Pseudonyms for Everyone!
I figured out a way to appease everyone who has ever lived: I'm just going to start using nicknames, pseudonyms, and abbreviations for everything. This could be as boring as using someone's first and middle name instead of first and last... or it could be as exciting as me inventing a nickname for you, such as SS Kenny Hoots, K Money, MCW, The Building, Ssstutter, The Married Chick, or Psycho Liberal Gossip (I think I've always been pretty good at inventing nicknames). I don't know why I didn't think of this before. Yes I do... because sometimes the nicknames I come up with, however clever, don't make sense unless I explain them. And if I explain them that defeats the whole purpose of the anonymity behind the nickname. Also, if I ever come up with a nickname you find offensive, then I was talking about you.
I started writing this post while at a Chipotle on State and Division this afternoon. I had decided to stop in for lunch after getting my hair cut. I hesitate to say Chipotle was a "treat" for getting a hair cut, but let's look at some facts, shall we? I have (for obvious reasons) started to dread going to get my haircut. There are, however, not-so-obvious reasons that I don't like getting a hair cut. The biggest reason being the forced-ness to the conversation that I just find nauseating. I hate all forced conversations... probably one of the reasons I fear dating. "So... we're here." *Look around* "Wanna shag?" I mean there's just nothing interesting to come from a casual don't-even-know-if-I-want-to-get-to-know-you kind of conversation. I avoid those kinds of conversations with a fevent fervor. Or a fervent fever. I avoid them. And the barber's shop is the penultimate in awkward conversations (the "birds and bees" being the ultimate). It's so awkward... because what do you talk about? Who is this stranger who I'm allowing to cut a part of my body? And I sit there and I listen to other people getting their hair cut and they're just talking about themselves... blah blah blah, boring boring. I don't want to be that guy. So what happens is I sit there in silence, unless the barber says something. You'd think that this would make me feel better... but I end up sitting there, wondering if I SHOULD say something and what should I say? *shakes head* Falls under the "damned if you do, damned if you don't" category... and I hate that category.
Anyway, so here I am at Chipotle, right? Someone in this city thinks having an open dining area/lobby is a good idea. As if inhaling the sweet vapor of sewage fumes is glamorous. "Oh look how quaint... a restaurant with an open store-front! It's like we're in Europe!" Except in Europe, there is considerably less truck exhaust... I'm guessing. I have no idea.
I love sitting in the windowed seats of a restaurant, though... to fuck with passers-by. "Look what I'm eating and you're not" I say with my eyes. "Oh! It's so good!" I say with my mouth. This made me feel good about myself until (who I have a pretty good guess was) a homeless man walked passed. I immediately stopped teasing people. Sometimes I like to pretend I have tact.
In my travels and errands today, I found myself walking passed One East Scott... which is the building in which I almost lived. I was rushed back to that one fateful day on 2003 when I came to Chicago with my parents and tried to find me an apartment. The woman who showed us apartments couldn't find East Scott... because Scott is circumvented by another street so that East and West Scott both dead end where they should come together. Also, she might have been kind of a newbie to the area. Although she certainly drove like a Chicagoan. Regardless, she would slow down near people walking dogs or pushing strollers and say "DO YOU KNOW EAST SCOTT? EAST SCOTT?" Yeah, I said "say" when I should have said "shouted." And she had a nasal, pinched voice... and I'll just never forget it.
Here's a story of a Bush supporter who's suing the Republican National Committee for stealing his idea for the bumper stickers you see everywhere. If nothing else, click on the link to see the picture of the guy's bumper sticker that he says they ripped off (the 43 stands for the forty-third president). I have no doubt that he SHOULD win the case... but I also don't doubt that he probably won't.