Saturday, February 2, 2008


Thursday- January 31st dumped all over us, here in Chicago. Kind of a message from January to say..."Yeah, so...February isn’t so great, look what I can do. Eat this!" I used to always think that if the words "White rabbits" said three times, were the first you said on the first day of a month you had good luck. I dont know if it was Chinese, or teenage, or Wiccan, but I do it. I did it. And we were white...everything was white. Good luck all. Yippee.

On my way to the Goodman Theatre two nights ago, I typed this on my blackberry. (in notepad)...nifty and surely carpurtunal-inducing.


Riding the train at night is different than day time. Especially in a snow storm. You can't look out the windows, if you see the greasy smudge marks of hands and elbows, maybe even foreheads? That quickly reminds you that your bag probably shouldnt be sitting on the floor. People are so interesting, suprisigingly smelly, and generally chipper tonight. One guy reads about "secrets of sexy" in the Chicago Tribune. Ryan Seacrest smiling in the clip. Womeon cackle with each other and I wonder: "Do they laugh like that when they get home? I hope so." I usually like to gaze out into the barely-changing landscape of town changess but tonight I can't, so I look down, breathe out of my mouth and listen.

Young people speak so loudly. I can't remember being that inconsiderate and unaware of my surroundings and audibility. (I’m sure I was). They swear a lot too, but less for strategic emphasis and more like trying out a newly learned skill, like snapping or whistling as a kid....Less charming though. I am not making this up. The acne-covered awkward boy surrounded by high school girls drinking alcohol in mountain dew bottles says: "People always think I’m drunk, even when I’m not, they say: 'Dude? Why do you walk around in your boxers with a boner?!' “The girls cackle and repeat the words they like. A Japanese engineer across from me shook his head in disbelief. I also wondered: "Is that his disdain or wistfulness?"

Business dads sneak in naps before getting home, women talk about impending birthday parties and TV. It’s all very cliché actually. I end up with the guy with stale-Smokey hands and a hoody sitting next to me. I would be grossed out if he didn’t seem so uncomfortable and frustrated to be in his skin, it was both sad and alarming. He seemed to want to both disappear for being so dirty and inconsequential and stand up and demand everyone to understand him. But he didn’t do either. He sat next to me tapping his foot jonsin' for a cigarette, or worse...

I stay in my corner, typing the keys on my blackberry. Dutifully filling my role as a cliché like the rest. Ethnically-ambiguous girl in expensive trench coat and high boots typing on blackberry. (By the bathroom). I love to hate public transit.

I love to observe the very strangeness that makes us all the same...on some level.

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