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