Overdue Program At The Libes

Just a quick note about an article I read in the March 31 Newsweek. Here's a snippet from the article:

Some libraries, including Portland's downtown branch, have already instituted an exclusion system to penalize bad behavior: one day for shaving in the bathroom, three years for fighting. But the Philadelphia Free Library, in partnership with Project H.O.M.E., a local nonprofit, has a more enterprising program. It pays homeless patrons to monitor the restrooms, and it plans to employ them at a new café. Participation in the program, like the library, is open to all.

At first read I thought how good this program in Philly is by empowering the homeless. Rather than having existing staff patrol the aisles of books, allow the homeless to police themselves. But then I thought of how this might further disrupt the situation. The library, unintentionally, will elevate those policing their fellow homeless to a new tier. Consequentially, I fear that power struggles will result where friends will have to turn each other in for misconduct.

It reminded me of the Stanford prison experiment (1971) conducted by Zimbardo where students were assigned roles of prisoners and guards. The guards quickly became authoritative and abusive.

Creating work for the homeless is a valuable and noble deed. Hopefully, the partnership will foster future opportunities for the homeless.

Fed Up with Politician's Fessing Up

The below was from a March 19 New York Times article:

A day after his predecessor's sex scandal propelled him into office, Gov. David Paterson revealed Tuesday that he had affairs with a ''number of women,'' including a state employee, but said that does not affect his ability to lead.

Paterson had admitted one affair in a newspaper interview hours after taking office Monday, but gave a fuller accounting at a news conference with his wife at his side.

''Several years ago, there were a number of women,'' Paterson said. ''The public wants to know who its elected officials are and sometimes, even though you are human, and you are someone who just has feelings and has faults, there comes a time, perhaps, when you have to tell the public."

A few questions here: how many is a "number." Are we talking a few? A handful? The greater metropolitan area of New York? A "number" is rather vague. I'd like some clarification.

From this point forward I suggest an amnesty day for philandering politicians. Akin to the trade in your guns day that Chicago and other urban areas have. Politicians could all gather--let's just have it at each state's Capitol Hill--and take turns, their wives in tow. Perhaps a Deli-style Take A Number machine could be utilized.

I'm tired of hearing how politicians are doing more than representing their constituents. This way they could all confess their affairs and be done with it.

One more thing...Spitzer's resignation speech.

"I am deeply sorry that I did not live up to what was expected of me. To every New Yorker, and to all those who believed in what I tried to stand for, I sincerely apologize."

I guess when you're being investigated by the feds for being involved in prostitution you don't admit personal wrong doing. Instead you say you are sorry for not meeting someone's (lofty) expectations. He might as well have said "The public has an unrealistic expectation that politicians shouldn't do the mess around."

How much strategy goes into a resignation speech? Do the speech writers still write up the speech? Do you think the husband asks his wife which tie best conveys remorse as he's getting dressed?

...And they're off!

Floonk.

He drew the ring back on the toy gun again. Floonk. Another creamy, white marshmallow sailed through the cold March air striking the target, a young woman dressed in a beige poncho, sombrero and false mustache, on the forehead.



This was just part of the insane scene before the third Chiditarod got rolling. In excess of 70 costumed teams gathered at Shakespeare and Damen for the annual mayhem. Modeled after the Iditarod that takes place in Alaska every year, the growing trend of Urban Iditarods got their start in San Fransisco. The Urban Iditarods draw teams that race through the streets of a city with shopping carts taking the place of the dog sled and four close friends taking the place of the dogs. The Chicago incarnation added a charitable element to the oft-dubbed "glorified pub crawl." There were five checkpoints (bars) scattered through the city where teams had to check-in before continuing on; many teams used this to refuel. This year teams had to cross the finish line with at least 25 pounds of canned food items, which would be donated to two local food depositories. In addition to a prize for coming in first, other prizes are awarded to Best Designed Cart and Best Food Presentation.

I arrived at the lot a little after 11 a.m. There were a few teams already there making adjustments to their "sleds" as a band consisting of some horns and drums belted out epic groove music to modify your cart to. After meandering around and observing the different carts, I realized this may be one of the best events of the year. Nearly everyone there snapping pictures of their carts and evaluating the competition. There was a reporter from WBEZ there getting sound bytes, but no professional TV crews. I fully expect next year to get some TV coverage. The event demands video coverage with designed carts and more than 300 people in costumes in early March running through the streets with shopping carts. As I looked back on my photos, they just don't convey the fervor and energy of the event.

Around noon the lot was crowded and several teams began "hydrating" for the marathon ahead. There was a barbecue and fresh fruit, perhaps there to help absorb the drinks to come.

Two friends of mine saw the inherent lunacy of the event and came down to witness the majesty of the Chiditarod. Brian came down for the start of the race and ran/walked through the slippery streets to the first checkpoint with me. Cristy met me at the fourth checkpoint with a video camera from school and accompanied me to the finish line getting video (to be posted here soon) and interviews. The race finished up at 5 p.m. at the Cobra Lounge.

Some of my favorite memories/observations from the day:

• I thought drinking in public was illegal. Apparently there is a loophole if it's for a charity. Teams had cases of beer in their carts, as well as higher proof liquids and Jell-O shots stowed away in backpacks.
• My favorite cart was the Mr. Rogers cart for it's holistic approach to the race. They had the puppets from the show and the main man. But what sealed the deal was when Brian and I were running alongside them as their cart careened down a side street. As they passed people on the sidewalk they'd shout out "Hi Neighbor!"
• Other great themed carts included Pac-Man, an Air Force cart with a plane molded around the cart, a few Viking and pirate homages, cinema-themed carts for Superbad and Hot Fuzz. Another great one was a Christmas-themed cart that had the star, wise men and a two-person camel.
• The winner for best-designed cart went to the Streets and Sanitation cart. There was a C.P.D'oh cart in tribute to the city's finest. They were dressed as cops and their cart looked like a squad. Perhaps the best moment for their cart was when the real Chicago Police got their picture taken with the cart.
  

It's a great event that creates countless memories, unless you drink too much, in which case (a 24-pack case?) it creates a drunken romp through the streets.

I'm now taking applications for team members in next year's race and theme ideas. Current thought is a cover of National Enquirer-theme cart with Big Foot, batboy, bearded lady, a photographer...

1234...41 in a 25

"Do you know why I pulled you over?" the officer asked.

As someone who takes pride in his quips and sarcastic comebacks, the best I could muster was "I'm gonna guess I was speeding."

I left myself an out. "Gonna guess." I knew exactly how fast I was going. I did think it was a 30 mph speed limit though.

Why do officers ask you that? You can't tell the truth or what you want to say:

• You have nothing better to do than pull me over in my jalopy
• You hate your life
• 'Cause it's your job
• Seriously officer. Did you look at my car as you walked up? You should be amazed my car made it to 41. In fact you should be paying me.
  
• You're trying to oppress me, the poor cracka who's working a job for barely over minimum wage, who is going home for the 30th night in a row with dim prospects for the future, who didn't have a valentine, just add this to the heap of crap going sour in my life
  

I took my ticket. I wasn't happy about it. This was my first ticket, ever. My pristine record tarnished by the repulsive Elmhurst 5-0.

There are a few people I can blame for this bad twist of fate:

1. My boss. I went to talk to him to see if he had any info about internships at another magazine I'm thinking of applying to. Thus, I didn't leave at 4:59 p.m. as I usually do. I left at 5:15 p.m., aka prime time for police clocking those going home on a Friday night.
2. Feist--My iPod somehow rejuvenated itself like a phoenix and gave me a little juice for the ride home. I was bopping my head, dancing in the car and gave a bit too much action on the gas.
3. Naturally, the cop. I have an "aged" car and no previous record.
4. The slow poke who was in front of me on the side street who made me want to make up for lost time.

That's my vent. Now I have to drive around with a slip of shame instead of my license.

L Is For The Way I Steal Credit For The Flowers Your Boyfriend Sent You

"That which we call a rose our own
would smell as sweet."
--Modified Shakespeare

Today marked the annual day of wine and roses for some. For others, a day of solitude and Home Shopping Network.

Below is a transcript from a conversation displaying my effort to spread good will among my female friends and coworkers.

9:49 AM Friend: hola

9:51 AM me: hello blissful lady

did you get my flowers?

9:52 AM Puzzled Friend: no but i did get flowers from jimmie john

me: i signed them jimmie john

;)

Former Friend: are you joking?

me: yes

sorry

Paranoid Friend: ok you scared me for a second

because i called him but left a message

scared as in that i just thanked him already for the flowers

me: apparently taking credit for flowers others sent isnt as funny as i thought

9:53 AM Semi-Relieved Friend: and then it would be awkward if he didn't really send them

me: it would

9:54 AM Friend: phew you just gave me an adrenalin rush of panic!

9:55 AM me: sorry

Note the effect I have on women: paranoia, fear, anxiety, panic. Discuss.

It all started when I went in to work today. One of the receptionists had a pot of tulips on her desk. "Good morning," I said to her. "I see you got my flowers."

And so it began.

There haven't been many Feb. 14s where I've been swooning as I am prone to do.

The following true story may appear in a Lifetime movie years from now.

One of my first Valentine's efforts was in the first or second grade. I was smitten with a girl. Taking a crack at love, I decided to make her a special Valentine. To go above and beyond the standard glossy cardboard with perforated edges and the latest cartoon character. So with my mom's help, I made a Valentine that would make even the coldest heart melt.

I went to school, probably wearing red, to deliver my token of affection. When I got to class, my amore wasn't there. As I would later find out, she was home (love) sick. In deep despair I didn't know what to do.

Returning home distraught, my mom again came to the rescue. We looked up her address in the school directory and drove to my crush's house. We were there in the driveway. I couldn't do it. I was too shy. I couldn't seal the deal and deliver my special Valentine to my potential childhood sweetheart. Did we turn around and drive back home? Nope. My mom wouldn't let my bashfulness get in the way of this, now, myth-caliber Valentine. In a display of true love, she went to deliver it for me.

Did me and my childhood cherie skip off into the sunset to live a life of bliss? Not quite. But a few years later I did get a special Valentine from her.

Love is a funny, yet many a splendored thing.


----------------
Listening to: Diana Ross & the Supremes - You Can't Hurry Love
via FoxyTunes