Faster and Furiouser

With urchins going back to school, police have started adamantly enforcing School Zones and ticketing those speeding. You may also spot an influx of minivans clogging up the streets as you try to get to work.

The area in which I reside has to hold the distinction of most schools per square mile. Families are often concerned with how good the schools are in an area and what the student to teacher ratio is. In this town realtors promote the schools to kid ratio. There are at least five schools within a mile radius of my home, making it one giant 20 miles per hour speed trap.

In an effort to alert drivers to the School Zone and reduced speed limit (turtle-esque), the town has placed what I affectionately call Speed boards on the thoroughfares.

These electronic signs have the wrong affect on me. I view them as a challenge, like a radar gun in baseball. The digital red dots alert me to my speed. Unavoidably, my right foot feels heavier. I can't control it. My car starts moving ever faster, the numbers on the sign continue to increase. My eyes are then fixated on the sign and not on the sidewalks to see if there are any children about to dart in front of my rapidly moving vehicle. Then I pass the sign and my foot's weight returns to normal. Out of my control I find myself pulling a U-Turn. I need to see if I can best my previous speed.

The sign serves as a calibration device to see if my speedometer is working properly. Until you are pulled over, you have no way of knowing if you were really going 85 mph. In my previous car, I really had no clue. The speedometer might have been the last functioning instrument on The Beast.

Pleasant driving.

Love Notes

While driving into work this morning, I noticed a wagon in front of me. All I could see of the driver was the small rectangular reflection in her rear view mirror. But on the mirror was a yellow Post-It note with the following:

I Love You.

My sole question is whether or not she wrote the note. Did someone else leave it in her car? Or, in a self-esteem building effort, did she write it to remind herself that she loves herself? Or better yet, did she scribe it so others on the road, like me, would see it and think that she's loved and feel a growing sense of jealousy for not having a similar note on their own rear view mirror?

Happy Friday.

Living for the City

So after work yesterday I decided to venture out to the city. I don't often venture into the urban metropolis that is Chicago mainly for the preservation of my sanity and avoidance of the demonized, crime infested alleys. Perhaps I should explain previous excursions to unfamiliar territories. I have a track record of getting "disoriented" in new locales. You may be wondering why I didn't use the term "lost." I prefer not to use the term "lost" because rarely do I not know where I am. I am well aware of my location. The problem is I am not sure how to get to my destination from my current detour. Many of my friends and family have received calls asking them to play cartographer and guide. To them I say thank you. To you I say stay by your computer and phone I may need you soon. Despite past wrong turns I still try to go to new places and learn to navigate my way. The Christmas gift of an all-in-one compass/thermometer/rape whistle/magnifying glass (which ALWAYS impresses prospective dates) also has come in handy when I'm temperature curious in a dimly lit alley facing impending danger and need to know which way is north.

With printed directions in hand I departed work for Union Tavern. Turn-by-turn I was in the zone. I could feel the navigational gods Cortés , Vasco da Gama and Magellan sharing their divine gifts with me. At one point I passed Lincoln Ave. In my defense, the street was not labeled and looked to be more of a pedestrian sidewalk than a road. A quick U-ie righted the ship and put me back on the path to my friends and an open bar. Lest ye fear, I found my way to the bar and somehow managed to secure a parking spot right outside the club. This may be where the gods got distracted and left me to fend for myself.

After visiting with school chums I was invited out to the Green Mill to continue the party. As a lover of jazz I enthusiastically agreed and offered a ride to some of those going. They opted for the train. I think my direction reputation preceded me. My cell phone battery was waning so I tried to make the call to my direction chief (mom) brief. Directions were delivered and off I went.

Life was good. I found a club AND a place to park. The skies were clear as the stars started to appear in the summer sky. Off I went up Halstead to Clark. The directions were simple. Clark to Lawrence and soon I'd be at the Mill soakin' up some soothing sounds. But the police had different ideas. Not the Chicago 5-0. I'm talking about the retiring rockers featuring Sting. They were holding a concert at Wrigley Field. The concert conveniently let out as I was on my way to the club. A detour and an hour later I was disoriented and defeated. Chicago had beaten me. Traffic had whittled down my will to live. I longed for the open roads of the 'burbs. Eventually I got out of the densely packed throng of middle-aged drunks.

Some wrong turns led me to more confusion. I turned on Broadway, but it wasn't the same Broadway that the Mill is located. Eventually I got to some street going North and was about to bail and head for home when my navi-mom told me how close I was. As the words registered in my brain I saw the sparking lights of the Green Mill.

The people I was to meet were still in the club and I was able to soak in some funk before heading back to my familiar home.

No matter how prepared I am with directions a road is always closed or there is some street festival. The lesson, I suppose, is that there will always be roadblocks. The key is how you handle them.

Future blogs include a commentary on a truly inconvenient truth, the excessive use of 'actually', french films and the ongoing job hunt which goes into week 3.