Find a dope cafe near you

Here is the plight of the lazy bohemian: long winded rants which warn of the perils of chain stores leave us too tired to actually go find good local businesses.  Now, with just a small amount of tech-savvy, we can be lazy AND support our communities.

Check out this great link: http://www.indiecoffeeshops.com/

Thanks to Mr. Lenz for bringing this to my attention. In all seriousness, this is a great utility. Please comment if you know of anything similar, perhaps more general directories of local businesses.

‘Ghetto’ is not an adjective

It’s a noun.

It is important to accept that language evolves, and sometimes rapidly. I resent objectivist (and modernist at that) notions of right and wrong ways to speak; if one person encodes a message into spoken language, and other people are able to decode it, then communication is occurring and language is being put to good use.

It is, however, also important to say what one means. ‘Ghetto,’ in its adjective form, is usually nothing more than a euphemism which reflects underlying racist and classist sentiments. A messenger asked me the other day, “How ghetto is your company?” By which he meant, “How many poor, middle-aged black men work for your company?”

Seriously, let’s not veil our beliefs. The ghetto-adjective allows people to make blatantly racist and classist statements, yet their prejudices are obscured by the apparent hipness of this new iteration of language. If one says what one truly means, there will be no need to ever use the ghetto-adjective. The next time you hear it, ask yourself, “What is this person really saying?” Sometimes it feels innocuous, like, “This hair-dryer is so ghetto!” And what is the connection there? Poor folks use broken hair-dryers? I’m sure that’s true from time to time, but why not say, “This hair-dryer doesn’t work properly.”

If what we mean is respectful, then we will not hesitate to choose words which accurately reflect our sentiments. If–as we all do to some level–we are harboring racist and classist sentiments, let us confront those rather than obfuscating them with imprecise language.

Put that u-lock back in its holster…

Clout Street reports Mayor Daley has introduced a new city ordinance to enforce fines for motorists who endanger cyclists:

The mayor introduced an ordinance Wednesday that would slap fines ranging from $150 to $500 on motorists who turn left or right in front of someone on a bicycle; pass with less than three feet of space between car and bike; and open a vehicle door into the path of a cyclist.

This is wonderful, though I wonder how enforceable it is. Reading the comments on that post, I am amazed at how much hostility is directed toward cyclists. Really, people should be angry that the CPD doesn’t ticket bikers for running red lights, not angry at bikers for taking advantage of that fact. But just yesterday I witnessed a bike cop run a red, so I don’t expect them to fine me any time soon.

Anyway, if this all goes through, it will be nice to call the cops the next time I get doored, rather than just screaming at the fool responsible.

Back on the Saddle

I’m broke, so I’m back to messengering. Today was probably the worst day–weather wise–I could have chosen to get back in the game, as the almost freezing temperatures yielded an onslaught of assorted wetness which fell from the sky and collected all over everything. My feet were soaked for 10 hours straight, and–despite having showered and dried off an hour ago–are still pruney. Slippery conditions and wet feet aside it was a good day because I had zero close calls.

After work I was blessed with a free dinner, courtesy of a dear friend who is a server at a downtown establishment. While waiting for my food to arrive, I indulged in some stream of consciousness. Read if you so care:

‘Don’t waste time walking’ & that’s like a motto for a whole generation. His voice is complacent & my vigor is vacant Both had long work days but his paid better & mine was way wetter, weather like my life too cold to not hurt, but too hot to fully freeze. We live in inbetween, but focus on either side, to ride w/ destination in mind becomes unbearable, the best way to get a place is to forget you’re going at all. // And maybe he wonders how I got her attention but what he doesn’t know is I got it four years ago and now it’s just a shadow or maybe a second wind–we hope it carries till we can breath again. // It’s an exposition, but it’s not that good tends to go that way nowadays, more about the balls to display than really displaying balls. & I’m chilled to the bone, because of that will never be alone, the opposite of them who blocked all pain, or at least feinged and now are together lonesome // Is it modern to say “this is a great song”? Then postmodern to say “I appreciate this song because…”? // This shit goes on whether or not I’m here to see it, but shit makes my blood boil, and motherfucker I would hit you

A day in the life. Afterthought: if I hadn’t spent all day in the loop I probably wouldn’t have seen any Catholics, and the fact that it is Ash Wednesday would have completely escaped me. I do so enjoy the connection I feel to the rest of this city when I spend my days in the loop: a reminder of a domestic culture which is completely foreign to me, an aggravating–and probably relatively normal–misogynist at a restaurant, or a peak at the headlines of the newspapers most people are reading. It is a wonderful thing to be a nonconformist, but rigid rejections risk elitism.

Photo 1: 18th Street, depicting Chicago today, from elinagorelik’s Flickr.
Photo 2: ash wednesday from artolog’s Flickr.

Super Tuesday

After my previous post, I was conflicted about who I ought to vote for today. On the one hand, the same logic ought to apply to both the primary and the general election, but on the other hand, I could rationalize that voting in the primary signifies not that I want this person in office, but that I want this person to be the chosen candidate from their party.

I didn’t have time to reregister after I moved to Rogers Park, so a 15 mile trek was in order before I could do the deed. Upon arrival, I was slapped in the face with what should have been an obvious reality: one must declare a party in order to vote in that party’s primary. My internal conflict evaporated as I asked for a non-partisan ballot, which had but a single item: a county referendum. I expressed my thoughts with the stroke of a pen and returned to my non-partisan life.