humble opinion due to the fact of where it was happening and who was immediately affected.

That’s my nice way of saying racism and classism reared its ugly head in an incredibly genteel way.

NIMBYism at it’s finest.

Yes, some people made wrong choices in attempting to afford too much house and signing their name on the dotted line of a mortgage product whose terms they didn’t understand.

But it pretty much a foregone conclusion that the mortgage industry and a whole and the packaging of those mortgage backed assets---with little oversight or regulation might I add---was a time bomb waiting to happen.

And now it’s come to this my friends---my backyard is your backyard.

Too many foreclosures in too many neighborhoods have brought down some venerable and far reaching institutions.

Hell, the government of Iceland might have to go on Link.

So while we may not be our brother’s keeper, it may be on our best interests to listen to the far off drumbeats before they become deafening.

Grinding

You know what’s tougher than being out of work for 11 months?

Trying to play catch up on bills.

And when I say bills I mean the actual amount of money that I owe to friends.

If you’re thinking money and friendship is an explosive mix, you’re right.

That’s why I’m back to the grind at the restaurant during the weekends.

Do I like working six days a week---no.

Do I like being on my feet for seven hours after working a regular eight hour work day---no.

Do my feet hurt like a mother---yes.

And before you ask, yes the new job is going well, thank you.

But in these scary economic times, you have to get your grind on. Unless you have a war chest saved, you have to get on the hustle.

And that’s if you’re starting from zero.

But if you’re playing catch up, trying to make the war chest thing happen is a little tricky. It’s pointless to try to save money if you’re in debt.

And my job is a contract position so they could choose to let me go at any time.

So I’m on the hustle.

It’s tough to place a priority on who gets paid first. Frankly there are a great many people who have saved my ass over the past 11 months (and beyond).

But when I sit down to think about it, I have to whittle down my debt. And unfortunately that means I have to do that so in some type of order.

You gotta crawl before you can walk, right?

So if you happen to find me one late night a little blurry eyed at some south side dining establishment, don’t worry.

But I would very much appreciate you bringing in your non-demanding, cocktail drinking friends and their disposable income.

‘Cause I’m gonna rock it out and retire some of this debt before the end of this calendar year.

I’m a hustler baby.

Slinging Grub

If you happen to attend a Notre Dame football game this season and you’re a little hungry and/or thirsty, satisfy your cravings at booth 19.

You’ll know you’re at the right place ‘cause it’s next to the drunk tank.

That little stand is run by members of my hometown church, Olivet A.M.E.

In return for managing the stand and feeding the masses, the church gets a cut of the profits.

Or as I like to call it, hot dogs for homies.

But don’t tell them I said that.

So if you make it down to South Bend, say “hey” to everyone and pick up an extra item or two.

You probably need to bank some “favor points” with God by supporting a church after you woke up handcuffed in the back of a police car---again.

Hey Astor Properties...

Cut the freaking grass already.

And while you're at it, pick up the trash in the yard. If you don't, 5th Ward Streets & San will do it for you and charge you for their time.

Can you believe I have to look at this shit everyday?

Now do you gentle readers understand why I'm not a fan of non resident owners?

Take the wheel Jesus.

I Spoke Too Soon

Just when I thought the 'hood was taking on an air of respectability, the restless youth have slowly but surely returned to the corner.

Great.

Not only have a hand full of the original horde started hanging out on the northwest corner, but when people cast lingering glances their way they go across Stony Island and hang out in the bus shelter.

I noticed yesterday the bus shelter got tagged with graffiti.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

I wonder if the owners of the building on the corner will enforce the no loitering order or if it will take another shooting (and a fatality) before people get it?

At least it was nice quiet month. I was just hoping it would last.

(Sigh)

On a different note I found out that I'm a finalist in the Mayor Daley's Landscape Awards Contest.

While I'm excited, I figured that when you enter gardening contests and don't hear back from anyone in a reasonable amount of time that some Versailles inspired garden has kicked your garden's ass.

So imagine my surprise when I got a phone call last week stating that I was a finalist and that someone needed to swing by the flat to take a look at the flowers.

Who knew?

I'll keep you posted on both fronts.

Epilogue

It’s been a little over a month since the last shots were fired at the end of the block.

And believe it or not I haven’t seen any of the restless youth that normally hang on the corner.

Now what happened, I’m not sure.

But I do know that this new addition has been made to the building:


‘Cause without the restless youth hanging out the likely hood of shots being tossed decreases dramatically.

Via records from the Cook County Assessors and Treasurer, I discovered that the owners of the building are WECAN (Woodlawn East Community and Neighbors). And while I had my doubts about their tenant screening process, my faith has been renewed.

Once again, I have no clue what’s going on down there.

I don’t know if the adults have reclaimed their households or if WECAN had a come to Jesus meeting with some (or all) of their tenants.

Somebody laid down the law.

All I know is that the bullets have stopped whizzing.

The Last Gasp of Summer

With the weather changing, I wanted to give you a last taste of summer. These are the flowers I planted for my friend's back porch.


Unfortunately all the prettiness will be gone as soon as the frost hits.