Monthly Archives: June 2009

Trifonic

Another great find on bandcamp

They describe their work as a “deep, lush musical experience”. Yeah, I’ll go with that.

Remergence: Infiltration has some junk in its trunk, bam! and Transgenic isn’t far behind (no pun intended).

Emergence: Parks On Fire: You just went through a break-up, your job is stressing you out, someone you care about is really sick, whatever, and you find yourself driving around at 4:17am? This is the song that is playing in your head.

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Éminence Grise

Clarence has complete “don’t fuck with” status with everyone at work, including the IT pukes and the Suits. Nobody really understands what he does for the company, but that really doesn’t matter. People’s lives are dramatically altered once they fuck with him. I remember back in the heat wave of ’95, I saw him standing in an alley behind Twin Anchors, drunk as hell and wearing a Led Zeppelin – Black Dog tee shirt. He was staring at someone’s window, like he was ready to do something that would make the morning newscasts. I kept walking.

About the same time, one of the young bucks, fresh out of U of C, starts going around saying that Clarence “Looks like a pervert. Probably likes to hang out around the park and watch the kiddies.” Like many other grads out in the real world after years of beer bongs, boinking cheerleaders and saving up their laundry for mommy to do, this guy thought he was still the shit and he thought he establishing his dominance when he said it.

Every morning Clarence would slowly walk by the kid’s cubicle and give him the look, which was a cross between The Son of Sam and a drunk Art Donovan. However, this kid wasn’t as smart as his MBA. He got chirpy every morning when Clarence walked by, unknowingly adding to the depth of his upcoming demise.  Now everyone who had been with the company for more than a year knew to avoid this kid like the plague. We all knew that he had just sealed his fate and we didn’t want to be collateral damage. We didn’t warn him, we didn’t invite him to meetings and we certainly didn’t want to be seen with him outside of work.

The kid was good looking. I’ll give him that. He had the Tom Brady look, before Tom Brady had the look and he had a solid history with the ladies. In fact, had been trying very hard to hook up with the daughter of one of our SVP’s. Most guys would avoid those women. Not this guy. He saw it as a great political move, which it was.  By October, the kid was indeed dating the princess (she also worked at the company in an administrative role) and he was on the fast track.

Side note: The princess was your basic spoiled rich girl, who spent most of her day gossiping, at the nail salon or planning the next Martini Monday with other like-minded broads.

Now, there’s basically three things most men would never pass up:

1. Free Beer

2. Free Burrito’s

3. Free Pootain

What Clarence did was simply genius. He had let the kid do his thing for a couple of months, while he worked behind the curtain. Clarence gathered information, such as, where the kid lived, where he partied on Thursday nights, his route to work, his taste in booze, his cable package, where he bought his groceries, his taste in women, yada, yada. Soon enough he had a profile on this guy that would have made J. Edgar Hoover cream his panties.

To make a long story short, he hired a prostitute to ride the same Brown Line car as the kid a few times to perk his interest. Then he had her show up at the kids favorite Thursday night bar, wearing a low-cut outfit and fuck-me pumps. Blah, blah, blah, they end up at his place that night and she gives him the Clap. But the dumbass doesn’t know it until after he’s fucked his golden ticket’s daughter twenty more times over the next month. The next thing you know, she’s running to Daddy telling him the stud marked her for life.

What’s funny about this, is that Clarence started clapping when he walked by the stud’s cubicle every morning about three weeks before the one night stand. So, now the stud probably cringes every time he hears people clapping. Oh, he worked at the office for maybe two more hours before the IT pukes “found” jailbait porn on his computer.


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Mathew Walker and a Turk’s Head

Somebody in my building is smoking weed tonight. Normally I don’t like the smell of it, but they must spent a few extra bucks to buy the good stuff this time. I would wager it’s the guy right below me and his smokin’ buddy Sydney.  These two aren’t the brightest bulbs in the room, something anyone could determine after riding the elevator with them a couple of times. I’d say they smoke up maybe six days a week, but I’m not always here to “witness” it second hand. Something I never thought of until last week when they were burning some awful smelling stink weed, they never blare their music or TV. It’s always quiet, like they’re practicing tying knots or something.

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Tater Tots and Windmills

We arrived at rush hour and had to sit at the back of the dining room (Reza’s on Clark), but it was kind of cool because we had a chance to see all of the food coming out as we were trying to decide what to order. Heidi had been in Dallas for the last five days and was excited about telling me everything about her trip.

After dinner we headed up the street to Dairy Queen for some soft serve. We ordered and were standing there taking in the wonderful summer evening, and I had just commented on how crowded it seemed for a week night when I my inner voice (Isaac Hayes) voice screamed out “Charlie’s in the wire!”

I almost vomited when I saw it. A canary-yellow ’88 Impala was coming up the street, and I swear I saw the windows vibrating. I could literally see the bass beat plowing its way to the DQ and I knew we had only a few seconds to get to the car before the carnage began.

I instinctively grabbed Heidi’s hand and turned to warn her, but her eyes were pointing me in the direction of a handful of 20-somethings getting into a tricked out purple ’02 Escalade. Nooooooooooooooo!  Everything was moving in slow motion, like the Matrix. I immediately recognized our killer tunes as Snoop’s Ghetto Symphony and T.I’s Top Back. It couldn’t be any more toxic for two Snow Flakes like us and we hadn’t a second to spare.

We threw our hands over our ears, started yelling/repeating gibberish (for me something like tater tots and windmills), ran through the parking lot,  jumped in my car, turned on the A/C to full blast and cranked up Celine Dion’s Beauty And The Beast. Well, we could still feel the bass from Escalade because the guys were just sitting there staring at us and the Impala had parked in front of the DQ. So, we both kept our ears covered (Heidi with both hands and me with one hand covering one ear and pushing my shoulder up to cover my other while I used one hand to turn the key) and continued with the gibberish as I tried to start the car, but the piece of shit wouldn’t turn over (battery cable problems).

I could see that Heidi’s resistance was now paper thin, as she was bopping her head like a chicken and swaying back and forth. I had to get us out of here immediately, but I knew I had to get out of the car to wiggle the battery cable.  So I grabbed a blanket from the back seat, wrapped it around Heidi’s head for more sound-proofing, and prepared myself for an onslaught of funk.  Once outside I shoved her in the truck and covered her head with a couple of sleeping bags, but her threshold had been breached and she was trying to let loose. I gave her once last shove and slammed the trunk shut.

I had now been totally exposed for eleven seconds. I started with Michael Jackson Thriller moves as I raised the hood and jiggled the cables, and was switching off to some Beyonce, when a big white dude wearing a Utica College t-shirt and a motorcycle helmet came running up and shoved me into the car and sped off down a side street. I must have passed out, because I woke up with Heidi in the back seat and Pearl Jam on the speakers. Someone had left us in a parking lot in Chevarier Woods with some bottled water and power bars. Heidi doesn’t even remember being shoved into the trunk, but she does remember several small hands gently pulling her out of the trunk.

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*Hammer Time

I had just got off (the L) at Argyle and was going to pick up some green tea, then head over to Shake, Rattle and Read when spotted her walking towards Broadway. Not only was this woman hot, she had a great walk. No, not the Look-at me-and-my-great-ass-that-you’ll-never-see walk…. I guess I’m trying to say she didn’t appear to be struttin’ or in any sort of rush, she looked relaxed and unguarded, and she also wasn’t wearing her cell phone up to her ear as an accessory or security blanket. I get tired of people who have to be seen on their cell phones otherwise they feel vulnerable or something. She was wearing cargo shorts and a bikini top, so I guessed that she’d been at the beach. Perfect timing for my viewing pleasure.

We both looked at each other and said “Hi” as we waited for traffic to clear on Broadway, we crossed at the same time, but I veered off over to the French/Vietnamese bakery at the corner for my tea as she headed south. Damn. I pondered if she was as nice as she was hot. Well, I guess I’ll never find out. I got my tea and wandered down to towards the bookstore, turning off over to Magnolia to check out my first apartment of ions ago. I got to the bookstore and guess who’s there? Yep, in all her splendid hotness, she was a reader.

Was fate at work here? I knew an opportunity like this doesn’t come along every day and I’m not the type of guy who gets nervous talking to a woman because she’s hot, but I was afraid that once she knew about my secret she might not want to have anything to do with me. It’s embarrassing and sometimes gets out of control. I caught it in high school, but I didn’t go to the doctor about it until about eight years ago, but he said it was too late and nothing could be done about it now. I’d just have to take some meds and learn to make some adjustments.

Well, I was going to let fate decide this, so I walked up and asked her if she knew anything about sand dollars and sure enough she did. (I’m also sure she was well aware that I was hitting on her) So, I asked her a few obligatory questions and we chatted for a few minutes and everything seemed to be cool. But something about her was special, something that sparked my curiosity. OK, right, it was her chest.

We talked for a while about Clypeasteroida, nektonic larvae metamorphosis, benthos, and the like. We were hitting it off and we were close to the Golden House, so I asked her if she would like to get some coffee and sit for a while. So we did, and we continued to talk for a bit about this and that, and I suggested that we get together sometime for dinner, a movie, whatever. She said that sounded great, but she was going out of town for a week and wouldn’t be able to hook up until next Thursday night. But before I could say anything else she said “OK, Thursday it is then”

Well, now I was the difficult point in the conversation where I could take my chances and be honest with her or be a dog and let her find out the hard way. I took the high road. I said “Heidi, you seem like such a sweet gal, so I gotta be honest with you. I’m a Snow Flake” As I was trying be tactful and avoid trying to explain it, she came out and said “So am I”. Oh Man, I was soooo glad we got that out of the way. She said that while her condition is mild, it acts up mostly to the likes of Wu Tang, but sometimes even Hootie.

Since our whiteness was out of the bag, I felt that I should let her know how bad mine gets and explained I’ll break out the Cabbage Patch,  Worm and even the Robot moves without any music. In fact, I almost got stabbed once by some Jehovah Witnesses after trying to do the Running Man at the Chicago/Cicero bus stop. I also explained that I exercise my funk behind closed doors, primarily at my support group, Snow Flakes Anonymous. We meet once a week at the Lincoln Park Community Center (safest spot in town for us) and dance, rap (out loud) and say things (out loud) like “Holla”, “Biznazz” and “You know, Farrakhan was right about…”. I also explained that its gotten better now that Chappelle is off the air and my family is more supportive every day.

Anyway, Thursday night we’re going to check out a movie and grab a drink afterwards. I’ll let you know how it turns out. Peace!

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