Gov. Blago to his wife: Honey Could you Keep it Down? I'm on the Goddamn Phone!

Most of the focus regarding the Blago-gate scandal that has been the talk of Chicago and much of the nation this week has been on Blago's efforts to sell Obama's senate seat. And while this is obviously noteworthy in its own way, my favorite part of the scandal are the revelations about Patti Blagojevich, Rod's wife. From the Chicago Tribune: http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/chi-blagojevich_patti_10dec10,0,1460523.story

"She helped her husband hatch a plan to sell President-elect Barack Obama's old U.S. Senate seat. She angled to trade her husband's power for lucrative spots on corporate boards. And she unleashed an obscenity-filled tirade suggesting Tribune Co. ownership should "just fire" Chicago Tribune editorial writers if the company wanted the state to help it unload Wrigley Field to ease its crushing debt."

Authorities alledge that while her husband was on the phone with a Tribune company executive, Patti could be heard in the background shouting, "hold up that fucking Cubs shit- Fuck them!"

Imagine that you are on the phone with the govenor of Illinois and you hear that in the background? Aside from the obviously profane language, what is it about women trying to talk to their husbands while they are on the phone? My wife would never use that kind of language, but she is prone to trying to tell me things while I'm on the phone with someone else. For example, the other day I was on the phone with Direct TV about a technical problem we were having, and while on the phone with them determined that they were overcharging us. Wouldn't you know it, though, my beloved wife tried to explain to me that we weren't being overcharged, just as I was securing a credit from the representative. Maybe she wanted to set the record straight, but couldn't this have waited?

More on Patti Blago from the Trib:

"The affidavit also alleges she participated in a two-hour conference call last month in which she, Gov. Rod Blagojevich and his aides discussed selling Obama's seat in exchange for her placement on paid corporate boards. Patricia Blagojevich suggested she would be qualified for such positions because she has a background in real estate and appraisals, while the governor stated that he hoped she would pull in at least $150,000 annually to alleviate the family's "financial stress," according to the complaint."

Feel pity for the Blago's, they pulled in a mere 214,580 in 2007 according to their taxes, and, given what we know about their ties to corrupt people here in Chicago, that means that they probably only made a million or two dollars that year.

Cubs to Fans: Pay Up Suckers

On October 5th, after the Cubs went down meekly in ignominious disgrace in the first round of the playoffs, I posted a bitter screed here forecasting the impending destruction of the planet, along with a likely Cubs ticket price increase. Well, so far, I'm right about the ticket price increase- and I'm not ruling out the Armageddon stuff either. The Cubs announced the increase last week- very strategically timed to appear in the Saturday morning newspaper- the least read paper of the week.

Its difficult to calculate the exact scale of the increase- the Cubs are being purposely vague and misleading about it. They've stated that the increase is "only 6% outside of 14 platinum games." So the Cubs have now created a fourth category of ticket prices for "platinum" games- games against the Cardinals, Mets, during holiday weekends, etc. The price hikes for the platinum games are very substantial- for example, a bleacher seat will now go for $60- a 25% increase. So the overall increase is probably something in the range of 15-20%.

So this is a big price increase in the wake of yet another disastrous playoff collapse and, in the teeth, of the country's worst recession in 34 years. Yet the Cubs spun the increases like Karl Rove would spin an indictment against the administration, absurdly claiming that "33% of tickets will remain at the same price." The headline of the article about the ticket price increases on mlb.com was actually, "Cubs freeze 33% of Ticket Prices"! http://mlb.mlb.com/news/article.jsp?ymd=20081206&content_id=3704406&vkey=news_mlb&fext=.jsp&c_id=mlb And the Chicago Tribune dutifully covered the story similarly, with the 33% freeze nonsense in the first line of their coverage, http://blogs.chicagosports.chicagotribune.com/sports_hardball/2008/12/cubs-announce-t.html Even the Chicago Sun Times got in on the act- biting on the Trib's transparent spin job, and swallowing their 33% nonsense hook, line and sinker, which is a little like running a story about a thief who steals $9,999 from someone and leaves $3,333 behind with the headline, "Victim Allowed to Keep 33% of Their Money." http://www.suntimes.com/sports/baseball/cubs/1317794,cubs-raise-ticket-prices-2009-120608.article

Are these reporters too dumb or lazy to be able to report beyond what they read in the press release the Cubs sent them? Maybe. But the more likely excuse for their pathetic reporting is the old soft coverage for acess deal. They know that if they portray the Cubs as the band of marauding, unscrupulous highway bandits that they are, they'll find it difficult to secure any interviews with players and those in the front office. But let's be real here- when do players, managers, or front office personnel ever say anything of interest to the press anyways? Is it really so critical to get that interview with so and so where he expounds on how hard he's been working and how he just wants to take it one game at a time and give 110% and so forth? Spare me- i'd rather have a real journalist who tells us the truth and doesn't have access to the prima-donnas who don't say a damn thing of interest anyways.

The Cubs have the second most expensive tickets in baseball- the Red Sox- who have the most expensive seats- announced that they will not hike prices for the first time in 14 years due to the recession. And let's not forget that these folks have taken home 2 trophies recently. And what new players have the Cubs added to their roster in the off-season to justify another price hike? Let's see: a downgrade in the bullpen with Kevin Gregg (3.41 ERA/29 Saves/MLB leading 9 Blown Saves/37 BB/58 K's) replacing Kerry Wood (3.26 ERA/34 Saves/6 Blown Saves/18 BB/ 84 K's) and, drum roll please, Chad Fox. Chad Freaking Fox people- yes- rush out now and get those season tickets, Chad Fox will be taking the mound next year! Can't you see the t-shirt hawkers outside Wrigely now with shirts which say, "I'm a Fox!" And those with the old "We Got Wood" t-shirts, will now need to trade them in for "We Settled For Gregg" ones.

The Cubs raised ticket prices by 23% prior to last season and the public responded by turning out in record numbers- more than 3.3 million fans walked through the turnstiles. (And approximately 2.9 million of them left the ballpark drunk off their asses) The point is that people are desperate to attend Cubs games. No visit to Chicago in the summertime by every dork from Omaha to Arkansas is complete without the obligatory trip to Wrigley. Desperation, ignorance, and too much disposable income or access to credit all feed into the evil and diabolical plans of Cubs management, who would like nothing more than to charge $1,000,000 per ticket if they could get away with it.

Admit it, this is a stinking, rotting, corpse of a franchise. Yes, I know, the ticket brokers (of which the Tribune company owns the largest one) often get far more than face value for Cubs tickets- it's a scam perpetrated on dumb asses who probably deserve to be fleeced anyways. So I come around to this point then to Cubs team management: fine, increase your prices as much as you like- make the tickets so completely unaffordable that only the rich can attend games. Replace the hot dogs and beer at the concession stands with champagne and caviar. Bring in Robin Leach to sing during the 7th inning stretch.

I just don't care any more, because what I'd like more than anything else, is for Cubs fans to just stay away. Let attendance and revenues dwindle. Put Alfonso "Cubs Fans Should Have Patience" Soriano and the other overpaid millionaires on the bread line. Stop signing free agents. What will happen? The team will continue to NOT win the World Series. So what? Perhaps then we can be like the Tampa Rays, and at least have some fun watching young players at more reasonable prices.

Note: I dedicate this column to the most loyal Cubs fan in St. Louis, Mr. Ian "I Still Believe in the Inherit Righteousness of the Cubs" Caso, who wants Cubs ticket prices to be raised as much as possible, because he lives in St. Louis and doesn't attend games anyways, and foolishly believes that the Cubs will use the money to pursue studs like Jake Peavy and Brian Roberts.

Confessions of a New Father: Question: How Big is Leo? Answer: He's Getting Pretty Damn Big

Leo is now nearly fifteen months old and is already well on his way to being a big boy. How big, you might ask? My son could tell you: “Soooooooooooo Big.” That’s pretty damn big for those of you scoring along at home. Other questions we’ve taken to asking Leo include:
“How smart is Leo?”
“How handsome is Leo?”
“How gifted is Leo?”
The answer, which Leo invariably gives with a raise of both hands over his head as though he were in a sports arena doing the wave, is always, “So _______”
Luckily for him, we haven’t started to resort to trick questions yet like, “How smelly is Leo?” (hint: the answer is “So ____!”)

On November 2nd Leo was christened. Good thing for him too, because the devil was probably starting to wonder if the procrastinating parents were prepared to let him play for the wrong team. Leo was decked out like a little John Travolta circa the Saturday Night Fever era, with a stunning three piece dove white suit and tie, made complete by his curly, long locks (which have since been cut). Like most children, he wasn’t too stoked about being dunked in a cauldron of holy water, though after I lifted him out and the deacon said a few words, he then told the gathered audience to give Leo a little cheer. I hoisted the boy up and down over my head a few times and he delighted in the cries of “Yeah Leo!” that came from the pews. He is nothing if not a sucker for adulation-there are few things he enjoys more than hearing his name accompanied by a good round of applause.

Another significant milestone in Leo’s life was his first trip to the barbershop. We had to wait about an hour to have a private audience with Frank, my Sicilian-American barber from my grandma’s hometown of Villarosa, Sicily. Frank let Leo play on one of the vacant barber chairs and look at himself in the mirror. Leo was cool at the beginning of the cut, though his mood deteriorated rapidly as the cut wore on. Perhaps he wanted to wear his hair longer than Frank had in mind, but we’ll never know. Afterwards, we all repaired to a Greek dinner to split a massive chocolate milkshake- one of Leo’s favorites. The interesting thing about Leo and milkshakes though, is that he’s smart enough to not just want any old shake. One afternoon I brought him home one of those cheapie $1.50 shakes that comes out of a machine at a fast food restaurant and probably contains no actual milk or ice cream, thinking I was giving him a treat. He wanted no part of it. But offer the boy a sip of a $5 milkshake from the Oberweis Dairy, and he will howl with disgust if you try to take it away from him- even if its just you trying to get in a quick sip.

Leo started to walk about a month or so ago, and has actually gotten serious about it in the last couple weeks. The interesting thing about Leo’s walk is that its something of a cross between a drunken stagger and a confident swagger. Maybe we could call it a stwagger. He’s bold in the movement of his hips and in his pace- but he is also sometimes uncertain about whether he’ll careen out of control. Begin cliché’d, yet true, observation. Watching my son walk around the apartment is quite a site- somehow I just look at him and have a hard time believing how quickly he’s growing up. End cliché’d, yet true, observation. (I hope)

Leo’s a man of few, or more accurately, no real words at the moment, though he is fond of stringing together unrelated syllables and sounds. I’m fairly certain his first real, complete word is going to be “cookie.” Like his dad, he loves cookies, and is smart enough to know where we keep them. When he wants one, he points up to the cabinet and says loudly, “COOOH!” When I pull out the package he starts to smile and give himself a small round of applause. Yes, he must think, he’s going to get me a cookie, I’m training this sucker pretty good. Other foods that Leo likes include raspberries- he can eat them by the dozen- strawberries, soft pretzels, toast, jam, and teddy grahams. Boy can he take down the teddy grahams.

Of course, cookies and teddy grahams aren't his only guilty pleasures. He still enjoys breast milk as well- not so much for the milk itself mind you (he won't drink regular milk- only chocolate), but more for the sheer joie de vivre of it. When the chips are down- i.e. he's tired, hungry, bored, or has just had one of us take some item away from him when he was determined to have it- a little breast feeding is just the ticket to bring him down out of the doldrums or put him to sleep. Its also his early morning ritual. Typically sometime around 6.30 a.m. we'll hear some light clucking sounds emanating from his crib and echoing through our monitor system. The clucks become more insistent and louder if we try to ignore them and sleep in. Which we often do. Without success, I might add. When I liberate the boy from his crib and bring him into the bedroom, he reaches for Jen in bed instantaneously. I could easily sink into a pile of quicksand and the boy would not notice- which I'm ok with, given the circumstances.

After a brief and vigorous snack, the boy searches around our king size bed for the remote control, which he knows is the key to getting Sesame Street turned on. He'll snack a bit intermittently throughout the show, as red blooded Americans are wont to do, though rarely during the segments of his favorite characters- Elmo, Cookie Monster or Oscar the Grouch. Throughout the program though, he wants to have one hand on a breast- sometimes letting his little fingers just fish around as though he were reaching into a bowl of popcorn. Jen finds this habit to be most annoying and slightly embarrassing- particularly as he often starts putting his hand down her shirt in public when he wants a snack, though I do not fault the boy in the least. A young man needs something to fiddle with when he's watching telly or simply out in public having a good time, and a breast is just as good as a remote control or anything else. Begin cliché'd, yet true observation. Come to think of it, beyond breasts and remote controls, what else is there for the average American male? End, clichéd observation. (I hope) Whatever his motivations, its clear that the boy likes to breast-feed and weaning him is going to be a chore- though we hope to get it done sometime before he heads off to university. Breast feeding is Leo's way of unwinding after or before a long, stressful day of throwing food and toys and making random unintelligible proclamations, so we aren't ready to deny him the pleasure just yet.

Parents often like to speculate on what their children are going to be when they grow up. Typically that speculation involves lofty, high profile callings like law, medicine, garbage collecting or professional wrestling. I actually think Leo's going to be a demolition crew member. Who knows, maybe even a demolition crew leader. We do dare to dream in this household. The kid likes to destroy stuff. I bought him a whole bunch of elaborate Lego Duplo's a couple weeks ago in the hopes it would inspire him to build. I make him all kinds of elaborate stuff with them to get him interested in them, but all he wants to do is essentially wreck them. I build, he demolishes. The grander my structure, the more his glee as he dismantles it. Try to read the boy a book, he tries to rip the pages. Provide him with an in-flight magazine (we do this only if there is a significant delay) and he'll happily shred it. Ok, so perhaps his destructive tendencies aren't always a bad thing. If the demolition stuff doesn't pan out, he could also be a cable guy, as he loves to play with cords and wires.

Leo's a happy kid though, I must say. His default setting is a mischievous smile and a laugh. His laugh is one of the most pleasant sounds I've ever heard. It's impossible for me to be down about anything at all, when my son is happy. On rare occasions when he is angry- usually when something has been unjustifiably (in his mind) taken away from him- his look of disgust is almost comical, and we try hard not to laugh at him. I feel pride in him in even the oddest things- a particularly loud burp, a prominent fart, his propensity for gobbling cookies, when he throws a piece of food clear across the room! Damn, he's good, I think to myself, or sometimes out loud. I guess that, for a father, there is nothing more gratifying than seeing your son demonstrate your own traits, even if they aren't ones you are really proud of.

NPR: Letting Criminals Walk Free is "Common Sense"

I know that listening to right-wing nuts rail about the liberal media can be tiresome, but, in many instances they are correct, especially when it comes to the elite media- major newspapers, the news networks, and, the granddaddy of them all, NPR. A story on NPR this morning about poor criminals was a perfect example. The story was about a change to bond procedures for criminals in Cook County Illinois. The lead-in to the story said something along the lines of “a new law in Cook County will make it easier for accused criminals to post bond at their hearings” or something along those lines- and that immediately caught my attention- because I thought it was going to be one of those “outrage” stories you hear where the reason why its news, is because its so outrageous.

But instead, NPR spun this new law as a victory for poor defendants, who are supposedly disadvantaged by high bonds that they can’t possibly post to get out of jail. The story was entirely positive and ended by concluding with a statement referring to the law as a “common-sense solution” to the bail hearing problem! “Common sense solution”? I guess NPR believes that setting accused criminals free asap is common sense. That last phrase, stated seemingly innocuously completely stripped away any sense of objectivity in the report, which was lacking in it anyways. Forgive me, but isn’t it the job of any good journalist to present both sides of any story- can this reporter (whose name I do not remember) honestly tell us that he wasn’t able to find anyone in Chicago that thinks that making it easier for accused criminals to get out of jail might not actually be the greatest thing since sliced bread? Give me a flipping break, NPR.

Palin Speaks to Sarkozy

Here's the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iNhA9W9IgFc

Palin takes prank call from fake French president
By CHARMAINE NORONHA – 1 day ago

TORONTO (AP) — Sarah Palin unwittingly took a prank call Saturday from a Canadian comedian posing as French President Nicolas Sarkozy and telling her she would make a good president someday.

"Maybe in eight years," replies a laughing Palin.

The Republican vice presidential nominee discusses politics, the perils of hunting with Vice President Dick Cheney, and Sarkozy's "beautiful wife," in a recording of the six-minute call released Saturday and set to air Monday on a Quebec radio station.

Palin campaign spokeswoman Tracey Schmitt confirmed she had received the prank call.

"Governor Palin was mildly amused to learn that she had joined the ranks of heads of state, including President Sarkozy and other celebrities, in being targeted by these pranksters. C'est la vie," she said.

The call was made by a well-known Montreal comedy duo Marc-Antoine Audette and Sebastien Trudel. Known as the Masked Avengers, the two are notorious for prank calls to celebrities and heads of state.

Audette, posing as Sarkozy, speaks in an exaggerated French accent and drops ample hints that the conversation is a joke. But Palin seemingly does not pick up on them.

He tells Palin one of his favorite pastimes is hunting, also a passion of the 44-year-old Alaska governor.

"I just love killing those animals. Mmm, mmm, take away life, that is so fun," the fake Sarkozy says.

He proposes they go hunting together by helicopter, something he says he has never done.

"Well, I think we could have a lot of fun together while we're getting work done," Palin counters. "We can kill two birds with one stone that way."

The comedian jokes that they shouldn't bring Cheney along on the hunt, referring to the 2006 incident in which the vice-president shot and injured a friend while hunting quail.

"I'll be a careful shot," responds Palin.

Playing off the governor's much-mocked comment in an early television interview that she had insights into foreign policy because "you can actually see Russia from land here in Alaska," the caller tells her: "You know we have a lot in common also, because ... from my house I can see Belgium."

She replies: "Well, see, we're right next door to different countries that we all need to be working with, yes."

When Audette refers to Canadian singer Steph Carse as Canada's prime minister, Palin replies: "Well, he's doing fine and yeah, when you come into a position underestimated it gives you an opportunity to prove the pundits and the critics wrong. You work that much harder." Canada's prime minister is Stephen Harper.

Palin praises Sarkozy throughout the call and also mentions his wife Carla Bruni, a model-turned-songwriter.

"You know, I look forward to working with you and getting to meet you personally and your beautiful wife," Palin says. "Oh my goodness, you've added a lot of energy to your country with that beautiful family of yours."

The Sarkozy impersonator tells Palin his wife is "so hot in bed" and then informs her that Bruni has written a song for her about Joe the Plumber entitled "Du rouge a levres sur une cochonne" — which translates as "Lipstick on a Pig."

Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama derided his Republican challenger John McCain's call for change in Washington as "lipstick on a pig," days after Palin made a lipstick joke at the Republican convention. The McCain-Palin campaign then released an ad implying Obama was calling Palin a pig with that remark.

The caller asks Palin if Joe the Plumber is her husband and adds: "We have the equivalent of Joe the Plumber in France. It's called Marcel, the guy with bread under his armpit."

He also tells the Alaska governor that he loved the "documentary" made about her and referred to a pornographic film with a Palin look-alike made by Hustler founder Larry Flynt.

She answers tentatively, "Ohh, good, thank you, yes."

The callers then reveal the prank and identify themselves and their radio station.

"Ohhh, have we been pranked?" Palin asks before handing the phone to an aide who ends the call.

Obama's campaign spokesman Robert Gibbs, commenting on the prank, said: "I'm glad we check out our calls before we hand the phone to Barack Obama."

Putting Lipstick on a Pig

The Republican National Committee has reportedly spent over $150,000 on Sarah Palin’s outfits, hair and nails over the last couple months, according to this story on Politico, http://www.politico.com/news/stories/1008/14805.html What was it that Obama was saying a few weeks ago about trying to put lipstick on a pig? Does it really matter how you look when you are making statements this ignorant?

“All of 'em, any of 'em that have been in front of me over all these years." --Sarah Palin, unable to name a single newspaper or magazine she reads, interview with Katie Couric, CBS News, Oct. 1, 2008
(clip: XJ&sdn=politicalhumor&cdn=entertainment&tm=54&gps=532_406_1276_868&f=00&su=p504.1.336.ip_&tt=2&bt=0&bts=0&zu=http%3A//www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/09/30/sarah-palin-answers-what_n_130706.html)

“Pray for our military men and women who are striving to do what is right. Also, for this country, that our leaders, our national leaders, are sending soldiers out on a task that is from God. That's what we have to make sure that we're praying for, that there is a plan and that that plan is God's plan." –Sarah Pailn, on the Iraq war, speaking to students at the Wasilla Assembly of God, June 2008
(clip: http://politicalhumor.about.com/gi/dynamic/offsite.htm?zi=1/XJ&sdn=politicalhumor&cdn=entertainment&tm=161&gps=337_655_1276_868&f=00&su=p504.1.336.ip_&tt=2&bt=0&bts=0&zu=http%3A//www.youtube.com/watch%3Fv%3D9H-btXPfhGs)

“T]hey're in charge of the U.S. Senate so if they want to they can really get in there with the senators and make a lot of good policy changes that will make life better for Brandon and his family and his classroom." --Sarah Palin, getting the vice president's constitutional role wrong after being asked by a third grader what the vice president does, interview with NBC affiliate KUSA in Colorado, Oct. 21, 2008

(clip: http://politicalhumor.about.com/gi/dynamic/offsite.htm?zi=1/XJ&sdn=politicalhumor&cdn=entertainment&tm=225&gps=448_840_1276_868&f=00&su=p504.1.336.ip_&tt=2&bt=0&bts=0&zu=http%3A//www.youtube.com/watch%3Fv%3Dl40nrw3V3GA)

"As Putin rears his head and comes into the air space of the United States of America, where– where do they go? It's Alaska. It's just right over the border." --Sarah Palin, explaining why Alaska's proximity to Russia gives her foreign policy experience, interview with CBS's Katie Couric, Sept. 24, 2008

(clip: http://politicalhumor.about.com/gi/dynamic/offsite.htm?zi=1/XJ&sdn=politicalhumor&cdn=entertainment&tm=317&gps=328_86_1276_868&f=00&su=p504.1.336.ip_&tt=2&bt=0&bts=0&zu=http%3A//www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/09/25/palin-talks-russia-with-k_n_129318.html)

"We believe that the best of America is not all in Washington, D.C. ... We believe that the best of America is in these small towns that we get to visit, and in these wonderful little pockets of what I call the real America, being here with all of you hard working very patriotic, um, very, um, pro-America areas of this great nation." --Sarah Palin, speaking at a fundraiser in Greensoboro, N.C., Oct. 16, 2008

"I'm very, very pleased to be cleared of any legal wrongdoing ... any hint of any kind of unethical activity there. Very pleased to be cleared of any of that." --Sarah Palin, after an Alaska legislative report found she had broken the state's ethics law and abused her power in the Troopergate scandal, conference call with Alaska reporters, Oct. 12, 2008

Katie Couric: "What other Supreme Court decisions do you disagree with?"
Sarah Palin: "Well, let's see. There's --of course --in the great history of America rulings there have been rulings, there's never going to be absolute consensus by every American. And there are -- those issues, again, like Roe v Wade where I believe are best held on a state level and addressed there. So you know -- going through the history of America, there would be others but--"
Couric: "Can you think of any?"
Palin: "Well, I could think of -- of any again, that could be best dealt with on a more local level. Maybe I would take issue with. But you know, as mayor, and then as governor and even as a Vice President, if I'm so privileged to serve, wouldn't be in a position of changing those things but in supporting the law of the land as it reads today." --unable to name any Supreme Court decisions other than Roe v. Wade, CBS News interview, Oct. 1, 2008


"But ultimately what the bailout does is help those who are concerned about the healthcare reform that is needed to help shore up our economy." --Sarah Palin, explaining the $700 billion government bailout of Wall Street to Karie Couric, CBS News interview, Sept. 24, 2008

"Perhaps so." --Sarah Palin, when asked if we may need to go to war with Russia because of the Georgia crisis, ABC News interview, Sept. 11, 2008

"You'll be there to defend the innocents from the enemies who planned and carried out and rejoiced in the deaths of thousands of Americans." --Sarah Palin, linking the Iraq war the 9/11 attacks while addressing U.S. soldiers shipping off to Iraq, Fairbanks, Alaska, Sept. 11, 2008


“I'll try to find you some and I'll bring them to you." --Sarah Palin, asked by Katie Couric to cite specific examples of how John McCain has pushed for more regulation in his 26 years in the Senate, CBS interview, Sept. 24, 2008

"Absolutely. Yup, yup." --Sarah Palin after being asked by People magazine if she was ready to be a heartbeat away from the presidency

“GIBSON: We talk on the anniversary of 9/11. Why do you think those hijackers attacked? Why did they want to hurt us?
PALIN: You know, there is a very small percentage of Islamic believers who are extreme and they are violent and they do not believe in American ideals, and they attacked us and now we are at a point here seven years later, on the anniversary, in this post-9/11 world, where we're able to commit to never again. They see that the only option for them is to become a suicide bomber, to get caught up in this evil, in this terror. They need to be provided the hope that all Americans have instilled in us, because we're a democratic, we are a free, and we are a free-thinking society. "

Work is Overrated

Having a job gives one a handy response when people ask you "what do you do?" and the biweekly paychecks certainly come in handy, but other than that, isn't gainful employment a bit overrated? First of all, who decided that the ratio of work days to play days should be 5 versus 2? If you were drawing up plans for a perfect world, is this the formula you would use?

Osama to Endorse Obama

There are only a few possible things that could keep Obama out of the White House at this point.

1. Osama endorses Obama- you know this is coming right? Bin Laden is going to put his scraggly ass back in front of the camera and make some kind of statement where he either bluntly or subtely states some preference for Obama to win the election. Not because Osama actually wants Obama to win, mind you, just the opposite. If we elect a black man whose father was a muslim, that undermines their claim that we are an intolerant country that wants to wage a crusade against Islam. (Never mind the fact that our policies in the Middle East are appaling and the fact that many Americans do fear and hate Islam) No, Osama wants to have another trigger happy cowboy who talks tough and antagonizes the rest of the world. That would be John Sideny "Bomb, Bomb, Bomb, Bomb, Bomb Iran" McCain.

An Osama tape release of any kind, no matter what the message would be bad for Obama, the man who "pals around with terrorists", according to Sarah Palin and other illiterate fearmongers in the Republican party, your local trailer park experts, and people who travel the NASCAR circuit. For all of the rhetoric about Obama being a terrorist lover, you'd think that Osama was actually on his ticket. Please Osama, don't do it. No tapes please.

2. Obama gets caught on tape balling Joe the Plumber's Wife

3. Lewinsky has another stained dress in her closed with Obama's DNA on it

4. Obama gets caught playing footsie in adjoining bathroom stalls with Bill Ayers

5. Obama announces that the Rev. Jeremiah Wright would be his choice for Secretary of Homeland Security or would swear him in and sing the national anthem at his inauguration

6. Michelle Obama is caught in a state of undress in the back of Joe the Plumber's van


7. Barrack pulls a Boutrous Boutrous Ghali and changes his first name to Hussein, making him Hussein Hussein Obama

8. Sarah Palin does an interview in which she manages to sound literate

9. The McCain campaign ceases its usage of the following phrases, "my friends", "i know how to...", "we're mavericks", "take on the good old boy network", and "shining city on a hill"

10. Prior to casting his ballot on election day, Obama rolls out a prayer matt and kneels down to pray in the direction of Mecca

The Hazards of Public Transportation in Chicago

When I used to work in sales, I had no option but to drive to and from work, and I used to dream of a less stressful commute aboard public transportation. I had visions of a nice comfortable seat, perhaps some music or a podcast playing on my ipod, and a morning paper or a good book to brighten my mood on my way into work or home. These days I commute via the “L” , Chicago’s T, tube, subway, whatever you prefer to call it, and I can confirm that my earlier notions of public transport bliss were woefully naïve.

First of all, for those who drive, its easy to forget that there is a reason why the word “public” appears pretty prominently in the phrase “public transportation.” If you aren’t particularly fond of the public I can’t really recommend public transportation, because riding the rails exposes one to the unwashed masses and all of the problems that arise when trying to cope with mankind’s irritating habits. These days, there are a hell of a lot of people using public transportation, and on any one el car you are likely to encounter the following types of people and situations:



1. Cell phone users- I understand the occasional need to make phone calls while riding the L, but when people are crammed into close quarters, is it really necessary to have LENGTHY conversations at a volume so loud, that everyone in the nearby vicinity is unable to concentrate on their book, magazine or newspaper? The other day, I was within about two feet of a woman that was practically screaming in Russian, no less, into her cell phone for the entire length of my ride- 30- minutes. In fact, when we arrived at the final stop on the line, where I got out, she sat still in her seat and continued to scream into her phone. No amount of dirty looks or audible sighs diminished her volume in any way. I imagine that she continued her performance for those boarding the train and heading back into the city. It’s even worse when the offenders- who are usually, though not always women- are speaking English. “She said what?” “that bitch!” “he wasn’t copied on the e-mail? That’s bullshit- she’s always cc’ing my boss whenever I do anything wrong!” I can’t tell you how frequently I am subjected to these kinds of conversations and have to give up on whatever book I am trying to read. Last week I encountered a man, old enough to know better, who was- get this- hollering into his cellphone while it was on speakerphone on a very crowded train. So we were all subjected not only to his inane ramblings, but the equally inspid retorts of the woman he was speaking to.
2. Mobile DJ’s- There was once a time in our history when, if you wanted to inflict your taste in music on others, you had to carry around a massive ghetto blaster, but today all you need is an ipod nano and you can subject half a train car full of people to your horrific taste in music. I notice that people who like to blast music in their headphones like to sit down next to someone like me that has his nose buried in a book, rather than sitting next to the cell phone users. You can give them all the dirty looks you want, you can even cover your ears ostentatiously, but they aren’t going to lower their music.
3. Space invaders- No delicate way to put this- public transport is getting more and more crowded, but people’s asses aren’t getting any less gigantic. But do those with ass cheeks so spacious that they take up 1.5 seats, choose to stand? Hell no.
4. Captive Audiences- There are lots of people on the L in Chicago that are: a) “just trying to get something to eat”, b) “here to tell you that the Lord Jesus Christ is your savior, or c) “trying to raise money for their church/school/drug habit by selling these delicious M & M’s”
5. When the hell will the train leave?- I’ve been studying the pattern of when the L comes and goes in the morning on the green and blue lines each day for the last several weeks, each morning I jot down what time my train actually departs from the station. I can now conclude, with a reasonable degree of accuracy, that there is absolutely no pattern whatsoever.
6. Should I run to catch it or walk?- Each morning that I take the green line into the city, I am faced with a choice as I get up to the platform- should I run, jog, or walk towards the train? For some unknown reason, the train, which starts at my station and is usually sitting idle when I get there, is always parked a very long way down the platform. There is only a very brief chime before the doors close and one never knows when that can happen, so you can be nonchalant and stroll down the platform towards the train, but you might be standing there as the doors shut in your face. Or you can run and look like a jackass when you board the train, out of breath, and then just sit there for 10 minutes while the doors remain wide open. The choice is up to you.
7. We appreciate your patience- CTA (Chicago Transit Authority) is constantly telling you how much they “appreciate your patience” at the most inopportune times. I find that whenever I am cursing the damn, mother&*^&*^&*(^! train, I am usually being thanked for being so patient.

McCain Knows How to Get Bin Laden

But he's not telling. Not unless you elect him president. What a patriot!

Cubs Clinch Another Early Winter Vacation

So the Cubs have choked again- getting swept in the first round of the playoffs for the second consecutive season- where is the news story there, you ask? But this year, like so many other years before it, was supposed to be “the year”. “This is the Year” the signs and t-shirts, and endless Ron Santo audio clips on WGN said. This year, however, turned out to be just like the previous 99 years as the underachieving Cubs, who led the National League with 97 wins, went down meekly to a Dodgers team that, had it been in the Cubs division would have finished 5th with 84 wins.

For me, the most disturbing part of this most recent Cubbie collapse is that there will be no consequences for those responsible for this debacle. The Cubs players- nearly all of them multi-millionaires- will retreat to the Sun Belt and Latin America to enjoy the winter in their luxury homes with their trophy wives, far away from their disgusted and disappointed fans that have nothing to look forward to now, other than visions of some other teams fans celebrating a world championship and a long, cold, dark Chicago winter. Does the fact that I hope that all the Cub players catch venereal diseases and become impotent in the offseason make me a bad person?

Why is it that the players sound a lot more upbeat than their fans right now? I wonder if it could be that their only punishment for losing is that they now have the next four months off? If the only consequence you had for failing miserably at your job was that you got to start an already long vacation a few weeks early, you'd be feeling pretty good too, wouldn't you?

Many Cubs fans will now swear off the team- vowing to kick their Cubs habit once and for all, after this latest heartbreak, but its not going to happen. A few weeks from now, Cubs Inc will announce yet another ticket price increase, and everyone will piss and moan, but come February, the same people will be paying through the nose to the scores of ticket brokers who have cornered the market for Cubs tickets. The previous two years of playoff embarrassments, or the other 98 years of playoff futility won’t matter, nor will it matter that the Cubs will stand by and watch idly as the other big market clubs sopp up the best free agents on the market. The more this team loses, the more popular it gets.

Other teams in a similar position would feel the need to hold off on ticket price increases, sign big free agents, and issue mea culpas to placate their angry fans. Not the Cubs- they know that there are no consequences for failure in Cubbieland. Alfonso Soriano, the Cubs left fielder, who made $14,000,000 this year, and was 1-14 in the losing effort, reportedly said that Cubs fans need to” be patient.” This from the man whose idea of patience at the plate is not swinging if the ball is thrown into one of the dugouts.

Still, even if real Cubs fans decided to boycott the Wrigley carnival- even for a day- it wouldn’t matter, because Wrigley is stop number one for every tourist, conventioneer, and businessperson passing through town. Everyone wants a piece of the cliché- the posed photo in front of the Harry Caray statue, the overpriced warm cans of Miller Lite at Murphy’s Bleachers, the drunken sorority girls in the bleachers, and the 7th inning stretch sing along. If they don’t win it’s a shame, but it doesn’t matter much either, does it? So what is to be done about this, to borrow a phrase from the Iranian president, “stinking corpse” of a franchise? I would lobby for the following clauses to be added to Cubs players contracts.

After each losing season, players must do the following:

§ Remain in Chicago to suffer through the bitter winter amongst their angry and frustrated fans.
§ Volunteer as bar-backs in Wrigleyville bars, clearing away the detritus left behind by their embittered fans.
§ Donate a hefty portion of their fat salaries to mental health facilities that treat Cubs fans.

Feel free to add your own suggestions to this list.

Sarah Speaks!

Sarah Palin is not a foreign policy lightweight; she’s a super-bantamweight. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boxing_weight_classes) She’s not a pig; she’s a horse’s ass. She’s been cramming for weeks (sample question McCain staffers quizzed her with- O.K. who’s in the U.N. Security Council, again?) and finally deigned to be interviewed yesterday by ABC’s Charlie Gibson, and in case you missed it, let me give you the low-lights and some analysis.

GIBSON: When I asked John McCain about your national security credentials, he cited the fact that you have commanded the Alaskan National Guard and that Alaska is close to Russia. Are those sufficient credentials?

PALIN: But it is about reform of government and it's about putting government back on the side of the people, and that has much to do with foreign policy and national security issues Let me speak specifically about a credential that I do bring to this table, Charlie, and that's with the energy independence that I've been working on for these years as the governor of this state that produces nearly 20 percent of the U.S. domestic supply of energy, that I worked on as chairman of the Alaska Oil and Gas Conservation Commission, overseeing the oil and gas development in our state to produce more for the United States.

GIBSON: I know. I'm just saying that national security is a whole lot more than energy.

PALIN: It is, but I want you to not lose sight of the fact that energy is a foundation of national security. It's that important. It's that significant. END QUOTE

So in other words, she has no experience, but she has been the governor of an oil-producing state for (less than) two years. The idea that foreign policy/national security and oil are essentially the same thing is an interesting idea- and it more or less confirms the rest of the world’s fears that the war in Iraq and our foreign policy writ large is dominated by our thirst for oil.

GIBSON: Did you ever travel outside the country prior to your trip to Kuwait and Germany last year?

PALIN: Canada, Mexico, and then, yes, that trip, that was the trip of a lifetime to visit our troops in Kuwait and stop and visit our injured soldiers in Germany. That was the trip of a lifetime and it changed my life. END QUOTE

Sadly, Gibson did not follow up to ask, “how did visiting troops in the deserts of Kuwait change your life?” So Sarah’s been to Tijuana, and crossed over into Canada to get a better look at Niagara Falls. Doesn’t really matter, because she lives in Alaska, which is so darned close to Russia.

GIBSON: You said recently, in your old church, "Our national leaders are sending U.S. soldiers on a task that is from God." Are we fighting a holy war?

PALIN: You know, I don't know if that was my exact quote.

GIBSON: Exact words.

PALIN: But the reference there is a repeat of Abraham Lincoln's words when he said -- first, he suggested never presume to know what God's will is, and I would never presume to know God's will or to speak God's words.
But what Abraham Lincoln had said, and that's a repeat in my comments, was let us not pray that God is on our side in a war or any other time, but let us pray that we are on God's side.
That's what that comment was all about, Charlie. And I do believe, though, that this war against extreme Islamic terrorists is the right thing. It's an unfortunate thing, because war is hell and I hate war, and, Charlie, today is the day that I send my first born, my son, my teenage son overseas with his Stryker brigade, 4,000 other wonderful American men and women, to fight for our country, for democracy, for our freedoms.
Charlie, those are freedoms that too many of us just take for granted. I hate war and I want to see war ended. We end war when we see victory, and we do see victory in sight in Iraq.

GIBSON: I take your point about Lincoln's words, but you went on and said, "There is a plan and it is God's plan."

PALIN: I believe that there is a plan for this world and that plan for this world is for good. I believe that there is great hope and great potential for every country to be able to live and be protected with inalienable rights that I believe are God-given, Charlie, and I believe that those are the rights to life and liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
That, in my world view, is a grand -- the grand plan. END QUOTE

Aside from the fact that she used the word, “Charlie” three times within one minute, this is an astonishing exchange. Again much of the Muslim World- suspects that the U.S. is engaged in a holy war in Iraq and Afghanistan, and here Palin’s previous statement confirms this for them. And Palin’s Honest Abe comparison is simply ludicrous- her statement bears more resemblance to the Blues Brothers “mission from God” quote than Lincoln’s.

GIBSON: What insight into Russian actions, particularly in the last couple of weeks, does the proximity of the state (of Alaska) give you?

PALIN: They're our next door neighbors and you can actually see Russia from land here in Alaska, from an island in Alaska.

GIBSON: What insight does that give you into what they're doing in Georgia?

PALIN: Well, I'm giving you that perspective of how small our world is and how important it is that we work with our allies to keep good relation with all of these countries, especially Russia. We will not repeat a Cold War. We must have good relationship with our allies, pressuring, also, helping us to remind Russia that it's in their benefit, also, a mutually beneficial relationship for us all to be getting along. END QUOTE

Indeed- Palin knows well what is going on in the Caucasus region- 10 time zones away from Alaska- because the western most extreme portion of her state is close to Siberia. Nice one. Also, love the notion of her Rodney King like- ‘can’t we all just get along’ idea- this coming just one question after she had just stated that we needed to “keep our eyes on Russia”, while calling their actions in Georgia “unprovoked” and “unacceptable”. Those statements are sure to improve ties.

After stating that Georgia and Ukraine should be brought into NATO, “Charlie” then asked:

GIBSON: And under the NATO treaty, wouldn't we then have to go to war if Russia went into Georgia?
PALIN: Perhaps so. I mean, that is the agreement when you are a NATO ally, is if another country is attacked, you're going to be expected to be called upon and help.
But NATO, I think, should include Ukraine, definitely, at this point and I think that we need to -- especially with new leadership coming in on January 20, being sworn on, on either ticket, we have got to make sure that we strengthen our allies, our ties with each one of those NATO members.
We have got to make sure that that is the group that can be counted upon to defend one another in a very dangerous world today.

GIBSON: And you think it would be worth it to the United States, Georgia is worth it to the United States to go to war if Russia were to invade.
PALIN: What I think is that smaller democratic countries that are invaded by a larger power is something for us to be vigilant against. We have got to be cognizant of what the consequences are if a larger power is able to take over smaller democratic countries.
And we have got to be vigilant. We have got to show the support, in this case, for Georgia. The support that we can show is economic sanctions perhaps against Russia, if this is what it leads to.
It doesn't have to lead to war and it doesn't have to lead, as I said, to a Cold War, but economic sanctions, diplomatic pressure, again, counting on our allies to help us do that in this mission of keeping our eye on Russia and Putin and some of his desire to control and to control much more than smaller democratic countries.
His mission, if it is to control energy supplies, also, coming from and through Russia, that's a dangerous position for our world to be in, if we were to allow that to happen. END QUOTE

So essentially, yes she is willing to take actions (i.e. admitting Georgia and Ukraine into NATO) that could drag us into war with Russia, but she’s only willing to offer vague “support” and rhetoric to Georgia with vague notions of some kind of unspecified economic sanctions against Russia. Memo to super-bantamweight Sarah (SBS) :“Being called up on to help” and going to war are two different things.

GIBSON: We talk on the anniversary of 9/11. Why do you think those hijackers attacked? Why did they want to hurt us?

PALIN: You know, there is a very small percentage of Islamic believers who are extreme and they are violent and they do not believe in American ideals, and they attacked us and now we are at a point here seven years later, on the anniversary, in this post-9/11 world, where we're able to commit to never again. They see that the only option for them is to become a suicide bomber, to get caught up in this evil, in this terror. They need to be provided the hope that all Americans have instilled in us, because we're a democratic, we are a free, and we are a free-thinking society. END QUOTE

Keep hope alive! Even for suicide bombers? What is this crap about people having no hope and no options becoming suicide bombers? Most of the 9/11 hijackers were highly educated (delusional and evil, yes, but uneducated and hopeless? Not so much) and from middle class families. It wasn’t like they lost their jobs one day and then went off the rails. Pulllleeeezzzze!

Gibson then asked super-bantamweight Sarah (SBS) about the Bush Doctrine and she had no clue what he was talking about. The segment closed with SBS dodging Gibson’s question about whether she’d support staging attacks on militants in Pakistan without the approval of the Pakistani government. It was not a pretty performance for America’s favorite pit bull/hockey mom.

Why am I picking on SBS? I don’t care about the fact that her daughter got knocked up, or her trooper- gate scandal, or that she tried to fire the town librarian for objecting to her plan to ban books, and I’m not even that troubled by the fact that she’s only been a governor for a couple of years. Let's also leave aside the fact that she named her children Track, Trig, Bristol, Willow and Piper and what that says about her judgement. Obama doesn’t have a wealth of foreign policy experience either- but at least the man sounds intelligent when asked a question- whereas Palin is barely coherent. I’ve overheard more intelligent banter in the urinals of sports bars for God’s sakes. This is a woman that attended five colleges (two of them community colleges, and two others were in Hawaii) before managing to graduate with a degree in sports journalism. She did win “miss congeniality” in a beauty pageant years ago, and last night that was essentially what she sounded like: a beauty pageant contestant that was trying hard to sound intelligent but was completely out of her depths. But will Americans say “she’s a dumb-ass, I’m voting Obama”, or will they say, “she’s a dumb-ass just like me, I think I’ll vote for her!”

http://abcnews.go.com/Politics/Vote2008/story?id=5782924&page=1

Michael Phelps Takes a Crap

We get it already- Michael Phelps can swim. NBC, which paid 14 trillion dollars- or approximately the cost of waging the war in Iraq for one weekend- or, put another way- the dollar value of Dick Cheney's Halliburton shares- is, once again, trying to make the Olympics a soap opera- all about personalities rather than athletics. Not to take anything away from Phelps' achievement, but I keep reading that he's the greatest olympic athlete ever. Hmmmm. Why? Because he has the most gold medals? Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but swimming has a motherload of events- many of them pretty damn similar (someone who is good at swimming 2 laps of a given stroke is pretty darn likely to also be good at swimming 4 or 8 laps of that stroke as well, no?) It really isn't fair to compare swimmers with athlete's that compete in sports that only have a few medal opportunities. Like what about those 4 foot tall midgets who can lift 1,000 pounds? Or how about those Cuban or Venezuelan women's volleyball players that wear those daisy duke like gym shorts?

While we are on the topic of the Olympics, why on earth is NBC spending so much time showing us beach volleyball? Does anyone actually give a damn about beach volleyball? Or are they thinking that people just want to watch women in bikinis? I have seen enough of the following sports to last me a lifetime: rowing, beach volleyball, water polo, badmitton, softball, and cycling. How about a little tennis, NBC? Anyways, what I find far more interesting is Beijing's pollution. Just show me a smog cam and people straining to breath and I'm riveted. Then mix in some interviews with Chinese officials claiming that the air is fine, and I'm happy.

Companion to Paul Theroux's Ghost Train to the Eastern Star Part 1

In the first year of the new millenium I ditched what passed for a job at the Chicago Tribune to take a (mostly) overland trip from Cairo to Shanghai. I wrote what should have been a runaway bestseller about this challenging journey called, Resumegapping- Cairo to Shanghai the hard way. But instead of gracing the bookshelves of your neighborhood Borders, this "book" languished in a dusty binder- a forlorn collection of e-mails that few people ever read. Last week, Paul Theroux released another stellar travel narrative- Ghost Train to the Eastern Star, in which he travels to many of the same places he visited on his Great Railways Bazaar trip in 1973. Theroux travels to some of the same off the map places that I visited, and for those who plan to read his book- and you should- check out what happened to me in some of the same locales. This segment below is about a memorable trip from Turkey into Georgia- the only border in the world where you travel east from Asia into Europe. Enjoy:

Blood Feuds


After three days of heavy rain in Trabzon, I set off for the Georgian border on yet another miserable morning, feeling as though I were sneaking out of town as I walked down the wet empty streets of Trabzon. Small to mid-size otogars (bus stations) in Turkey are highly perplexing places and Trabzon’s was a mess. There was no posted departure board so one must canvass the scores of competing bus company counters to determine which company has buses to your destination, when they leave and what they cost. I looked out onto a big L-shaped row of counters, there must have been 20 different bus companies- where to start? I randomly approached a counter for a company called “Metro”, where 3 men were chatting: two of them behind the counter and one leaning across it’s front. My look of bewilderment must have betrayed me.
“Where you go?” asked the fat, balding man whose belly lazily slumped across the counter.
“Batumi- Georgia” I said to looks of eyebrow crinkling confusion.
I pulled out my map to show them where I wanted to go, yet none of them seemed to understand until I said the name of the border town of Sarp.
The fat man wrote down 5.9 million on a scrap of paper. It was unclear to me if he was qualified to sell me a ticket, but I set my concerns aside since especially since he claimed the bus was leaving in 15 minutes at 9am. 5.9 million seemed like far too high a price ($10) but I had 5 million Turkish Lira left so I was prepared to unload it. I wrote down my offer, and the fat, gap toothed vulture shook his head smiling at me.
“Fixed price” he said. I wondered how people who speak little English somehow always manage to learn phrases like that. I showed gap tooth my wad of crumpled bank notes and he relented, smiling and shaking my hand to seal the transaction. He led me out to the parking lot and pointed for me to board an empty parked bus.
“Where is my ticket?” I asked incredulously. He waved his fat fingers, palm down in a fanning motion, indicating for me to relax or wait I suppose. In any event, he scurried off back into the station as I lingered in the rain.

I grudgingly headed off to what looked to be a new bus, but I smelled a rat. The side of the bus did not bear the “Metro” logo of the counter I’d just been at, it said “Ulusoy”- how could he sell me a ticket for another company? I looked at the sign on the bus window, it said, “Hopa”, not Sarp. Where the fuck was Hopa?? I yanked out my map in the rain and struggled angrily with it, before discovering that Hopa was on the Turkish side of the border- would I have to walk from there to Sarp? It all suddenly fit together, I had solved the puzzle-I was being had. But was it too late? I ran back into the otogar, my backpack ungracefully slapping against my ass to find gap tooth. I looked for him near the Metro booth but his pals would not clue me into his whereabouts, I ran around the corner and our eyes met. He looked alarmed that I was not compliantly sitting on the bus, waiting for my doctored, inflated black market ticket. He was heading towards the Ulusoy counter- that bastard! He was just going to go buy a ticket there and then give it to me! I dashed towards the booth trying to beat him there-I wanted to know the real price of the ticket to Sarp, or Hopa or wherever the fuck they were sending me. Gap tooth grabbed my arm as we collided perhaps 5 feet in front of the Ulusoy counter, he flashed a ticket at me and grabbed my arm trying to pull me in the direction of the bus. “Get off me!” I yelled angrily yanking my arm out of his grip and turning to face the uniformed Ulusoy folks.
“How much is a ticket to Sarp or Hopa?” I demanded to know as gap tooth howled his protests at them, no doubt imploring them not to tell me. A nervous young girl wrote down 2.5 million. “Bastard!” I yelled, staring at gap tooth, who had been caught red handed, right in the eyes. He came over and thrust 2.5 million into my hands and the ticket. “No fucking way” I said, demanding and getting all 5 million before thrusting his ticket back at him. I wanted him to be stuck with it, but sincerely hoped he wouldn’t use it himself. Gap tooth disappeared as I bought a legit ticket, feeling angry and shaken by the experience.

I bought some rock hard bread and cokes with my spare cash and headed out towards the bus. Just before getting on though, I decided that I wanted to teach gap tooth a lesson. I had seen a police office in the station- how could they allow gap tooth to get away with swindling foreigners? I stormed back into the station, approaching a uniformed policeman. My useless list of Turkish phrases did me no good, so I merely motioned for him to come with me, which he did. We walked over to gap tooth, who was by then reminiscing with his friends at the Metro booth. I pointed at him, fingering him as though I were staring down a police line-up. Yep that’s him- lock him up boys. I showed the cop my ticket, and wrote down 2.5 million, pointing at the Ulusoy booth, then I wrote down 5 million pointing at gap tooth, who was now already defending himself in Turkish. A small group of curious Turks formed a circle around us now, as gap tooth loudly defended himself, attracting more attention with his lusty voice. It was now 8.56, 4 minutes till blastoff. I knew that I was being slandered and I wanted to defend myself, yet I had no linguistic means to do so. After gap tooth finished his speech, the crowd and the cop looked at me, as if to say, “So what do you have to say to that?”
In desperation, I began to shout, “Thief” “Criminal” “Bastard” “Crook” “Animal”- pointing at Gap tooth, who in turn began laughing and taunting me. He seemed to be saying to the crowd, which had grown to at least 20, “This stupid American thinks there is something wrong with fleecing tourists! Ha!” His sinister looking crooked smile, his disgusting hairy chest and uni -brow gave him the look of a real parasite. He jabbed one of his fat fingers too close to my face while making some point and I pushed him forcefully away from me. He pushed back and a wave of adrenalin rushed over me, I wanted to end his miserable life, in front of the whole crowd. Alas, though the cop stepped in and shrugged at my protests as if to say, “I’m washing my hands clean of this situation”. Meanwhile gap tooth began taunting me again, and the crowd began laughing- was he mimicking me? I had hoped to, at the very least cause him some embarrassment, to let people know I was on to him. Yet as I was led out to the parking lot by the cop, I realized that Turks probably find nothing wrong with the parasitic behavior of people like Gap. I was out of my element. The cop and I walked past the Ulusoy booth and I addressed the young girl, who seemed to understand some English. “Why do you allow this guy to hawk tickets for your buses- he’s obviously not going anywhere?” But she only shrugged sympathetically. Another clash of civilizations under my belt, I grudgingly boarded the bus feeling bloodied but unbowed.

¨¨¨¨¨¨


Technically, we were driving eastward from Asia into Europe along a muddy path paralleling the Black Sea. The closer we came to the Georgian border, the worse the road became. The distance between Trabzon and Sarp, which looked so utterly insignificant on the map, would take an arduous five hours. We arrived at the dire looking village of Hopa as the rain seemed to intensify. Luckily, there was a mini bus about to leave across the border. Unluckily, it was packed to the hilt with Georgians who looked considerably more 19th century in dress and manner than the Turks. The mini bus slogged its way across a mud track, a sort of no man’s land that neither country had bothered to pave.

A few minutes into our journey we were recklessly cut off by an expensive white sports car that looked highly incongruous on this inauspicious mud path. Our driver, a scruffy, thin, middle-aged man, became enraged, blaring his horn and waving frantically for the offender to pull over. Shockingly, the sports car did just that, pulling over perhaps 30 yards in front of us. There was a buzz of chatter in our van as our driver stopped the car and got out. It was literally poring rain, what the hell was he thinking? There were about a dozen of us on the bus; all watching our driver approach the vehicle with rapt attention. We could see that an animated conversation was taking place. The sports car had put all of us in danger by recklessly passing us on such a narrow shithole of a road, but what was this proving? The concept of revenge and blood feuds has a long history in the Caucasus. Essad Bey in his 1930 tome, Twelve Secrets of the Caucasus, attempted to explain to European readers blood feud etiquette….

“Almost every tenth Caucasian is involved in some affair that has to do with a
blood feud..one should never introduce two Caucasians before finding out
in what feuds they are involved. Killing in self defense, manslaughter and
accidental homicide are not recognized by the justice of the mountains..
Vengeance is taken in the following way: Immediately after the murder,
the injured family arms for the campaign, and the house of the enemy family
is besieged. During the siege the besiegers support themselves at the
expense of the enemy, until the intermediaries are successful in concluding a
treaty according to which the murderers are permitted to move freely about their
own house and courtyard upon payment of certain damages. At this the beleaguerers withdraw, and only the close relatives of the murderer are watched. The moment the
later leaves the house, the hunt begins.”

Essad Bey goes on to note that, “blood vengeance follows not only upon murder, but also upon any other form of loss. For example a substantial theft is a ground for it, as is a love affair with a girl by which her moral value is diminished. Intercourse with animals- an abuse which is very widely practiced in the mountains- also demands blood vengeance. The animal in question is considered polluted, and the miscreant must pay the owner the whole price of the animal if he wants to escape blood vengeance.” Bey concludes that, “the law of the blood feud renders any peaceful government of the mountains an impossibility. No policeman dares arrest anybody, no judge dares punish anybody, because they would instantly be declared blood enemies of the damaged family.”

All hell broke loose, as a man who could only be described as a giant emerged from the passenger side of the sports car and came around to confront our man. The giant had at least a foot on our driver. Sensing our driver was in danger, and that the very pride of our vehicle was at stake, 6 or 7 men jumped out of the van and ran off down the mud track towards the parked sports car. I felt a tinge of guilt for not jumping out with them, I was the lone male left in a van of women and children. I didn’t want to run out in the rain, but I didn’t want to lose face either. I rationalized that by sticking around I was looking after the women and children. The potentially volatile situation seemed to have been defused, as the giant was apparently not enthusiastic about taking on 7 or 8 men at once. The driver of the sports car never did emerge from his perch. Our men returned to the van muddy and wet, smiling triumphantly; we had seemingly won the standoff, or at least taught them a lesson of some kind. Welcome to the Caucasus.

Almost the entire minibus got out at a dire looking village just before the border- only two of us were actually crossing the border: myself and a Turkish student named Aydin, who was heading to Batumi. Although he spoke little English, he seemed to have been through this border many times and would clearly be my patron. I followed him to the first hut, where we stood in the rain, waiting to pay a “3 dollar computer fee” as Aydin called it. Thankfully, we were then sent indoors, into a garage of sorts that resembled an abandoned car wash, to be questioned by an officious looking woman in full dress grays and a cute pointy hat. She spoke fluent English.
“American, my god, well what are you doing here?” she asked smiling almost flirtatiously as she scrutinized my thick blue passport of privilege.
“Just traveling” I said trying to be both vague and non-threatening.
“What do you do?” she persisted in a friendly way, as though we were chatting in a pub, instead of some obscure border crossing in a small ex-Soviet republic.
“I’m a student” I lied hoping to avoid any follow-ups.
“Welcome to Georgia, Welcome, we are lucky to have you here!” she said smiling more broadly now. “Why did you come here?”
“I’ve heard a lot about Georgia, good things about the people, the land, the culture- I wanted to see for myself.”
“Do you want to change money?” she asked in a pretty radical segue. I agreed to change some money with her, although I felt it odd to be conducting such a transaction with a border officer, but by now I surmised that we were becoming friends.
“I’ll give you a good rate- 2 lari to the dollar, better than out there- go look if you don’t believe me.”
“No, no of course not- I believe you” I reassured her as I yanked out a damp wad of American bills. She noticed that I had a few of my trusty two dollar bills.
“You have a two dollar bill?” she inquired snatching it from my hand and setting it on her desk. “THIS” she said holding up the Jeffersonian bill, “is a present for me, OK?” She smiled demurely at me, attempting to be coquettish despite her age, which must have been around 40.
I agreed that yes, the deuce would be for her, and we completed our transaction. As I hoisted my backpack on she said, “You know I’d like to go to America, maybe I’ll see you there some day” smiling broadly at me beneath her funny hat.
“I hope so, that would be nice” I said, wondering if she was fishing for my phone number, which I decided not to relinquish.

Aydin gave me a wry smile as I left the garage; he had been waiting for me and had understood the flirtation and the “present” despite the language barrier. I was like some minor celebrity, perhaps a local newscaster or some other such pseudo celebrity who had not earned their fame. She had not been interested in having any conversation with Aydin. Perhaps the opportunity to chat with a young American in this little traveled post was as close as my interlocutor would get to America. I thought mistakenly that we were free to leave, but alas, we were soon being given the once over at one final shed, which had four soldiers in it. None of them spoke a word of English. A heated argument ensued between Aydin and the soldiers. I assumed that they must have been giving him a hard time for some reason; I shamelessly wondered if his problem was going to hold me up, should I ditch him? Aydin slammed his bad down on the ground and sat on the cement, totally disgusted. We were at a momentary standstill that I did not understand. Rain pored down upon us. The soldiers had our passports. Life was beginning to suck. Royally. I was just about to go summons my new girlfriend but Aydin motioned for me to stay with him. Moments later,
the soldiers seemed to have a change of heart and we were off.
Since we were both heading to Batumi we split the only cab in sight. I felt a bit apprehensive, not knowing or understanding what motives Aydin might possibly have. Yet in the rain at this remote border, there seemed no other option. We hopped into an old white Lada with a cracked windshield. Aydin wrote on a piece of paper that we would each pay 2.5 laris, or a buck and a quarter each to get to Batumi, which was half and hour away. Batumi looked frightening in the rain, there was garbage and muck everywhere, the homes looked to all be in a state of disrepair, like an old disused horror movie set. We arrived at Aydin’s apartment building, which was a tall, ugly Soviet looking gulag.
Another big and incomprehensible (to me) argument ensued between the driver and Aydin. Aydin signaled for me to come with him and I did as I was told.
“You come, my home” was all he said. What the hell was going on? Why was I going to his house- to be beaten and robbed? I decided to put my fate in his hands and go with the flow.

Aydin introduced me to his roommates, three other Turks studying in Batumi- one of whom spoke fluent English. Their apartment was neat and well furnished, especially given the bleak exterior of the building. I was given a pair of slippers to wear and a hot cup of Turkish coffee. Aydin was understandably relieved to finally have a translator. Abdullah, who made extra cash by teaching English, attempted to explain the events of the last hour to me.
“Aydin says that at the border they were demanding you give them ten dollars, the soldiers told him that Americans are rich so they must pay a special tax- he told them you would not pay, that’s why he got so upset.”
So I was the cause of the delay! I immediately felt guilty for considering ditching him at the border-he had saved me ten bucks.
“What about in the taxi- what was that argument about?” I asked curious to know
if I was being subjected to another foreigner “tax”.
“He says that once the driver found out you were American, he insisted that you pay more, so Aydin wanted you to get out with him, because he knew you would be in trouble.”
I thanked Aydin profusely and he seemed genuinely bashful at the accolades he was receiving. Abdullah turned to me and said, “You two have been through much together, you are brothers now.”

I passed around some pictures I had of my girlfriend Jen, my family and also of Chicago and Egypt. The guys passed them around as they sat on the couch looking at them in wonderment. I could almost anticipate the next question, which came from Cendel, the youngest member of the group at 19.
“Where do you find money to travel like this?” he asked.
I had told them I was a student and that I’d saved up for three years for my trip. I tried to impress upon them that I was traveling on a tight budget but I don’t think they could comprehend what I was up to. The idea of traveling around the world was as foreign to them as baseball and apple pie. I told the guys that I was planning on taking the next train to Tbilisi and was told that Cendel would go to the station to get my ticket. It was still poring rain outside, so the very idea of having my ticket delivered to me appealed to me tremendously but I could not allow it. My American suspicion told me that these guys were up to something- would they take a commission? Could it be possible that they were just incredibly kind? I didn’t’ know, but insisted on going with them to the station.
Abdullah and Aydin did not want me to be put out, “Cendel will get the ticket, and we will stay here and watch Braveheart on video!”
The idea of sitting in their cozy apartment and watching Braveheart on a rainy day sounded wonderful but I insisted that we all go the station- what better thing to do then all band together to take an American to the train station in a downpour?

As Cendel, Aydin and I headed to the door I suddenly panicked realizing that I’d taken the lock off my bag to show them my photos. My backpack was sitting, half opened right next to their front door, with over $300 in cash and my camera in it. Abullah and their third roommate, whose name was beyond my comprehension, weren’t coming to the station- would they help themselves to my things? I faced a split second decision: if I bent down and locked my bag up, they would have clearly seen that I didn’t trust them and thus wasn’t an option I decided. I decided to throw the ball in their court,
“Should I bring my bag?” I asked, hoping against hope they’d say yes.
But Cendel said it wasn’t necessary since the train didn’t leave until 10pm. I decided to trust them and headed out with them into the miserable afternoon.

We took two different shared minibuses across town to get to the station, passing along cratered streets that had not been repaired in decades. Aydin insisted on paying for both rides, to my great embarrassment. With the help of Cendel’s translation, they helped me buy a $7.50 first class sleeper ticket to Tbilisi, even going to the trouble of taking me on the train to show me the difference between 1st and second class. The difference in price was modest, but I did not want to reinforce their image of me as a free spending rich American so I asked Aydin which class he would travel in if he were going to Tbilisi. Thankfully, he said if it were up to him, he’d ride first class, which made me feel completely justified in the “splurge”. The first class cabins did look relatively plush given the dinginess of the surroundings.
Cendel, who had a dark complexion and hailed from Izmir, opined that I’d be” riding with Shevernadze (the president of Georgia) on this train”.
Shevernadze they told me, was in fact running for re-election on that very day.

Ticket safely in hand we repaired to aTurkish restaurant near the center of town. The boys were clearly regulars, as they kissed members of the staff upon arrival. Cendel began to tell me their stories over delicious plates of marinated meat and steamed rice. They all came from different parts of Turkey and none of them had wanted to study in Batumi.
“None of us was accepted to the University’s we wanted to go to, so we were forced to come here” he said bluntly.
Cendel had been studying English Language and literature and Aydin engineering.
We chatted on amiably as the rain continued to pour down, and once again they insisted on paying the bill. They made a point of saying that I was their guest and that I’d do the same for them if they were in America. The sad fact was that a) they’d probably never get a visa to enter America and b) if they did, it would be unlikely they’d see this kind of hospitality. In America people are suspicious of outsiders, our curiosities dulled by fear and uncertainty. I became depressed thinking about the Darwinian aspects of our country but I did not disappoint them by cluing them into my opinions.

Back at their apartment, I found an excuse to look in my backpack and was happy to find all of my money and things still there. Their hospitality had been sincere kindness. We spent a few hours looking at photos and chatting- until it was time for me to leave. They insisted on seeing me off, literally escorting me right into my “Shevarnadze compartment”. I felt so touched as they each kissed my cheeks and told me how happy they were to have met me. I would be leaving behind family in Batumi, despite the fact that I’d been there for less than 24 hours.

¨¨¨¨¨



I shared my “Shevardnadze” compartment with Ruslan, a 20 year old Georgian who was on his way back to the capitol. I asked him where he learned to speak such good English.
“I was an exchange student in a small town outside of Winston Salem, North Carolina my senior year of high school” he said speaking in a quiet, measured tone. I cringed to hear what he thought of life in a small town in the south, but couldn’t resist asking.
“It was hard to fit in, I wanted to go home most of the year- my house was far from town and I had no car so it was difficult. By the end of the year I was making more friends, but by then it was time to come back.”
“What kind of things did high school kids do for fun where you lived?” I asked.
“They’d go into the woods to drink, shoot their guns and have sex” he said, kind of embarrassed to break this news to me. “The only thing people were interested to know about my country was that we had no drinking age- they liked that.”
“Did you vote in the election today?” I asked hoping to change the topic.
“Yeah, I voted for Shevardnadze- there is no one else, besides the West likes him for some reason, so we think maybe he can keep the aid flowing in.”
“But there seems to be some opposition to him, wasn’t he almost assassinated recently?” I asked.
“Twice in fact, but they didn’t get him and no one was arrested.”
“Who’s they?” I asked.
“Mafia probably, you see this is a hard time for us, we have lost Abkhazia, S. Ossetia and now also Ajaria, where I am originally from, is seeking more autonomy.”
“Why are there so many regions breaking away?” I asked.
“Well, Ossetians and Abkhazians are not Georgians, they have their own languages and cultures, but they’ve just historically been incorporated onto our land. I’m Ajarian, we are Georgians, we share the Georgian language. My grandmother is Abkhazian, she doesn’t even speak Georgian, you see.”
“How did Georgia lose Abkhazia?” I asked.
“There was a small band of Abkhazian soldiers who wanted independence, but Russia gave them money and weapons…they wanted to weaken us you see, so eventually we gave up- we couldn’t take on the Russians.”
“No one even knows about Abkhazia being a sovereign country, do you think anyone is going to recognize them as independent?” I asked.
“No- I think we are going to get it back eventually, it’s a very rich land, it has a great coastline- people used to vacation in Abkhazia- Shevarnadze is pledging to win it back, but I think this is only an election promise.”

I found Ruslan’s political savvy to be remarkable for a twenty year old, his colleagues in North Carolina would probably be hard pressed to name their own Senators.
“Do you think your clan, the Ajarians will eventually want independence?” I asked.
“No, just some kind of special status- it’s a ploy to get more money from Tbilisi, really.”
Our conversation turned to Tbilisi, I was curious what the impact of foreign investment was on the capitol.
“Lately, there seem to be a lot of foreigners in Tbilisi, but I’m not sure if they are good investors, or just mafia.. but yeah there are Western companies coming in, Westerners think Georgia is cheap, so they run around buying drinks and screwing all the best girls” Ruslan shook his head and laughed a bitter chuckle, I could tell he was rankled.
“You were young during the communist period, but have you seen much benefit from the end of communism?” I asked.
“Not really, in communist times we had jobs and health care and a lot of money, but there was nothing in the stores, nothing to buy. Now we have everything to buy but no money. Local companies cannot compete with Western ones- you’ll see there are Marlboro billboards all over Tbilisi- people have been brainwashed that Western goods are the best and local things are shit, local companies have no chance against all the advertising these Western companies are doing. Everyone thinks they must have snickers now for example, but we have our own chocolate that’s better!”
I tried to tell him that I believed that the hunger for Western goods was more a temporary phase, a reaction to newfound freedom that might subside in another ten years once people learn to invest and spend to support local industries. Ruslan wasn’t buying it though.
“You have to understand something, we have many foreign aid people here already who are supposed to be helping us improve our economy, your USAID is here, but they are doing nothing for Georgian people! They are spending 60K per month living at the Sheraton, but they aren’t helping people. You see, Georgia is important to America, they want to run an oil pipeline here, Caspian oil from Azerbaijan.”

As we continued to speak into the night old ladies and young boys came through the corridors selling “limonota” and other beverages from tattered woolen sacks. Just as we finished the two tall beers Ruslan had bought us, a man from the next compartment came in with two more- toasting us for no apparent reason.
“What was that, do you know him? Why did he just buy us beers?” I asked perplexed but pleased.
“It’s Georgia” Ruslan said with a shrug.
“Sometimes people start buying each other drinks in a bar, because if some people receive two drinks- they send back four- and so on. So if you don’t have much money, you might buy drinks and hope you get more in return.”
“So we need to buy him 4 beers now?” I asked naively.
“Technically yes, but its late now so don’t worry.”

Ruslan and I talked late into the night, he on his bunk and me on mine, laughing and kidding as though we were at a sleep over. Each time there would be a period of silence I wondered if he was asleep, but then conversation would start up again, as if we were testing each other to see who’d fall asleep first.
Oddly, I feel less disoriented waking up on a train than I do in my own bed at home. Perhaps the motion gives me pleasant dreams or maybe it’s only waking up in the same damn place every day that unsettles and disturbs me. As we alighted onto the dark platform, I looked at my watch: it had taken 11 and a half hours to travel 300 miles, at this rate I’d never make it to Shanghai to meet Jen.

Starbucks is Closing: Boo Mother Freaking Hoo

Am I out of touch with American society or is the media going just a bit overboard with coverage of Starbucks downsizing its number of locations? I was a bit surprised, though not shocked when the Chicago Tribune carried two front page above the fold stories on Starbucks in the business section yesterday (http://www.chicagotribune.com/business/chi-fri-space-starbucks-health-cjul18,0,2229765.column) and (http://www.chicagotribune.com/business/chi-fri-starbucks-closejul18,0,876488.story). Then this morning, yet another Starbucks story was on the front page of the Trib (http://www.chicagotribune.com/business/chi-sat-starbucksjul19,0,7595492.story). I checked the Trib website, and noticed several other stories I hadn't noticed about the Starbucks closures.

The Trib is no doubt playing into the overall trend of the American media to dumb down its "news" to deliver more human interest fluff and less real news. One only need to tune into CNN or FOX any given morning and witness the endless parade of stories about celebrities, miracle diets, tips on raising children, and endless ad-nauseum coverage of whatever the latest: (pick one) weather disaster, cute missing white girl, or celebrity trial happens to be at that time. Local media is even worse. Can anyone in Chicago forget the amount of coverage surrouding the appearance of a cougar in Roscoe Village garnered? Honestly, people who couldn't tell you who the current president of the United States is can definitely tell you all about that cougar that was on the loose in Roscoe Village.

The fact that Starbucks is closing 600 locations is news- after all people will lose their jobs- but can anyone actually be surprised that Starbucks is closing locations? Anyone with half a brain could see what their strategy was- saturate the market with locations everwhere, then contract once people were addicted. The Trib has devoted more coverage to Starbucks this week than they did to the terrorist attack on the American consulate in Istanbul a couple weeks ago that killed three security guards, and far more coverage than what was given when 9 American soldiers were killed in Afghanistan last week. One can also compare the Starbucks coverage to a tiny little article on page 12 of today's paper which briefly mentions that 3 Afghan's were killed in in explosions and 2 humanitarian aid workers were kiddnapped.

But its not just the volume of Starbucks stories (which will no doubt drive sales at Starbucks locations) but the absurdity of the coverage itself that is most gauling. Two of the three stories mentioned in paragraph one imply that Starbucks is unfairly targeting minority areas with store closures, as though the chain had been taken over by some klansman who just choose stores in black areas to close because he hated the idea of African Americans drinking their beverages, rather than the fact that these are the least profitable stores. In the Barbara Rose/Wailin Wong story, the Trib quotes Phil Jackson associate pastor at Lawndale Community Church, "For Starbucks to look at all the communities that are suffering, and then to close the stores htat they are closing is really kind of hypocritical. They started the store knowing what the community was all about. You come here so you can uplift the community."

Isn't it the job of churches like Mr. Jacksons', rather than Starbucks- a purveyor of mocha latte's- to "uplift" impoverished communities? The truth is that the people hurt the most by the Starbucks closures (other than the employees themselves) are the real estate agents who try to peddle new condo developments in some of the very tough neighborhoods where Starbucks will be closing locations. Real estate agents trying to bring white folks into minority neighborhoods to buy condos try to point to Starbucks locations as a sign of gentrification, and then shuttle the person into the safety of the condo to sell them on the stainless steel appliances, vaulted ceilings, and all the other cookie cutter crap that is put in condos these days. Everbody else that actually needs a Starbucks fix ought to be just fine- after all there are still going to be around 18,000 locations in Chicago that won't close.

Love Thy Neighbor (but Celebrate when they are Evicted)

We've spent the last year sharing a two flat with a mercurial nutcase that was finally evicted nearly a month ago much to our surprise and delight. Does it make me a bad person that I was happy- no thrilled- to see her ass tossed out on the street? Before you answer, consider some of her (and her sons) transgressions over the past year:

When we moved in, Nancy (her given name is actually Anasthasia but she goes by Nancy) had a huge and unsightly collection of personal belongings in our garage that our landlord promised us would be out before we moved in. The stuff- which included a ratty, stained 1970's sofa, an inoperable lawnmower, garage sale quality paintings, and a broken exercise device that may have been an Ab-Lounger- was, of course, still there when we moved in. Nancy insisted that it would be out by the first weekend we were there. Not surprinsgly, the junk stayed put for several weeks, before I took it upon myself to drag it out to the curb myself. The only snag is that the garbage company won't move furniture for free- you have to go a store and purchase a special tag to affix to it. Nancy promised to get on this right away.

Weeks went by and in the meantime severe rain soaked the already fetid sofa beyond recognition. Our garbage area is in our back alley right next to our garage, so every time we came and went from our apartment we had to look at the filthy beast and wonder when and if it might ever be removed. After repeated pleas to Nancy and the landlord, the landlord eventually bought the tag for it and it was mercifully hauled away- probably about two months after we initially moved in.

Before we move on to Nancy's other sins, it might be helpful for me to paint a physical portrait of her for you. Nancy is, I would guess, about 40 years old, rail thin, and with the empty hollow look of a heroin addict. She has one (very) wandering eye- so when she speaks to you, there is no way to make direct eye contact. Her idea of getting dressed up is putting on her best pajamas. I only saw her wearing anything other than pajamas or sweats on one ocassion. Nancy told us she worked in a law office, but the landlord insists that she is a waitress. Like everything else about her- there was no way to no for sure, because she's a pathological liar.

We shared a washing machine and dryer with Nancy in the basement. Nancy rarely did laundry- despite having a 13 year old son- and neither my wife nor I EVER saw her wash her sheets. But when Nancy did do laundry, she had the maddening habit of putting a load in the machine, but then failing to remove it- sometimes for weeks (yes, weeks!). So we'd have to remove her wet laundry and place it on top of the dryer- where it would sit, untouched for days if not weeks, getting moldy and disgusting. Strange, right? But wait, it gets worse. Sometimes she would leave the one wet and moldy load on top of the dryer for a long time, and then start a new load without putting the original one in the dryer (or moving it someplace else). She would invariably leave that one too, so we'd then have two massive pyramids of her laundry sitting precariously on top of the dryer- which made doing laundry ourselves quite a travail.

My wife, Jen is very dilligent about removing our laundry after its done- yet, nonetheless Nancy would sometimes remove one of our loads to make way for her own, and would put our stuff flush against a dirty wall, where some of our smaller items could slip down into a filthy black hole like crevice between the wall and the dryer- and could only be removed with great effort. Nancy also frequently took the liberty of using our detergent- we know this because she had the same empty bottle of her own detergent sitting down there for months purely for cosmetic purposes. Next to the laundry machines, sat a very small garbage can- which overflowed with various items she had discarded. The full can sat there spilling over until she was evicted just weeks ago.

A couple months after we moved in, Nancy mentioned to us that her sister would be staying with her for "a week or two." A few days after that, a woman who looked just as ghoulish and frightening pulled up in a 18 wheel tractor trailer moving van and began unloading heavy items of furniture and bedding into the apartment. The sister, who ended up staying for a few months, had a yappy dog that barked at odd hours of the day and night, but the dog's owner was even louder- and most of the time it seemed as though the two sisters were on the brink of killing each other, such were the screams and squels we would here coming from downstairs.

Nancy also had a deeply ingrained mail phobia- most likely because she disliked paying- or even opening for that matter the bills she recieved. We had our own mailbox on the porch- but the lazy mailmen would often just see the big mailbasket she had sitting on the porch first and throw our mail and her mail together in a big pile. The problem with this is that Nancy used the mailbin basically like a trash bin. She neglected to pick up her mail for months or weeks at a time, and would sometimes tear open a piece of mail, but then just throw it back into the basket nonetheless. So when our mail wasn't put in our box, we'd have to sift through literally mounds of her unpaid bills (many of which bore threatening final notice stamps) to find what was ours.

Periodically we'd sort out all of her mail, put it in a plastic bad and stick it on her door handle- but it never changed her behavior. After she moved out I saw one piece of opened mail sitting right on top of her mail bin that I could not resist reading. It was her social security statement- which showed that she had claimed taxable income between about 10 and 15k for the last dozen or so years- this despite renting an apartment that itself cost 15k per year. Where on earth is the IRS when you need it, for a good audit? Even by Nancy's standards, I could not believe that she would open such a piece of mail and then just toss it on the top of her mailbin where anyone could read it.

While she didn't want to open her own mail, Jen and I both strongly suspected that she or Peter stole two UPS boxes that were left on our porch for us, and one box that was left for our landlords. All 3 boxes were left by UPS in a part of our covered porch that is not visible from the sidewalk or street- and Nancy's defensive and bizzare responses when I mentioned the thefts to her made me strongly suspicious that she or her son had taken them. One of the boxes contained Jen's Chrismtas gifts from my family, as well as priceless momento's from my childhood- hair from my first haircut, important documents, etc.

Throughout the entire time Nancy lived below us we had a constant battle with her over her smoking habit. The landlord told us that smoking was forbidden in the house- though we frequently smelled smoke that would waft up into our infant son's bedroom. Nancy had told the landlord that she was a nonsmoker- but every time she'd pull up in front of the house, we'd see a cigarette dangling from her lip. She adamantly denied smoking in her house- and claimed that what we smelled was her son "burning smelly incense." Aside from the fact that only a complete moron would confuse the smell of incense with nicotine- how many 13 year old boys do you know that are into burning incense? We tried to catch her "in the act" numerous times, but she just wouldn't answer her door whenver we smelled smoke.

Nancy had a 13 year old son named Peter whom we felt very sorry for, so I tried to be nice to him by giving him Sports Illustrated magazines, baseball cards, and other little trinkets that I thought he might enjoy. We knew his mom was nuts and not much of a mother at all- and his dad only stopped by to pick him up occasionally. Not only that, but we'd hear his insane mother berating him with the worst language you can imagine on a near nightly basis. It was impossible for us to know what he was being yelled at for, but we assumed it was more his mother's stupidity and vile demeanour more than anyting else. But Peter was no saint himself- probably not surprising given the Wal Mart quality upbringing he was recieving. One afternoon a few months ago, we went down into our storage area in the basement- a large area where we have excess furniture, clothing, hundreds of books, files and other things- and saw huge puddles of smelly water and a ceiling that was all wet and had a few large bubbles that were about to burst all over our belongings.

We contacted our landlord who called Nancy on her mobile. Nancy said that her son, Peter, had overflowed their toilet that morning, but thought he had "cleaned it up." Actually, what he did was overflow the toilet and then just left for school without bother to alert anyone to the problem, with the result being that our stuff was literally swimming in their fecal jamboree. I confronted Nancy, and she backed off of her earlier admission when I informed her that she'd need to clean and pay for our damaged stuff. She tried to claim that he hadn't overflowed the toilet, but that it had just been "running" for awhile. Her and her son made an extraodrinarily half hearted effort to clean the basement to no use. We had to toss out most of our stuff and insist that the landlord hire a professional firm to sterilize the room. There was never any apology from mother or son. She could only say, "these things happen, you don't think we did it on purpose do you?"

Several weeks after that unpleasant incident, we came home one afternoon to find Peter and one of his young friends scrubbing the exterior of our garage with a sponge. I gave him a puzzled look before noticing the orange paint he was trying to scub off. "Some of my friends came over and shot up the place with paint ball guns," he explained. I didn't really care much- seeing as though we are renters and a bit of paint didn't bother me too much anyways, until I later noticed that the little bastards had also shot a holt through our (previously) screened-in porch, and had sprayed orange paint all over the interior of our mailbox. Shortly thereafter the next door neighbors came over to ask me about the boy- they had also broken one of their windows (you could see remnants of the same orange paint along the edges of the cracked glass). Nancy claimed that since it wasn't her son that had done the shooting, that they weren't responsible for any of the damages.

These incidents, combined with our constant complaints, combined with the fact that she was consistently behind or completely delinquent on her rent forced the landlords to finally, and mercifully ask her to leave. We believed this to be great news, and it was, only she decided to leave behind a huge amount of filth and detritus when she left. Apparently she already owed the landlords for rent and damages, so she had no incentive to clean the place in order to recoup her security deposit.

Just a couple days before Nancy moved some of her belongings out of her apartment (only what she intended to keep), we noticed that the dryer wasn't working. We contacted the landlord and they resolved to have it fixed- only we later realized that ComED had disconnected her electricity for nonpayment- the dryer had been hooked up through her apartment (with the washing machine connected to ours). The landlord had to pay her huge arrears to have it restored, but since it was a disconnect, we had to wait more nearly two weeks to have it restored- all the while we had to hang dry our wet laundry all over the apartment.

We soon began to smell an unglodly odoring emanenting from Nancy's apartment- not only had she left tons of old furniture and crap in the apartment- she also left a frige full of food that rotted and drew insects after her electricity was disconnected. The landlords left the doors to Nancy's apartment wide open for a few days to air the place out, so Jen and I went in one day to look around the mess, and aside, from the accumulated junk of a pack rat, we found Peter's paint ball gun- still dripping with orange paint.

After the landlord cleaned up the mess, some of the insects began finding their way into our apartment. New tennants moved into Nancy's apartment and had their movers put all of Nancy's junk in our common laundry room- where it remained for weeks, until the landlords gave most of it to charity. Nancy's second car- an old SUV that was inoperable and had sat beached next to our garage for the entire year completely filled to the ceiling with junk, was also mercifully towed away.

Nancy is gone now, but not completely forgotten, we still have a huge old desk of hers that is sitting next to our garage waiting to be hauled away. One day I took a look at it- thinking about whether I should just go and buy the tag so the damn thing could be taken away- I opened one of the drawers and found an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. As the Sundays once crooned, "just a little souvenir from a terrible year."